Hasan leaves the haveli. He walks barefoot for three days to the shrine of a forgotten Sufi saint. There, he prays not for union—but for her safety. “Ya Khuda,” he whispers, “if loving her is a sin, then punish me. But don’t let her light go out.”

Sikandar laughs. “You have nothing to bargain with.”

A close-up of the jasmine flower on the dusty shrine step. The Azaan begins. Fade to black. Tagline: “Ishq ne insaan ko khuda se mila diya.” (Love connected the human to God.)

Meanwhile, Imaan escapes. She finds him at the shrine, gaunt, his feet bleeding. They meet under the green dome. No words. Just tears. She touches his face. He holds her hand as if it’s the Quran .

Hasan’s father begs him to forget her. But Hasan smiles—a broken, beautiful smile. “Abbu, I have tried. But when I close my eyes to pray, I see her face. Is that shirk (idolatry)? Or is that love?”

Sikandar’s men arrive. They drag Imaan away. Hasan tries to run after her—but the shrine’s old caretaker stops him.

Enraged, he doesn’t just fire Hasan. He humiliates him. In front of the entire household staff, Hasan is stripped of his duties, his father’s position threatened. “A caretaker’s son dares to look at my daughter?” Sikandar sneers. “You are not even dust on her shoe.”

Hasan collapses. “Then what is the point of love?”