Loyalty Left a Daughter Part 1
There were two kinds of people in Karachi.
Those who had met Rehman.
And those who only knew him through stories.
The second group had far wilder imaginations.
To them, he was the man who could make entire neighborhoods fall silent with a single glance. A gangster whose wealth had no clear beginning. A name spoken in whispers. A man who could make enemies disappear as easily as he signed contracts.
The first group, however, knew something else.
He rewarded loyalty as fiercely as he punished betrayal.
Which was precisely why, despite working in his household for more than half a decade, your mother had never once considered leaving.
Not because she needed the money anymore.
Sheâd earned more while working for Rehman than most servants would in their entire life.
She could peacefully retire whenever she wanted but she didnât.
Because somewhere between scrubbing dishes , joking with the security guards and scolding Rehman this house had become a second home for her.
Your mother had joined the household when Rehman was barely older than you.
Back then, the mansion had been much quieter.
Rehman had come into power quite freshly.
The staff still joked that she'd practically watched him grow into the man he was today.
She had seen him return home bruised.
Seen him survive betrayals.
Seen him build an empire brick by brick.
Never once had she crossed a line.
Never once had she broken his trust.
She remained exactly what she had always beenâŠ
The woman who ran his household with an iron ladle instead of an iron fist.
The one who ruled over his household affairs as strongly as he ruled over his empire.
One afternoon, years ago...
Sheâd just returned from the market when Rehman walked in.
He didn't say anything immediately.
He simply watched her struggle to lift a large bag of groceries onto the counter.
"Arre rehne dijiye, main kar lungi."
Before she could protest again, he'd effortlessly picked up the sack and placed it where it belonged.
"Aapke ghutne dard karte hain."
"Toh matlab kaam kam kariye."
"Kaam kam karungi toh khaungi kya?"
Without answering, he pulled an envelope from inside his kurta.
Inside lay an admission confirmation.
One of Karachi's best commerce colleges.
She looked at him as though he'd handed her the moon.
He leaned against the kitchen island.
"Aapki beti ne entrance test top kiya."
"Main afford kar sakta hoon."
She stared at him silently.
"Paach saal ki wafadaari ka."
Her eyes welled up instantly.
"Aap hamesha mera itna khayal kyun rakhte hain?"
"Kyuki aapne hamesha mera rakha hai."
When your mother told you what had happened...
Not because someone had paid your college fees.
But because he'd done it without making you feel like charity.
There were no conditions.
That was all he said when your mother called you from his study to tell you the news
Summer vacations finally arrived.
Your hostel emptied within two days.
Suitcases rolled through corridors.
Promises of staying in touch echoed through the building.
Couldn't wait to go home.
The bus from Karachi reached just before noon.
As soon as you stepped down, warm air brushed against your face.
One of the younger servants froze.
"Yeh phool ulte kisne lagaye?"
"Tumhari aankhen ulta dekhti hain kya?"
"Khala, phool hi toh hain."
"Kal se khaana bhi ulta bana dena."
The entire kitchen burst into laughter.
Everyone straightened instantly.
She continued fixing the flowers.
Without even looking at him.
Rehman adjusted his watch.
"Meeting roti khila rahi thi?"
She pointed toward the dining room.
One of his guards standing near the entrance whispered to another.
"Poori Karachi mein sirf ek aurat hai jo Rehman bhai ko daant sakti hai."
The other nodded solemnly.
Rehman sat at the dining table like a schoolboy being punished.
His housekeeper placed parathas in front of him.
He obediently ate vegetables that your mother had put in his plate.
One of the staff members bit his lip to stop himself from laughing.
She wiped her hands and answered immediately.
A bright smile spread across her face.
Heâd seen your mother in a flurry of excitement for days.
Planning outings , planning to make your favorite foods , preparing the guest room.
"Achha, achha. Main driver bhej rahi hoon."
Rehman watched her curiously.
"Auto mein nahi aaogi. Seedha driver ke saath."
She disconnected before you could argue.
