Ahsan sat in his room, staring blankly at AZ, who was calmly teaching him zoology.
"I didn't know you could actually teach," Ahsan said.
AZ smiled faintly. "What did you think? That an exorcist can't be educated?"
"Not exactly," Ahsan replied. "It's just... you're actually really good at this. None of my previous tutors were."
AZ waved it off. "It's nothing. I'm good at what I do best—and terrible at what I don't."
Ahsan raised an eyebrow. "And what can't you do?"
AZ sighed. "I can't swim. I can't drive. I can't use chopsticks. The list goes on."
Ahsan chuckled. "Guess no one's perfect."
"Exactly," AZ said, turning the page. "Now focus."
They continued studying for a while in comfortable silence.
Suddenly, AZ spoke again.
"By the way... Noi's birthday is tomorrow."
Ahsan snapped his head up. "Tomorrow?! And you're telling me now?!"
AZ shrugged. "You never asked."
Panic hit instantly.
Perfume? No—what if it sounded like she smelled bad?
A dress? He didn't know her size.
Bracelet? Earrings? He had no idea what she liked.
Nothing felt right.
Before he could think further, AZ's phone rang.
He answered it, spoke briefly, then hung up.
"We got a new mission," AZ said, standing up. "Think about the gift later. Let's move."
"Wait—what about—" Ahsan began.
But AZ was already walking out.
With a defeated sigh, Ahsan followed him.
The house was surprisingly close to Ahsan's—barely a ten-minute walk.
AZ and Ahsan entered the building and knocked on the apartment door. A well-dressed man opened it and immediately shook AZ's hand.
"I'm glad you came. My name is Kazi Anwar. Please, come in."
Both AZ and Ahsan froze.
Kazi Anwar?
One of the richest men in Bangladesh—perhaps even South Asia?
They stepped inside and were instantly overwhelmed.
The apartment looked like something out of a luxury magazine. Golden ambient lights, vibrant walls, a massive chandelier hanging from the ceiling, priceless paintings, and furniture that probably cost more than Ahsan's entire neighborhood.
They sat down on the expensive couch, stiff and uncomfortable, half-afraid they were dirtying it just by existing.
Kazi Anwar sat across from them and spoke calmly.
"You probably know who I am. Wealth has given me many things in life. But now..."
His expression darkened.
"...it has failed me."
AZ nodded. "Tell me how we can help."
"My daughter," Anwar said quietly. "She's been possessed."
AZ raised an eyebrow. "Explain everything. No details left out."
Anwar exhaled heavily.
"I was arranging her marriage with my best friend's son. We went to their village for the wedding. That's when everything started. My daughter—Mishti—began acting strangely. Talking to herself. Locking herself in her room."
He clenched his fists.
"Then she started calling herself Rokeya. After that... she became violent. She attacked people. Bit them. Tried to claw their eyes out like a wild animal. We had no choice but to cancel the marriage."
Ahsan swallowed.
"We brought her back to Dhaka, but things only worsened," Anwar continued. "She eats like a beast. Screams all day. Cries at night. I've called countless exorcists. Every single one failed."
He looked directly at AZ.
"Please... save my daughter. I'll give you this entire building if you want."
AZ waved a hand dismissively. "Just the agreed fee will do. May I meet her? Alone."
Anwar nodded and led them to a room down the hall. He opened the door, then quietly left them.
The room was lavish—but dim. Only one weak light flickered.
In the corner sat a girl before a mirror, combing her hair so that it covered her face entirely.
AZ and Ahsan approached slowly.
Ahsan glanced at AZ—and frowned.
AZ looked... irritated.
That alone was alarming. AZ never lost his composure.
AZ stepped closer.
Suddenly, the girl raised her hand.
"Stop right there!" she hissed. "Or I'll drink your blood."
AZ didn't stop.
"I'm warning you!" she screamed. "I'll rip your head off and hang it like a trophy!"
AZ kept walking.
With a feral scream, she lunged at him—vampire-like teeth bared, face smeared with blood, claws aimed for his eyes.
Smack.
AZ slapped her.
Ahsan's brain short-circuited.
She staggered, stunned—but quickly recovered.
"How dare you—!"
Smack.
Another slap.
Smack.
A third.
AZ raised his hand again.
"STOP!" she yelled suddenly, her voice completely normal. "No more! That hurts! I've never been slapped in my entire life!"
Ahsan stared. "AZ... what is happening?"
AZ sighed and rubbed his forehead.
"She's not possessed," he said flatly. "She's acting."
"What?!" Ahsan blurted out.
"When I entered the apartment, I felt nothing abnormal," AZ continued. "No spiritual residue. No distortion. And when I saw her..." He gestured at Mishti. "Bad acting. Fake behavior. Overdone makeup."
He reached out and yanked something from her mouth.
Fake vampire teeth.
"Honestly," AZ muttered, inspecting them, "I could make better ones at home."
Mishti gasped.
AZ looked at her coldly.
"So, Mishti dear—are you going to tell us the truth? Or do you want another lesson in reality?"
She shook her head rapidly. "No! No! I'll tell! I'll tell everything!"
AZ and Ahsan sat down.
Mishti took a deep breath.
And began her story.
"I wanted to finish my graduation before getting married," Mishti said, her voice trembling. "Even if I did get married, I wanted a family that would let me study… let me work."
Her hands clenched into fists.
"But my father's friend made it very clear. Girls in his family don't work. They cook, clean, serve—and repeat. That's their whole life."
Her voice broke.
"So I panicked. I didn't know what else to do. I didn't know how to stop the marriage. So I… I pretended to be possessed."
Tears streamed down her face.
