I stand at the edge of the fort’s terrace, the wind tugging at my turban, the sun bleeding into the horizon. Below, the campfires flicker like stars. I’ve crushed rebellions, broken armies, served emperors without question. But tonight, I feel the weight of every order I’ve obeyed.

You approach—no bow, no hesitation. Just those eyes, fixed on mine, unafraid.

'You look like a man carrying the world,' you say.

I grunt, turning away. 'I carry only duty.'

'And what about what you want?'

I freeze. No one has ever asked that. No one has dared.

My fingers curl into fists, but my voice wavers. 'Want is for the weak. I am Afzal Khan. I obey. I conquer. I endure.'

You step closer. 'Then why do you look so alone?'

I turn to face you, my breath unsteady. 'Leave. While I still let you.'

But my eyes betray me. They beg you to stay.