He stifled a laugh, it was nice to see Khala fussing over somebody else with that no-nonsense manner of hers for a change
The mansion gates opened.
A white SUV rolled inside.
The security guards smiled knowingly.
You stepped out wearing a simple sage-green cotton kurta with white embroidery, your hair tied into a loose braid from the long journey. A canvas tote bag hung from one shoulder while the driver unloaded your suitcase from the back.
The mansion looked exactly as you remembered.
The front door flew open before you could even take a proper look.
She hurried down the steps faster than anyone her age should.
She wrapped you in a hug so tight you almost lost your balance.
"I missed you too," you laughed.
She pulled away just enough to cup your face.
"Hai Allah... kitni dubli ho gayi!"
"Iâve literally gained three kilos."
"Hostel wale bachchon ko khana nahi dete."
"Achha? Toh yeh haath lakdi jaise kyun ho gaye?"
She kissed your forehead.
The same grandfather clock.
The same faint scent of sandalwood.
Some of the staff recognized you immediately.
"Arre! Chhoti bibi!" An old watchman exclaimed
"I'm not little anymore."
"Hamare liye toh rahogi."
As you walked through the foyer, your mother suddenly slowed down.
She glanced toward the staircase.
A man in a black kurta descended the staircase with unhurried confidence.
No unnecessary show of power.
No expensive accessories.
Just a calm expression and an effortless authority that made conversations naturally quiet around him.
He had a file tucked beneath one arm, his sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms.
You had seen photographs.
Old video calls where he'd crossed the frame without noticing.
But seeing him in person...
He looked... gentler than the rumors allowed.
His eyes first landed on your mother.
A familiar, respectful nod.
Was the little girl whose report cards Khala proudly showed him every semester.
The child whose blurry school photographs she'd insisted he admire.
"Dekhiye na, first aayi hai."
"Dekhiye na, debate bhi jeet gayi."
"Dekhiye na, kitni badi ho gayi."
She wasn't a child anymore.
Your mother gently nudged your arm.
"Beta... sahib ko salaam karo."
You immediately lowered your gaze.
"Assalamu Alaikum, Sahâ"
You looked up in surprise.
He walked the remaining distance between you.
"You don't have to call me 'sahib.'"
"But..." you began uncertainly.
Your mother agreed immediately.
He looked between the two of you, amusement flickering in his eyes.
"She's heard about me for years."
"And I've heard about her for years."
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"I think we've earned first-name privileges."
You glanced nervously at your mother.
"...it feels disrespectful."
Your mother looked incredibly pleased.
"Dekha? Tameez kiski beti hai."
"I'm not questioning your upbringing, Khala."
Then his attention returned to you.
For reasons he couldn't quite explain...
Hearing his own name in your voice felt unexpectedly... nice.
The first few days passed quietly.
Not because the house was quiet.
Phones rang at odd hours.
Men in crisp suits arrived for meetings.
Guards walked in and out of the compound.
Deliveries came and went.
Someone was always rushing somewhere.
Life inside the mansion had its own rhythm.
And you slowly slipped into it.
Every morning, you woke before your mother.
Which, according to her, was nothing short of a miracle.
"Tabiyat toh theek hai na?" she asked suspiciously one morning.
You looked up from the kettle.
"Hostel se meri beti aayi hai ya koi aur?"
"I've always woken up early."
"Video call pe toh roz gyarah baje uthti thi."
"That was because classes started late."
She flicked a dish towel at your shoulder.
You had unintentionally become everyone's favorite person in the house.
Unlike most guests, you never expected to be served.
You carried your own plates to the kitchen.
Folded blankets before leaving the sitting room.
Helped the elderly gardener water the roses.
Sat with the cook while he experimented with desserts.
Even the youngest guard, Imran, shamelessly used you to settle arguments.
One afternoon, he appeared in the kitchen looking deeply offended.
He pointed dramatically at another guard.
"Bol raha hai chai se pehle samosa khana chahiye."
They both turned toward you.
