White Roses Episode 06

 

White Roses as symbol of love 

In the darkness 

 

Yet, it is our courage that we continue to live.

Is life like a poor man's garment

It was 4:30 in the morning. The sound of the call to prayer could be heard in the distance. After performing her prayers, Samaira folded the prayer mat and placed it on the table. When she sat on the bed, she fell asleep again.

Her mobile rang, and when she looked, it was 8 o'clock. She answered the call.

"Hello!" Samaira rubbed her eyes as she listened to the call.

"It seems like you've just woken up!" Behram said on the other side.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine 'now'."

"What happened?" Samaira got up and started getting ready as she was getting late.

"I was sick before, had a very high fever."

"Oh. Did you go to the doctor?" Samaira started preparing her bag.

"Yes, I did."

"Alright. Can I talk to you later?"

"Why?"

"I'm getting late right now. I need to get ready and leave for the hospital." Samaira held her head as she stood.

"Okay, listen!"

"Yes." She was annoyed.

"Can we meet?"

"Please. I'll let you know. Bye." Samaira quickly ended the call.

"I'm so late today. No one even woke me up." She muttered as she fixed the bedsheet. Then, she quickly got ready and left. She looked at the clock. 8:15.

"Oh no." She hurriedly left the room.

"Mom... my tea."

Naheed placed the paratha and tea in front of her.

"No, just the tea." She took a couple of sips of the tea and got ready to leave.

"You'll stay hungry all day; at least eat your meal properly," Naheed said worriedly. Samaira had already left.

She hurriedly took a cab and reached the hospital. She marked her attendance at the reception and quickly entered her room. Walking straight in, she threw her bag on the sofa, turned on the AC, and was about to sit on the chair after removing her veil when she froze at the sight in front of her. Quickly, she covered her face with her dupatta again. Behram was sitting in front of her.

"What is this behavior?" she said angrily. This was the first time; he hadn't seen Samaira yet.

"So sorry," Behram stood up.

"How did you get in here? Get out," Samaira pointed towards the door. Behram noticed her painted nails.

"Listen to me. I'm saying sorry," he tried to explain himself.

"Please, are you leaving or should I call security?" Samaira moved towards the door.

"Just listen to me once, just once."

"Get out!" Samaira glared at him.

Without saying anything, he quickly left. Samaira went outside to the receptionist.

"Who allowed him to enter my room?" she asked angrily.

"Ma'am, he said he was a patient and wanted to see you, so I told him you hadn't arrived yet, and he could wait."

"So you let him sit in the room? He should have waited outside. Don’t make this mistake again," Samaira glared at her.

"Sorry ma'am, the cleaner opened the door to clean, so they let him in," the receptionist explained.

"Whatever the case, be more careful next time," Samaira's nerves began to relax.

"Did he misbehave with you?" Iqra asked softly.

"No, it's just... early in the morning... some strange person..." Samaira shivered.

"You're late today, is everything alright?"

"Yeah, I fell asleep, and my family didn’t wake me up. I still feel sleepy," Samaira said, pressing her head.

"He came before, didn't he?" Iqra asked.

"Who?"

"The one who just left," Iqra indicated with a nod.

"Yes, he came before," Samaira said a bit curtly.

"You didn't send him out then."

"Then? That was a different matter. He was discussing a case..." Samaira stopped.

"What did he come for today?" Iqra was now thoroughly investigating.

"Today? He came to discuss a case again," Samaira made an excuse.

"Then why did he leave so quickly?"

"Ma'am, Dr. Feroze is calling you," a nurse called for Samaira.

"I'm coming," Samaira said and left with her.

"May I come in, sir?" Samaira asked for permission before entering.

Dr. Feroze was a senior doctor, around fifty-five years old, wearing large glasses, and walked with a limp.

"Come in, have a seat," Dr. Feroze gestured to the chair for Samaira.

"So, Samaira... there's been a complaint about you."

This statement made Samaira feel the ground shift beneath her feet. She was stunned.

"You think you can handle the hospital? You? What are you?"

Samaira couldn't understand anything. She had only joined a few months ago, so what kind of complaint could this be? She lowered her head.

Kashan entered with medical reports.

"Tell me, did you hear what I asked?" Dr. Feroze's tone was stern.

"What happened?" Kashan looked at Samaira.

"I don't know," Samaira expressed her ignorance.

"First, you call the patient to your room and then insult him by throwing him out?"

Samaira raised her eyebrows. So, this was the matter.

"I didn't call anyone, nor did I insult or throw anyone out," Samaira replied.

"Really? So, you didn't throw anyone out? Did you fulfill your duty?"

"Yes," she said confidently, standing up. Kashan was still there.

"Here, take this," Dr. Feroze handed her a letter. "Take it... a warning letter. And I'll inform your father too. Right now."

This was a threat. The first threat she received for being sincere with her career. It was a slap in the face from the authorities. She stood there, watching, then took the letter.

She walked out with heavy steps and returned to her room. She wiped the corner of her eye with her dupatta and drank some water.

She opened the letter.

"Miss Samaira,

You are being issued a warning due to your misconduct with a patient and lack of punctuality. If there are any more complaints or inappropriate behavior towards patients in the future, you may be suspended from your job. Please take special care of this matter."

She closed the letter and placed it in her bag, wiping the sweat from her forehead.

"I will inform your father too," Dr. Feroze's words echoed in her ears. She started to cry.