"I was forced to act like a monster just to survive. And now…" she sobbed, covering her face, "…I still don't know what to do."
AZ listened in silence.
When she finally ran out of breath, he sighed deeply.
"And after this?" he asked calmly. "What was your plan?"
Mishti froze.
"You can keep this act going for how long?" AZ continued. "One month? Six months? A year?"
He looked straight into her eyes.
"After that, they'll marry you off anyway."
Mishti broke down completely. "I don't know! I really don't know!" she cried. "I don't want to get married! I want to prove myself! I want Papa to see that I can run his business—I can be his heir—instead of him searching for some husband to replace him!"
AZ leaned forward, his voice low but firm.
"Then fight."
Mishti looked up, startled.
"Fight for your rights," AZ said. "Fight for what you believe in. Fight for your place."
He straightened.
"Hiding behind lies only makes you weaker. If you want him to respect you, show him your worth. Not with fear. Not with tricks. With your own strength."
Mishti whispered, almost hopelessly, "But… how? How do I make him listen?"
Suddenly—
Snap.
Ahsan snapped his fingers.
"I've got a plan."
AZ turned toward him, eyebrow raised. "Oh? A plan?"
Ahsan grinned.
"Yeah. And trust me—"
He glanced at Mishti.
"—it'll work like a charm."
A few minutes later, AZ and Ahsan stepped out of the room.
Their faces were calm. Too calm.
Kazi Anwar immediately rushed toward them. "What happened?" he asked anxiously. "Is Mishti alright? Did you cure her?"
AZ met his eyes, expression serious. "She will be fine. But there are a few things you must understand."
Kazi Anwar frowned. "What things?"
AZ exhaled slowly, as if choosing his words with care.
"The spirit that possessed Mishti was once a girl named Mollika," he said. "She was married off at the same place Mishti was supposed to be married."
Kazi Anwar stiffened.
"She was abused by her in-laws," AZ continued. "Worked day and night. No rest. No kindness. Eventually, her body gave up."
A pause.
"But her soul didn't."
Kazi Anwar swallowed hard.
"When Mollika saw Mishti," AZ said quietly, "she saw her own future repeating itself. She didn't want to harm her. She wanted to protect her."
Kazi Anwar's lips trembled. "Then… is she gone?"
"For now," AZ replied. "But only if you follow three rules."
Kazi Anwar straightened. "Tell me."
AZ raised one finger.
"Rule number one: Mishti will not be married for the next two years. If you try, the spirit will believe she's being forced—and it will return."
A second finger.
"Rule number two: For these two years, Mishti does whatever she wants. Studies, work, decisions. You say no even once—Mollika comes back."
Kazi Anwar's breath grew heavy.
AZ raised the third finger.
"And rule number three," he said coldly, "even after those two years, you will never force her to marry."
Kazi Anwar's eyes widened.
"If you do," AZ continued, voice flat, "the spirit won't limit itself to Mishti anymore. It will attack your entire family."
Silence fell like a hammer.
After a long moment, Kazi Anwar sighed—defeated, yet thoughtful.
"…Very well," he said. "I will follow these rules. For two years, I will listen to her. I won't force her into anything."
AZ nodded once. "Good."
He turned toward the door. "You know where to send the payment."
Outside the building, the night air felt lighter.
Ahsan broke the silence. "I've never seen anyone lie that convincingly."
AZ chuckled. "Occupational hazard."
"So," Ahsan said, "she gets two years of freedom."
"Yes," AZ replied. "But freedom only matters if she uses it well."
Ahsan smiled faintly. "I think she will."
AZ glanced at him. "By the way, your plan was impressive. That Mollika story? Perfectly believable."
Ahsan sighed. "I used to write stories once."
"Oh?" AZ raised an eyebrow. "What happened?"
"I showed one to an editor."
"And?"
"He read it," Ahsan said quietly, "then threw it into the trash right in front of me."
AZ looked away.
"…Ouch."
One year later, Mishti stood at the edge of a new life.
Her graduation certificate was barely warm in her hands when she stepped into her father's world—not as a daughter, but as a learner. She began assisting Kazi Anwar in his business, observing quietly, asking questions, absorbing everything.
What surprised him wasn't her intelligence alone.
It was her judgment.
She analyzed problems calmly. She listened before speaking. When conflicts arose, she didn't panic—she adapted. Deals that even seasoned executives struggled with, she handled with patience and clarity.
Kazi Anwar watched from a distance, stunned.
When he offered her a high-ranking position in the company, she shook her head.
"I want to start small, Papa," she said. "If I rise, let it be because of my work—not because of my surname."
That was the moment something shifted inside him.
She worked harder than anyone else. Came in early. Left late. Took responsibility when things went wrong and gave credit when things went right. Slowly, steadily, she climbed the ladder—step by step, title by title.
And Kazi Anwar felt something he had never expected to feel.
Pride.
He had once believed he needed a son-in-law to inherit his empire. Someone worthy to carry his name forward.
Now he knew the truth.
He had been wrong.
His heir had been standing before him all along.
Though AZ had forbidden him from bringing up marriage, Kazi Anwar couldn't help himself sometimes. Out of habit. Out of curiosity. Out of a father's concern.
"Do you like anyone?" he asked her one evening.
Mishti smiled—soft, knowing, mischievous.
"I do, Papa."
His eyes lit up instantly. "Really? Who is he?"
She tilted her head, her smile widening.
"A blue-eyed man," she said lightly, "who slapped me three times."
Kazi Anwar froze.
"…What?"
Who would dare raise a hand against his daughter? And more importantly, how could that man be the one she liked?
Mishti simply laughed and walked away, leaving her father alone with his confusion.
The answer, after all, belonged only to her.