You looked at your mother.
She continued kneading dough as though this happened every day.
You gestured between them.
After pretending to think for a moment, you nodded wisely.
Imran threw both hands into the air triumphantly.
"Tum dono ko kaam bhi karna hota hai ya sirf chai pe charcha?"
From the dining room doorway...
Rehman watched the exchange.
He had come looking for coffee.
He found the staff laughing.
Ever since you had arrived...
The house somehow felt...
One of his men looked at him.
You were sitting on the veranda, surrounded by accountancy textbooks.
Summer vacation didn't mean complete freedom.
Your final year was approaching.
You still had assignments.
You had been staring at one balance sheet for nearly twenty minutes.
You erased another figure.
"Where are you hiding..."
A shadow fell across the page.
Without realizing it, you looked up.
Rehman stood beside the swing, holding a mug of black coffee.
He glanced at the notebook.
"My balance sheet is refusing to balance."
"Have you tried threatening it?"
You laughed before you could stop yourself.
"I don't think accounting responds to intimidation."
"It definitely shouldn't."
"Disappointing profession."
You shook your head, smiling.
"I'll inform the Institute."
A comfortable silence settled between you.
He wasn't the type to fill every pause with unnecessary conversation.
He glanced at the open ledger.
"Your mother never mentioned your specialization."
"She mostly talks about your grades."
He counted on his fingers.
"Aaj meri beti first aayi."
"Aaj meri beti presentation jeet gayi."
"Aaj meri beti ne scholarship le li."
"I need to have a serious conversation with her."
You narrowed your eyes playfully.
"You sound very confident."
"I lose atleast five arguments a day against her."
He was about to leave when something caught his attention.
One of the oldest scientific models he'd ever seen.
The plastic edges were worn.
The buttons slightly faded.
"I could buy you a better one."
"When she first started saving money..."
You gently ran your thumb across the calculator.
"...she bought it second-hand because she wanted me to practice accounting before college."
"Half the buttons didn't even work back then."
His gaze lingered on the calculator for a moment longer.
"It reminds me where I started."
Something in his expression changed.
Not because the calculator was old.
But because you valued memories more than appearances.
Then quietly walked away.
He found himself thinking about that conversation.
The way your face had softened while talking about your mother.
There was no embarrassment.
The mansion's study resembled controlled chaos.
Files covered the large mahogany desk.
Ledgers stacked so high they threatened to collapse.
Rehman pinched the bridge of his nose.
"...Who organized these?"
One of his managers coughed.
"Sir... organize toh kiye the..."
"You alphabetized electricity bills under 'M.'"
Another employee quietly looked away to hide his laughter.
You happened to walk past the open study.
Seeing the mountain of papers, you hesitated.
"Should I come back later?"
The managers exchanged confused looks.
He slid one ledger toward you.
"You'll still find it faster."
One manager looked mildly offended.
Rehman didn't even look at him.
Your brows slowly knitted together.
You reached for a calculator.
The room fell silent except for the clicking buttons.
"...you've entered this supplier payment twice."
One manager grabbed the ledger.
Another quickly checked the figures.
A payment worth several million rupees...
Had the mistake gone unnoticed...
It would've caused a disaster during auditing.
The room went completely still.
One of the accountants looked personally attacked.
Just enough for the room to relax.
"I've been paying professionals for this."
One accountant muttered under his breathâŠ
"Aur hum berozgaar hone wale hain."
You quickly waved your hands.
"No! No, I didn't meanâ"
"Mazak kar raha hoon, baji."
The tension dissolved into laughter.
As you stood to leave, Rehman spoke.
"If I ever asked for your help..."
He gestured toward the ledgers.
You looked genuinely surprised.
You thought for a moment.
"If it's after my own studies..."
"...then I'd be happy to."
His lips curved into the faintest smile.
Neither of you realized...
That this simple conversation...
Would soon become the reason you spent countless evenings together.
And neither of you knew...
That before those evenings could begin...
One terrifying night at the market would change everything.