Her career was at stake. How could she make such a big mistake by throwing Behram out? Maybe he was behind all this?

For a moment, she thought about apologizing to Behram but then stopped. There was a knock on the door. Kashan entered.

"Hmm? Did you need something?" Samaira asked with a smile.

"No, I came to ask what’s going on? Did you really throw a patient out disrespectfully?"

"No. I just scolded him a little. I had written him a prescription, and when he didn’t understand it, he kept coming back to bother me every day," she started lying, her words faltering a bit.

"Then you should have told Dr. Feroze about all this."

"Yes. I was thinking of resigning from the job. Maybe I'll look for something else," she said in a tired voice, as if she had already given up.

"No, no," Kashan shook his head. He disagreed with her decision. "Try another option."

"What else can I do? There might be no other way."

"Think about it; maybe you'll find one." Kashan picked up a showpiece from the table to look at it.

The door opened. A nurse came in.

"Now what?" Samaira was irritated.

"Dr. Feroze said to inform you that you have the late night duty today," the nurse said.

"What? But why? That's not according to the schedule," Samaira said, standing with a displeased expression.

"That's what he told me," the nurse replied and left.

Samaira sat back down.

Kashan noticed she was extremely worried.

"I've already got a headache," she said, on the verge of tears.

"I'll get you a painkiller," Kashan handed her a tablet and a glass of water. Samaira took the tablet and finished the water.

"Let's go, or else Feroze will come here himself," Samaira put on her abaya and walked out with Kashan. They both entered the children's ward.

Dr. Feroze, overseeing the ward, approached them. The sounds of crying children filled the room.

"You were informed about your late night duty today, right?" Dr. Feroze's voice made Samaira turn.

"Yes," she responded, forcing herself to stay calm and composed.

"Learn to be sincere with your profession," he began lecturing her on ethics. Samaira blocked out his words and continued to check on the children. One child had chickenpox and was crying in pain. Samaira approached him.

She gave him an injection and applied medicine to the sores.

Dr. Feroze followed her closely. She continued with her work, ignoring the fact that Dr. Feroze was watching her and standing right behind her.

When the princes were imprisoned by the magician,

That chapter of the tale is about to pass.

In the evening, Kashan entered Samaira's room while making a round of the hospital. She was sitting with her head on the table, looking defeated. Kashan placed his hand on her head, and she straightened up. Kashan dragged a chair and sat down on the other side of the table.

"I was leaving. Do you need anything?"

"No. I just called my sister-in-law and informed her that I won't be coming home tonight." She was very tired, and sleepiness was evident in her eyes.

"Samaira, I was saying that if you want, I can talk to Dr. Feroze? Maybe he'll listen."

"No, let it be. It will only give him more reason to think I don't do my job properly."

"Alright, as you wish." He stood up to leave.

"Should I stay?" He turned back for a moment, not sure why.

"No, there's no need for this formality." Samaira smiled gently.

"What formality?"

"Thanks." She seemed relieved. Kashan left.

Outside, there was now a male receptionist on night duty instead of the female one. People were coming and going. Kashan left the hospital.

Samaira sat alone in her room for quite a while. Then she got up and went outside. She picked up the register on the reception desk and checked the list of night duties for tonight. The entire staff was male, and she was the only female among them. She felt like crying. She didn't know any of them.

"Rude, Dr. Feroze has no manners." She felt like tearing the register apart but went back to her room.

"Should I call my father to come and get me?" She thought while crying.

"No. If he comes, Dr. Feroze will show him my warning letter." She wiped her tears.

She took out her mobile from her bag and dialed a number.

"As-salamu Alaikum, Behram."

"Behram! Hearing my name from you made my heart happy. By the way, Wa Alaikum Assalam. How are you? How come you remembered this humble one?" Behram said, sounding somewhat enthusiastic.

"Sorry, Behram..." Tears started to stream down her cheeks.

"Why? For what?" He sounded concerned.

"I humiliated you and kicked you out of the hospital. For that, I'm sorry."

"I didn't mind it." He smiled.

"Behram... please, sorry. Please." She was saying with difficulty, trying to hold back her emotions.

"Are you crying?" Behram noticed the tremor in her voice. "Wait, I'm coming. Where are you right now?" He said hurriedly, starting his car.

"I'm at the hospital. Please don't come. Just forgive me. It won't happen again. Please." She started pleading. Behram ended the call. He was coming.

Samaira came outside. All the doctors were now on duty.

"Ma'am, sir has called you to the meeting room." A worker came to call her. Samaira nodded and headed towards the waiting room. Breathing felt difficult. She opened the door to the meeting room and went inside. Eight male doctors were seated around a rectangular table, with Dr. Feroze sitting in front.

"Come, sit."

Samaira sat down.

"This is Samaira. From now on, she will be doing night duty with you all." Dr. Feroze introduced Samaira.

"Excuse me, sir! How can I work the whole day and then..." 

"Do you get your full salary?" Dr. Feroze interrupted her angrily. "Do you get your full salary? Tell me."

"Yes."

"Then you have to fulfill your duty as well. If you can't handle it, we can give you a suspension letter."

She lowered her head. She felt anger rising within her.

"If that's the case, sir, then you also get your full salary. I work eight full hours. Sometimes if the case is complicated, I even work overtime. Am I still guilty?"

