Sunny is on his knees at the edge of the flyover, silent tears cutting through the grime on his face.

Mansoor shakes his head. “Sunny, listen to me. The first time, you did it for art. The second time, for revenge. Now? You’re doing it because you like the game. That’s how you die.”

Michael pulls himself onto the concrete. “He killed himself. To protect you. That’s not a victory. That’s a curse.”

“While we were chasing ghosts, three million in fake rupees entered the Surat textile market.”

Sunny’s hands shake as he feeds the next sheet. “No. I’m an artist. And this is my masterpiece.” A knock on Michael’s car window. It’s Feroz’s younger brother, Danish – a boy no one remembered. He holds a crumpled printout.

Zara’s fingers fly over a keyboard. “They’re not tracking the GPS. They’re tracking our engine heat signature. Someone sold us out.”

“Because Sunny got my brother killed. And he didn’t even come to the funeral.”

Hello, just a quick update. Any order placed after 12/8/25 @8pm EST will not ship in time for delivery by Christmas for our USA customers. 

I will take my last order of the year Sunday 12/14/25 @11:59pm EST, so I can prepare to spend time with Friends/Family for the Holidays. 

I may reopen before the New Year, but as of right now I will be closed from 12/15/25-1/1/26

ALL order placed by 12/15/25 will ship before 12/24/25.

Thank you and Happy Holidays!

Farzi Season 1 - Episode 8 -

Sunny is on his knees at the edge of the flyover, silent tears cutting through the grime on his face.

Mansoor shakes his head. “Sunny, listen to me. The first time, you did it for art. The second time, for revenge. Now? You’re doing it because you like the game. That’s how you die.” Farzi Season 1 - Episode 8

Michael pulls himself onto the concrete. “He killed himself. To protect you. That’s not a victory. That’s a curse.” Sunny is on his knees at the edge

“While we were chasing ghosts, three million in fake rupees entered the Surat textile market.” The first time, you did it for art

Sunny’s hands shake as he feeds the next sheet. “No. I’m an artist. And this is my masterpiece.” A knock on Michael’s car window. It’s Feroz’s younger brother, Danish – a boy no one remembered. He holds a crumpled printout.

Zara’s fingers fly over a keyboard. “They’re not tracking the GPS. They’re tracking our engine heat signature. Someone sold us out.”

“Because Sunny got my brother killed. And he didn’t even come to the funeral.”