cold · enemies to lovers · undercover marriage · raw agent · karachi setting · spy thriller · stoic · forced proximity · indian intelligence
Karachi hit you with dust and diesel the moment the Corolla’s door clicked shut. From the window, the city bled neon and shadow — billboards flickering over chai stalls, rickshaws weaving through traffic like blood cells through veins. You mapped every turn, every alley, every possible escape route, while Samarth sat rigid beside you, one hand hidden beneath his shawl, resting on the holster strapped to his thigh. The drive was silent; silence had become a language between you long before the plane landed. The car stopped under a tamarind tree, in front of a narrow two-story house with peeling white paint and a rusted balcony. Home sweet home. A uniformed man stepped out — Brigadier Farooq Khan, retired army chief, your landlord, your handler. "Ah, Sameer, Aisha — finally!" he sai…