"Learn to use your hands along with your words. You may go now," Dr. Feroze said as he got up and left the room.

"I’m new here, and the doctors here aren't cooperative," Dr. Faizan, who was sitting next to her, looked up from his mobile and addressed Samaira. "And this is unfair—one female among twelve male doctors."

"Ma'am, there's a patient for you," a nurse said, peeking through the door.

"Go, or the letter is ready," Dr. Faizan said with a slight laugh.

Samaira entered the room. Behram was standing there.

"Assalamualaikum, please sit," Samaira gestured towards a chair.

"You sit as well." Behram looked at her as she stood to his left.

"Okay." She pulled out her chair and sat down.

"Would you like anything? Tea, juice, water... or something else?" she asked cautiously.

"No, no. You tell me, is there something wrong?" he inquired.

"No. Is there something you need to discuss? If anything I said upset you, I’m sorry."

It was the fifth time she was apologizing. Behram looked at her in confusion. There were tears in her eyes, and her voice was trembling.

"Why? What happened, Samaira?"

"Please, I need this job. Don’t get me suspended."

"What are you talking about, Samaira?"

"You mentioned my behavior to the seniors, the incident from this morning, and they gave me a warning letter. Behram... please take back your complaint," she pleaded.

"I did? I would complain? About you? Samaira, how could you even think that?" Behram's eyes filled with disbelief. Samaira looked at him, crying.

"I... I ...," he stopped while saying, clenching his fists in frustration. "Why would I... want to hurt you?"

"Behram..." Samaira looked at him with wounded eyes as he averted his gaze.

"I came to tell you this morning that there's a conspiracy against you in this hospital, and you..."

"A conspiracy? What kind of conspiracy?"

Behram pointed to the clock on the wall, where it was ten o'clock.

"But why would anyone do that?" She asked.

"So that they weaken you before you can climb the ladder of success and reach a senior position. And I suspect it's all orchestrated by Dr. Kashan..." Behram planted seeds of doubt in Samaira's mind. Her attention shifted from Behram towards Kashan.

"If I refused marriage, did she resort to this move?" she pondered.

"And regarding the warning letter, I'll speak up for you, nothing will happen, don't worry," he reassured her. Samaira nodded in agreement.

"They won't be able to issue any warning to you, nor can they suspend you."

"But they've assigned me the late-night duty now, despite my working hours ending, and the entire male staff is here," Samaira conveyed anxiously.

"Don't worry about that either, I'll sort it out. You can trust me," he said confidently.

"I can stay tonight if you're comfortable with all of them... You can trust me, I'm not bad. You can consider me your savior, you can rely on me." Behram showed quite a bit of casualness.

Samaira bit her lip, seemed a bit confused, and then nodded with a slight shake of her head.

"Sorry and thanks", she smiled.

"For whom?" He smiled back.

"Sorry for the morning talk... and thanks for staying the night."

"Anytime for you. I can stay for the whole life. It's just a few hours."

Samaira kept looking at him.

He sat there for quite a while. Samaira was on duty outside. When she returned, she saw it was 1a.m. Behram was lying asleep on the sofa.

She picked up her bag and left. In the children's ward, a woman was sitting with her child. Samaira approached and stood beside her.

"Are you want to sleep?" the woman asked.

"Yes."

"Here you go." The woman made room on the adjacent stretcher, and Samaira lay down there. Sleep overcame her swiftly. She fell into a deep slumber. Outside, a gentle breeze was blowing, and clouds drifted across the night sky. The night progressed.

From these centuries-old dream-afflicted cities,

The sun of the world is about to pass through.

It was eight o'clock at night. Outside, there was a heavy downpour. Gul-e-Lala and Ayesha were watching some TV show on the LCD. Aneesa, with her feet up on the chair, was eating popcorn. A laptop was in her lap. When she pressed the Enter key, a list appeared in front of her.

She read the top name: Malikah, then Aneesa, followed by Gul-e-Lala, and then Jawad, and then she stopped. Popcorn started falling down.

She quickly opened her email. She started reading Malikah's email again.

"My marks are ten less than yours. You are smarter than me, Aneesa."

So why was Malikah's name at the top? Aneesa opened the list again.

"Why, Malikah?" She got angry. "Malikah is taking my place. This is my place, I should be at the top. Malikah even had two marks less than Gul-e-Lala." Aneesa touched Malikah's name.

She closed the laptop and sat on the sofa with Ayesha. They were watching some Pashto show.

"Pashto? I don't understand it. Change the channel." Aneesa shuddered and changed the channel.

"Do you like watching mother-in-law and daughter-in-law dramas?" Ayesha asked.

"No."

"So, what do you watch?"

"I like those dramas more where there isn't a happy ending, where two lovers never meet. And those dramas where there's murder or they are full of thrill and mystery."

"But such Pakistani dramas are very few. Mostly they show love stories," Gul-e-Lala interrupted her.

"Yes, that's true," Aneesa smiled.

"And what do you both like?" Aneesa asked them.

"I also like things related to thrill and mystery, where there's a murder, and the killer remains hidden."

"And sometimes the killer is the one searching for the killer without even knowing it," Aneesa interrupted him excitedly.

"Yes, exactly," Gul-e-Lala laughed.

"And I like that kind of killer who stays alive till the end and has the skill to make everyone dance to his tune." Aneesa said. 

"And I like the police officer who uses his intelligence to trap and encounter the killer."

