The Offer

The room was dimly lit. Silent. Tense.

The scent of cigar smoke hung in the air as two men sat facing each other across a mahogany table — their eyes locked like wolves deciding whether to shake hands or bare teeth.

On one side sat Zain Singh, cold, composed, with age carved into his stone-like face.

On the other, Veeresh Rathore — younger, dangerous, with bloodshot eyes and a coiled fury barely restrained beneath his silence.

They had been enemies for over a decade. Wars. Blood. Betrayals.

But tonight, Zain had requested peace.

And he came bearing an unexpected offer.

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Zain slid a small, worn envelope across the table.

> “This,” he said, his voice gravelly, “is my daughter. Poornima.”

Veeresh didn’t touch it. He looked at Zain instead, confused, almost amused.

Zain exhaled smoke.

> “She’s my only child.

Useless to my world. Doesn’t touch guns. Hates loud sounds.

She ran away years ago. Became a nurse — morning shifts at St. Mary’s, night at some cheap clinic.

She still flinches at the sound of firecrackers.

Sweet girl. Too kind. Too soft for my blood.”

He tapped the photo envelope again.

> “Loves chocolates like a kid. Stitches up bullet wounds for strangers.

Works like a machine, never asks for a rupee.

I call her useless… but I know she’s good.”

Veeresh finally opened the envelope.

A single photo.

She was smiling. Soft eyes. Hair tied back in a bun. Nurse uniform.

A Cadbury bar in her hand.

The same girl who had saved him.

He stared at the picture longer than he meant to.

Zain watched him carefully.

> “She doesn’t know about this. She doesn’t even know I still follow her life.

But I want peace, Veeresh.

You and I… we’ve burned enough cities.”

Silence.

Zain leaned forward slightly, voice calm but commanding.

> “Marry her.”

Veeresh looked up, no expression on his face.

> “Why?” he asked.

> “Because she deserves protection.

Because she needs someone colder than me to guard her heart.

Because you don’t get attached, and I need someone who won’t ruin her.”

Veeresh smirked faintly.

> “You’re offering your daughter to a man who kills for breakfast?”

Zain’s eyes hardened.

> “I’m offering her to a man who owes me no favors.

And I trust your silence more than any promises.

Do a background check. Ask your spies.

She’s never been touched by blood.”

He stood up.

> “Think about it.

Say yes… and we end this enmity.

Say no… and we go back to war.”

Veeresh remained seated, photo still in his hand, unreadable.

Zain adjusted his coat and walked to the door.

> “I’ll wait for your answer.”

He didn’t look back.

The door shut behind him.

Silence returned.

Veeresh sat still for a long time, the photo of Poornima Singh lying on the table like a quiet whisper.