#Obsession_Has_No_Escape
#Humayratul_Jannat
#Episode: 2
Night has fallen over Dhaka.
Moist air fills the streets, mist gathers in corners… dim lights flicker through narrow alleys.
Zubayer drives down the empty road.
Beside him sits his most trusted man, Salman. Inside the car—heavy silence.
Ahead stands an abandoned warehouse.
As soon as the car stops, several men in black emerge from inside, weapons in their hands.
The moment Zubayer steps out, everyone bows their heads.
— "Boss…"
He wears sunglasses even at night, jeans and a dark navy slim-fit shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A cigarette between his fingers. Hair styled with wet-look gel—always perfectly messy.
(Perhaps I can't describe it well enough, but I've written him just the way he really looks.)
In a cold voice, he says—
"Anyone who doesn't finish the job tonight doesn't need to return home."
---
On the other side, Humayra.
She has secretly followed Zubayer here.
Stepping off the rickshaw, she observes the warehouse from afar.
Her heart trembles—
"What's Zubu doing here?… What kind of place is this?"
She hides behind a wall and peeks inside.
The room is dark—only one filthy hanging bulb flickers weakly.
Rusty chains hang from the wall, dried stains of blood cover the floor.
On a table in one corner—rods, pliers, blades, whips, a pack of cigarettes, and a glass of ice water.
Zubayer stands on the other side of the table.
A man sits tied to a chair before him—bloody, trembling.
Zubayer steps closer, voice calm as ever:
"So… you thought you could run off with my money? Big mistake. Huge mistake."
No mercy in his tone.
At first, they try to scare the man.
When questions don't work—
They touch a heated iron to his fingers, then pour ice water on the burns—shock therapy, cruel and cold.
Still, the man refuses to speak.
Zubayer's brow tightens.
No—this won't do.
He picks up a blade…
Makes a shallow cut across the man's throat—not deep enough to kill, but enough to bleed.
Even then, the man mutters through pain,
"Do what you want… I won't betray."
Zubayer's temper snaps.
"Oh really? Then prepare to meet your maker… but don't worry, you'll die nice and slow."
He grips the pliers—pulls out the man's nails one by one. Chains clatter.
The man's screams echo through the warehouse, while Zubayer sits calmly, watching, a faint smile playing on his lips.
At last he says softly—
"You chose your punishment yourself."
Humayra freezes. Her body turns cold.
She wants to look away—but can't.
Her lips tremble—
"Who are you, Zubu?… Is this really the man I love?"
---
A while later, the meeting ends.
Zubayer walks out toward his car.
He doesn't know Humayra is standing in the shadows.
But then—he catches a glimpse of a movement.
He stops, eyes narrowing.
"Who's there?"
He starts walking fast. No one should know this place.
Humayra tries to back away—but her foot slips, and she gasps aloud.
In an instant, Zubayer grabs her wrist. His grip is iron.
His eyes—sharp as knives.
— "You… here? What the hell are you doing?"
Humayra can barely breathe. Her voice shakes.
— "I… I just…"
Zubayer's brow furrows, his tone mocking—
"Uh-huh… I didn't ask for your stammer. What were you doing here? Were you following me?"
Humayra stutters—
"Yes… I mean—no, no!"
For a second, Zubayer stares at her silently.
Then a strange smile curves his lips.
He pulls her closer—so close she can feel his breath.
— "You think I wouldn't know? Sweetheart, even your shadow has a scent I recognize."
Humayra's heart pounds violently. She wants to speak, but words vanish.
Zubayer touches her cheek gently and whispers—
"What you just saw… if it were anyone else, they'd already be dead.
But you, Humu… you saw it, which means now you belong to my world too."
Then, voice turns steel—
"And don't you dare tell anyone."
Tears fill her eyes.
She realizes—there's no escaping this man anymore.
Does he love her? Or is this something darker?
---
Next morning.
Zubayer sits at the table, sipping tea in silence.
Humayra stands opposite him—eyes tired, face pale.
No words. Only glances.
Both know last night changed everything.
Suddenly Ruhan calls out—
"Why are you standing like a statue? And where were you last night? I called you!"
Humayra stiffens. She opens her mouth—but before she can speak, Zubayer calmly says,
"She was with me."
The whole room falls silent.
Humayra's heart skips a beat.
Ruhan stares, stunned.
"With you? Where exactly?"
Zubayer quietly sets down his teacup and just looks at Humayra.
His gaze says everything—
👉 "You're trapped in my world now."
But his lips say nothing.
---
Afternoon light slips through the window.
Humayra sits in the living room, taking notes for her university exams.
Zubayer sits beside her—sunglasses on, coffee in hand.
Silence.
Only the ticking of the clock.
Then Humayra's phone rings.
An unknown number.
She pauses.
Zubayer narrows his eyes.
"Who's calling you, sweetheart? Why so secretive?"
Humayra frowns slightly and answers.
A deep voice on the other end:
"Madam, urgent meeting. The cargo deal—final decision needed tonight."
Humayra's brow furrows—but within a second, she smooths her expression and replies calmly,
"Okay, I'm coming."
She gathers her books quickly and stands up.
Zubayer's cold voice follows—
"Where are you going in such a hurry? Some secret date?"
Humayra gives a small smile.
"My friend called. Going shopping."
For a second their eyes meet—intense, unreadable.
Zubayer senses something's off.
But before he can say anything, she's gone.
---
A secret warehouse.
Inside, masked men sit with heads bowed.
Smoke fills the air.
Then slowly, a woman walks in.
A thin veil covers her face. Dark red lipstick, smoky eyes, sharp liner.
A black trench coat over a tight leather outfit.
Her heels echo through the hall.
Everyone speaks together—
"Assalamu Alaikum, Lady."
She pulls out a chair and sits.
Even behind the veil, her eyes are cold, commanding.
She is the Mafia Lady—the one no one has ever seen clearly.
She speaks in a calm, deadly voice—
"The deal will not be broken. The cargo leaves tomorrow night.
Anyone who fails… you know the punishment."
The room freezes under her words.
Men nod in fear and agreement.
Then slowly she stands.
Adjusts her hair—slightly lifts the veil.
---
Meanwhile…
Zubayer drives through the city.
Far ahead, near a warehouse, he spots several black cars.
He stops.
"What's going on here?"
Suspicion burns in his mind.
He tries to get closer, but guards block the gate.
From a distance, he sees—a woman in a black coat getting into a car.
He can't see her face.
His chest tightens.
"…Is that the mysterious Mafia Lady everyone talks about?
But why… does she seem so familiar?"
---
Humayra returns home.
Hair loose, body scented with chocolate perfume—looks like she came from shopping.
She walks in innocently; Zubayer sits on the sofa, watching her.
His voice low and cold—
"Back already, sweetheart?"
Humayra quietly sets down her bag.
"Oh, just went out with a friend. Didn't even realize how time passed."
Zubayer studies her face for a second.
Then smiles faintly.
But inside he's thinking—
"What are you hiding from me, Humu?
No matter what it is… I'll find out.
My eyes are always on you."
Humayra enters her room, stands before the mirror, and whispers with a sly smile—
"…If only my Zubu knew… I am the Lady he's looking for."
To be continued…