"Hmmm. That happens a lot too."

Ayesha, with her arms folded, was quietly listening to their conversation with a smile.

"Gul-e-Lala says he wants to become a big officer," Ayesha said, smiling at Gul-e-Lala.

"Really? What kind of officer?" Aneesa asked in surprise, looking at Ayesha and then at Gul-e-Lala.

"An officer of grade seventeen or eighteen," Ayesha replied, looking at Aneesa. Aneesa was biting her lip, lost in thought. Ayesha got up and went to the room. Now, only Gul-e-Lala and Aneesa were sitting there. Some drama was playing on the LCD. Gul-e-Lala was focused on the LCD. Aneesa was lost in her thoughts, looking at the showpiece on the table. She sat up straight at the sound of thunder outside.

There were still two days left until the 6th of September. And six days left until the 10th of September.

"Should I meet Malikah or not? If... If I don't go, she might feel bad. I will go," she was thinking.

"Gul Lala..." Aneesa turn toward Gul-e-Lala. 

"Yes?" Gul-e-Lala replied while watching the screen.

"The parade is in two days. Will you and Ayesha come with me?"

"Where will the parade be?" Gul-e-Lala asked.

"At Minar-e-Pakistan."

"Yes, we'll go if we're not busy," Gul-e-Lala smiled.

"Busy?"

"Yes, Ayesha needs some stuff. I need to take her to the shop."

"I'll come too. It will be fun with you guys," she said excitedly.

"Okay," he could only smile at her response.

"Did you get the list?" Gul-e-Lala asked Aneesa, who was now going to the room. She stopped.

"Yes."

"Whose name was at the top?" Gul-e-Lala turned off the screen. Aneesa sat back down. She was now sitting on the sofa across from him.

"Some girl named Malikah. She was at the top," Aneesa said in a low voice.

"Oh. I thought I would be. That means I'm in second place," he said happily.

Aneesa glared at him.

"My name is in second place, and you, dear, are in third."

"What? You? Second place?" He was surprised. "Okay, okay."

"Yes. Can I go now?"

"Yes. I'm going too."

After Aneesa left, he turned off the room light and went to lie down in his room.

It was still raining outside. Gul-e-Lala, covered with a blanket, was trying to sleep. He began to try to understand the reality of words. Old scenes kept playing in his mind like a film. The tough times, the hardships of that time. The hard work of their father. Childhood wishes and desires, which were still unfulfilled. Somewhere in the distance, he needed a place to rest in the shadow.

I stand here, drenched in tears,

The darkness of lifetimes is calling me.

Ten Years Ago

City: Mouch

In a settlement of mud houses, many homes were inhabited. One after another, where a feudal system prevailed. Among these houses was one where two children were playing. A woman was purifying clay in the kiln to make pots. A man, Shah Jamal(people called him Jamala), was sitting under the shed, making pots from clay. Two girls were making bread on the tandoor. The door opened, and a young man entered.

“Hey Gulzar, son, take these away,” the man making the pots called to the young man who was about twenty years old. Gulzar put the prepared clay pots on the wheelbarrow, opened the door, and went out.

“Fareeha, close the door,” Gulzar called to his elder sister as he left. Fareeha closed the door and returned to the tandoor.

The sound of children playing echoed throughout the house.

Fareeha and Zarmina entered the room, carrying roti. Ayesha and Gul-e-Lala left their game and followed them into the room.

“The roti is ready, the roti is ready,” they both began to break the roti.

“Wait, I’ll give you some sugar. Eat it with that,” Zarmina said, taking the sugar container and sprinkling sugar on the bread for them. They made rolls of the roti with sugar and started eating.

“You gave them the sugar? What will you give to our son-in-law when he comes?” their mother shouted from outside.

“Oh, Amma... it’s okay. What if he doesn’t eat for one day? Nothing will happen,” Zarmina rolled up her sleeves and started washing dishes at the tap.

“Sakina, oh Sakina!” A woman from the neighborhood, Nirma, entered their house.

Sakina, who was stoking the fire in the kiln, came out.

"I heard your daughter topped her exams, congratulations Sakina." Nirma lifted the corner of her cloth where some money was tied and placed a hundred-rupee note in Sakina's hand. Gul-e-Lala saw his mother accepting the money. Nirma then sat on the charpoy. Zarmina joined her, and they started chatting.

"How's your husband?" Nirma asked Zarmina, who had recently gotten married.

"He's good."

"And how are your in-laws?" she asked, with the edge of her dupatta in her mouth, sitting with one leg on the charpoy.

"They're good too."

"Really? I heard they are arranging your sister-in-law's wedding. When is it?" Nirma inquired.

"I don't know yet," Zarmina smiled slightly.

"Oh, sure. Why would you tell us? We're outsiders after all," Nirma turned her face away.

"No, khala, it's nothing like that."

Just then, Zarmina's husband, Mustafa, entered. Zarmina got up and followed him into the room. She filled a glass of water and handed it to him.

"Are you ready? I came to pick you up," Mustafa said, taking a sip of water and looking at Zarmina.

"Yes. I'll inform Abba and Amma that you're here," she said without making eye contact with Mustafa and went outside.

"Is your husband here to take you?" Nirma stopped her as she was going to call her father in the shed.

"Yes, khala."

"What's he riding?"

"By God's grace, my husband has his own car," Zarmina replied modestly and then went to the shed.

"God really bestows upon anyone," Nirma muttered.

"Abba, Mustafa is here," Zarmina informed Shah Jamal. Shah Jamal washed his hands in a bucket, dried them, and went to the room where Mustafa was sitting.

"Asalam Alaikum, son," Shah Jamal greeted Mustafa.

"WalaikumAssalam, Uncle," Mustafa replied, standing up with a smile before sitting down again.

"Bring something to eat," Shah Jamal said to Zarmina, knowing there was nothing to eat at home, but still maintaining the courtesy.

"No, Uncle. I'll be going. I just came to pick up Zarmina," Mustafa said, aware of their situation.

Zarmina wrapped a large dupatta around herself, gathered her belongings, and went with him. Outside, Gul-e-Lala was circling around the car, looking at the large vehicle with longing. Zarmina and Mustafa smiled as they saw him.

"If you study, you'll get a big car like this," Mustafa patted his head affectionately before getting into the car. Zarmina and Mustafa left, leaving behind a new source of motivation.

Wherever they went, they heard people saying that Jamala was educating his children despite not having much money. Zarmina was also well-educated and well-mannered, which probably helped her find a good husband. Fate had smiled upon them. When God decides to bless, He doesn't distinguish between the rich and the poor.

After Nirma left, Gul-e-Lala ran to Sakina.

"Amma, why did khala give you money?"

"Your sister passed, didn't she? That's why," Sakina said as she started adding water to the clay.

"If I pass, will I get money too?" he asked innocently, sitting down next to his mother.

"Yes."

"What are you doing here, Gul-e-Lala? Come here. You need to study. Don't you have school in the morning?" Fareeha appeared, holding a stick, looking for Gul-e-Lala. He quickly got up and ran to the room. He immediately grabbed his bag, took out his book, and started studying. Ayesha was already sitting on the mat, engrossed in her lessons. Fareeha also sat down with her books to study alongside them.

Evening was setting in. Fareeha set up five charpoys outside. Gulzar came home after closing the shop. Fareeha soaked the leftover roti from the morning and put it on the griddle. The dry bread started to feel fresh again. There were eight pieces of roti in the basket.

Each sibling took one piece of bread, and Shah Jamal and Sakina took two each.

After dinner, everyone started preparing for bed. Ayesha and Fareeha lay on one charpoy, with Sakina's charpoy next to theirs, followed by Gul-e-Lala's. On the charpoy next to Gul-e-Lala, Gulzar sat reading by the light of a lamp. Gul-e-Lala watched the flame of the lamp, rising upward.

"Why is the fire going upward? How is the fire burning? Why is it bright? How can Gulzar see the letters in his book by its light? Why doesn't the fire shine during the day? Why only at night? My mother and father get tired of lighting fires all day, why don't they get any light?" A stream of questions kept coming to Gul-e-Lala's mind.

In the dark night, only the sounds of crickets and barking dogs could be heard. Gulzar was writing in his notebook, balancing it on his knee. Jamal's coughing echoed through the night. He was coughing heavily. Gulzar got up, fetched some water from the clay pot, and gave it to Jamal. After drinking the water, Jamal felt somewhat relieved and lay back down on his bed. Fareeha, propping herself up on her elbow, watched her father and then lay back down.

The only respite from the day's hustle and bustle is a night to rest, and even that is spent in thoughts and worries.

What kind of enchantment is this, why do I sob all night?

Who is it that is burning me in the lamps?

Hand in hand, they were walking together. The strong wind and light raindrops were falling on them. Behram was wearing a shirt with white buttons and had his jacket draped over his shoulder. Due to the strong wind, Samaira's hair and dupatta were flying. The dupatta was fluttering in front of Behram's chest. Samaira was trying to manage her hair with one hand, which kept touching Behram's face repeatedly.

"Let your hair touch my face, don't move them away," Behram said lovingly, looking at Samaira. Samaira blushed and smiled.

The cold gusts of wind were bringing peace to Behram life, a peace that came from being with Samaira.

Suddenly, a strong gust of wind came, and the dupatta flew away from Samaira's neck.

"Oh no," Samaira extended her hand, but the dupatta was falling far away.

Behram wrapped his jacket around her shoulders and pulled her close. Now, he bent down and kissed her cheek. Behram took Samaira's beautiful face in his hands, turned her gaze towards him, and smiled. The raindrops were falling on their faces.

"Behram loves you immensely. My heart desires only you. This heart," (Behram placed Samaira's hand on his heart) "beats only for you."

"Are you happy?" Behram asked lovingly, looking into Samaira's eyes.

"With you," Samaira stood on her toes and kissed Behram's forehead. Behram pulled her closer and hugged her.

The rain was getting heavier, and they stopped near the car. Behram opened the door, and Samaira sat inside. Behram closed the car door.

Thud.

"Behram, son, wake up. It's morning," Jahana Ara entered the room and drew the curtains. It was raining outside. Waseem placed a mug of coffee on the side table and left.

"Was it a dream? What a beautiful dream. Samaira was with me," Behram stretched and rolled his neck.

"Come, son, Kausar is setting the breakfast table. Come," Jahana Ara smiled and left the room.

Behram got up and looked out the window. It was raining, and a cool breeze was blowing. He felt a sense of peace. Everything was there, except her. Behram closed his eyes and took a deep breath. In every vision, Samaira was standing beside him.

"I want you to be with me at every step of life," he said, eyes closed, immersing himself in tranquility. He stood by the window, sipping coffee for a long time.

Furqan's call came; he connected it to Bluetooth and started listening.

"Yes, Furqan, tell me the news," Behram said, looking outside, holding the coffee mug in his hand.

"Sir, there's bad news. Junaid has found out that the file didn't go to Colonel Mysore but came to us instead. He will come to you."

"Hmmm. Let him come. I'll make special preparations for him," Behram smiled while drinking his coffee.

"And sir..." Furqan hesitated.

"Speak up, Furqan, what's the matter?"

"Sir, Kashmala filed a petition in court... it has been approved. She appealed that Burhan should be subjected to hard labor in prison."

"What?" Behram was shocked. He placed the coffee mug on the table.

"Yes, sir. I just found out about it today."

"Okay, I'm leaving for court right now. You also reach Lahore," Behram started getting ready quickly. He showered and came out in fifteen minutes. He rubbed his wet hair dry with a towel and threw the towel on the bed. The room was a mess. He wore a shirt and coat, put on cufflinks, styled his hair, grabbed his laptop, and hurriedly went downstairs.

Kausar was setting the breakfast table with Jahana Ara, who was eating an omelet.

"Come, Behram... sit down and have breakfast," she said, smiling artificially at Behram.

"No, Mom, I'm running late for something important." He quickly left the house.

Due to the rain, there was less traffic on the road. He was driving quickly.

"Who knows what condition Burhan might be in? If Mom finds out, she'll be devastated, and Dad will be angry too." He was driving fast, stressed out.

"It seems Kashmala has a death wish. What does she want? I can't understand her."

After about a three-hour drive, he stopped outside the Lahore High Court. He went inside, picked up some documents, and returned to his car.

A little later, he stopped the car outside the Central Jail. Taking long strides, he entered the jail. The jailer saluted as soon as he saw him.

"Send Burhan, I need to meet him."

The jailer went inside. Burhan was lying on the ground, staring at the ceiling. His hair was messy, and his white kurta was stained with dirt in several places. Another man was lying beside him.

"Get up, someone has come to meet you," the jailer said loudly.

"Her? Kashmala?"

"No, sir, it's your brother who has come." The jailer unlocked the cell door and brought Burhan out.

Burhan was walking down the corridor. In front of him stood a man with his back turned to Burhan. When he turned around, Burhan saw that it was Behram.

"Brother!" Burhan looked at Behram in surprise.

Behram saw Burhan, who looked like a beggar in his current state. Only four or five months of the first year had passed, and he was already in this condition. In ten years, he would be even worse... Behram shook off the thought.

"What is this?" Behram looked in disbelief.

"Brother, these tyrants have beaten me a lot. Kashmala came and said they would torture me daily. Brother, I can't stay here. Why don't you do something?"

"What can I do, Burhan? I've tried everything possible."

"Please, brother, please."

"Okay, I've submitted an application. They won't beat you now," Behram reassured him. Behram walked with him to the cell where Burhan had been kept during his imprisonment. It was a cramped cell. Behram looked at the wall where something was etched, a drawing that was incomplete.

"Is this supposed to be you?" Behram pointed to the wall.

"Yes..." Before he could say more, the jailer came and locked him back in the cell. Behram was still standing there.

"Don't worry, they won't harm you now," Behram reassured him. "If you need anything, let me know, and I'll send it to you."

"Okay, brother."

As Behram started to leave, Burhan kept watching him, his eyes fixed on Behram until he disappeared from sight.

When Behram came outside, he saw Furqan standing next to his car. As soon as Furqan saw Behram, he approached him.

"Sir, are you alright?" Furqan asked. Behram's face looked quite pale.

"Hmmm." Behram got into the car. Furqan also got in the car with Behram. They were slowly driving on the road.

"Sir, how is Burhan?" Furqan asked, looking at Behram, whose face was tense. He seemed sad.

"He's not well, Furqan."

"So, sir, what now?"

"What now? I've submitted the application. I'll visit again in a few days. Tell me, any new news... Has there been any movement from Junaid's side?" Behram turned the car steering and took a turn.

"Yes, sir... Junaid has saved all the data on another laptop as well."

"What?" Another frown appeared on his forehead.

"Yes, sir. If we get hold of that laptop once, we can destroy everything."

"But how will we get the laptop?"

"Sir, your task can be done by either Fateh or Malikah," Furqan said confidently.

"Why would they do it? Are they capable of it? They're just kids."

"The person whose laptop Junaid has saved our contract data on is also just a kid."

"What do you mean?" Behram asked, surprised.

"Sir, leave this task to me. You just prepare Malikah or Fateh."

"Fateh is not here. I'll talk to Malikah." Behram massaged his neck. Furqan smiled slightly.

"Where can we find Junaid?" Behram asked, seemingly struck by a thought.

"He was at the Nakkah of Kashmala's brother-in-law on Friday. He might be back by now."

"Really? I didn't know about this."

"Kashmala's brother-in-law married Batool."

"Really? Is that true?"

"Yes."

"And Junaid? Is he married?"

"No, sir, not yet. He might get married soon," Furqan said as Behram kept asking.

"Do you have Junaid's contact number?"

"Maybe... if not, I can find out."

"Okay, text it to me."

"Okay, sir."

Behram dropped Furqan at his house and drove the car towards University Road. He stopped the car in front of palace and honked. The guard opened the gate. The car entered. There were already three cars parked in the garage. Behram parked the car outside the garage and entered palace. Light rain was still falling like a drizzle.

He looked around the lounge but found no one. Iftikhar was coming out of the kitchen.

"Where is Auntie?"

"Sultana Begum has gone to the salon," the servant replied with folded hands and a bowed head.

"Oh. And no one else is at home?"

"Amar Bibi is here. In her room." Iftikhar pointed upstairs.

"Alright. Please call Malikah." Behram sat down on the couch.

"Very well. Would you like anything to eat?" Behram shook his head, and Iftikhar went to call Malikah.

"Behram!" Amar exclaimed happily and quickly came down the stairs towards Behram. Behram looked up at her.

"Oh, it's you. I thought it was Malikah," Behram lowered his head again. Amar sat on the sofa in front of him.

"How are you, Behram? Did you need something?" she asked enthusiastically.

"Yes, I need to talk to Malikah." Just then, Malikah entered the room.

"What is it about?" Amar asked instinctively.

Behram stood up when he saw Malikah.

"Malikah, I need to talk to you."

"Yes, go ahead. I'm listening."

"In private," Behram glanced at Amar. The color drained from her face, and only one thought crossed her mind. What could be so important that it couldn't be discussed in her presence?

Behram took Malikah to the back part of palace, where a small bungalow could be seen among the small houses in the distance.

"Malikah, can you do something for me?" Behram asked cautiously.

"Yes, tell me. If I can do it, I will," she smiled.

"I need a laptop."

"But I don't have a laptop," she said, puzzled.

"I know. I need the laptop of that girl Fateh mentioned to you once," Behram reminded her. He didn't know everything, but he knew enough.

"That girl... who is my friend?" Malikah's smiling face suddenly faded.

"Yes, that one."

"Alright, I'll talk to Fateh," she replied with a heavy heart.

"Don't forget. I really need that laptop."

"Okay," she said, forcing a sad smile.

"Thank you for helping me," Behram smiled and started heading back into the main part of palace. Malikah watched him. Need. Habit. Love.

"Hey... Behram," Malikah called out. Behram turned to face her.

"What's on that laptop?" Malikah asked loudly. He was standing a little far away.

"It's mine," Behram lied and walked back into palace. Inside, something nagged at him, but he ignored it. He considered it necessary to extinguish one flame to light another. Burning within himself, he left palace.

I did not start this battle for myself,

I will seat you on the throne, and then I will leave.

The sky was covered with light clouds. It hadn't rained yet. The weather was cool, and a cold breeze was blowing, making the heat almost negligible.

Today was the day when the martyrs had sacrificed their lives, winning the country from the enemy, and protecting the honor of their mothers, sisters, and daughters with their blood. There was a crowd at Minar-e-Pakistan. The chairs were filled with people. Patriotic songs and anthems were echoing. Airplanes were painting the sky with colors. The military began giving salutes to the martyrs with cannons. The day was still ahead.

Aneesa quickly ran and sat in the first row. Security called out to her, but she ignored them.

The seventeen-gun salute began. Aneesa's eyes were fixed on the airplanes flying above, right over their heads.

"Ah," she sighed with longing, looking at everyone. The display of Pakistani weaponry was ongoing. Soldiers were marching in honor of the martyrs. Junaid was among them. She could see Junaid. He was marching at the front with the Sword of Honor in hand, shouting some slogan.

A man and a woman’s voices could be heard as they addressed the public live, introducing guests and the families of the martyrs.

Ayesha and Gul-e-Lala were seated in the back rows. Ayesha was holding Aneesa’s leftover popcorn packet.

"That's my brother," Aneesa told the man sitting next to her with excitement. He glared at her, but she was busy clapping. Both her cheeks were painted with the Pakistani flag, and she held small flags in both hands. He took one look at Aneesa's face. He was Ibrahim Sikander, the IG. Ibrahim Sikander then looked ahead. Now he was watching the soldiers, who were carrying bouquets of flowers forward. Two soldiers were playing the bugle in front, and behind them, soldiers were marching in two rows. This scene continued for quite some time. There was also a display of weapons and aircraft. This scene was being broadcast live on TV.

The ceremony ended, and everyone began returning to their homes. Aneesa stayed seated, waiting for Junaid. Ayesha and Gul-e-Lala stood beside her.

"You both go. I'll come later," Aneesa handed them the car keys. They left. She waited for Junaid for quite some time. When Junaid finally got free, they both headed towards the car.

"You could have left. No need to trouble yourself," Junaid smiled slightly.

"No, walking with you increases my value. People see that I'm Captain Junaid Khan's sister," Aneesa said, raising her head proudly. Junaid laughed. They both reached the car. Junaid took the driving seat. The four of them then entered Anarkali, where Ayesha had some shopping to do. Half an hour passed buying things in Anarkali. When they got home, it was three in the afternoon. Because the sun hadn't come out, they couldn't tell the time. The clouds grew thicker, and then it started raining.

"It's good we got home on time, otherwise we'd be soaked," Aneesa said, watching the heavy rain. Junaid parked the car in the garage. They got out and entered the house.

"Why did you put paint on your face? You'll get a reaction," Mahenoor said as soon as she saw Aneesa. Aneesa looked at Junaid.

"Do you see?" she said to Junaid quietly, annoyed.

"Yes, I see. It's okay. You should wash it off too."

Aneesa went to her room and looked in the mirror.

"It looks good," Ayesha smiled.

"Really?" Aneesa touched her cheeks.

"Yes. But wash your face now. You don't want to get a reaction."

"Mahenoor was saying the same thing, but..." she stopped mid-sentence. "Well, I'll wash it off." She came to the washroom and stood in front of the basin. The door was open, so Ayesha could see her. Aneesa gently wet her face, rubbed a little soap on her cheeks, and started to lather. The green paint spread. She looked at Ayesha and laughed. The soap was only on her cheeks. She looked at the green foam on her fingers and smiled. She was playfully washing her face.

"Mahenoor is coming," Ayesha called out quickly. Aneesa splashed water on her face and washed it off before stepping outside.

"Where is Mahenoor?" Aneesa looked around.

"It was a joke," Ayesha laughed.

"Ugh. Can't a person even enjoy themselves?" Aneesa sat on the bed. She turned on her mobile and saw a message from Omar received at seven in the morning.

"Will you go to Minar-e-Pakistan with me?"

Aneesa turned off the phone and picked up her laptop. There were two emails from Malikah. She opened and read them one by one.

1. "I will have short hair, a black dress, and black heels. I will recognize you. Don't wear an abaya, and bring your laptop. I will recognize you by the laptop."

2. "Do you feel that there was something in life that you deserved but were deprived of? If you were deprived, how did it feel? Did life end or begin anew? How do you feel?"

"What? What kind of question is this?" she wondered, raising her eyebrows.

"Not even exams ask such questions," she shuddered and began typing her response.

Asalam Alaikum Malikah,

I thought you were a good person. But perhaps you are just like the ordinary people in my life who have used me. You lied too. You deceived me. You played a double game with me. You took my place, Malikah. Where my name should have been at the top of the list, your name is there. Why? My father is not an influencer for me, but perhaps yours is. I am hurt... but never mind. Now, just give me the reason.

I had also wanted to be at the top once. Where no one else could compete with me. But on my own merit, not by pushing others down. Everyone thought my father had recommended me. But my father... I wish someone could understand me. Someone who understands only me. Who loves me more than my relationships and friends. Cherishes me. Perhaps someday...

I hate lies and deceit in friendships and relationships. I can give my life for my loved ones, but deceit? Don't even think about it. I will talk to you about the rest face-to-face. Take care. Allah Hafiz.

Aneesa sent the email and closed the laptop. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the bed's headboard. The sound of rain was audible. Heavy rain.

There is no healer for shattered glass,

What hope are you holding on to?

Outside the palace, Malikah was sitting and staring at the empty floor, where ants were scurrying into their nests carrying something in their mouths. Resting one cheek on her knee, she was lost in thought. The sound of a horn was heard outside. Ibrahim Sikander’s car entered the palace. She stood up. The car stopped in front of Malikah. Ibrahim Sikander got out. He had come to Lahore to attend the ceremony. He smiled at Malikah upon seeing her.

"How are you, dear?" he asked while buttoning his coat and walking inside. Malikah followed behind him.

"Uncle, I am fine," she replied respectfully with a smile.

"Do you go to university?"

"Not yet, I have to go on the 13th."

Now they both entered the lounge. Ibrahim crossed one leg over the other and sat on a single sofa. Malikah, with decorum, sat on the chair in front of him. Qasim entered.

"Sir, do you need anything?"

"Yes... bring two glasses of juice." Qasim nodded at Ibrahim's request and obediently turned back.

"And tell me... have you spoken to Fateh?" Ibrahim asked, placing his hands on the arms of the sofa, his posture reflecting his wealth and authority.

"Yes, Uncle. Sometimes, but very rarely."

"What does he say?"

"He misses you a lot," Malikah said, causing Ibrahim to shake his head.

"Next time he calls, tell him that if he loves his father, he should listen to his father." Malikah bowed her head, feeling sad.

"Do you need anything?" he asked while dialing a number on his mobile.

"No," she replied with a faint smile.

Qasim placed two glasses of juice in front of them and then left. Malikah picked up one glass and offered it to Ibrahim Sikander.

"One should always remember their place and never forget it," Ibrahim said as he took the glass. Malikah stood still, staring at him. She felt as if someone had tried to break her spirit once again in this palace.

"I am sorry, dear... I wasn't talking about you. I made a general statement," Ibrahim quickly corrected himself. He sipped his juice slowly.

"Today, I met a girl... she seemed overconfident," he said, recalling the encounter. Malikah smiled slightly at his words.

"Where is Sultana?" he asked as he stood up.

"In her room... Sultana Begum," she replied, lost in thought on the sofa.

"Call her Aunty," he said, smiling as he walked towards his room.

Malikah looked around. This glass palace was beautiful but fragile, just a stone's throw away from shattering. A lump formed in her throat, and she felt breathless. She ran outside the palace towards the right side, where the servants lived. Her breath gradually steadied. Due to the rain, there was water on the veranda, but everything was clean. She dragged a chair outside and sat in the rain. Maybe this water could wash away all the sorrow, grief, differences, stains, and burdens... wash them away... erase something. Repair something broken. Something.

Ibrahim carefully stepped into the room and saw Sultana lying on the bed, sleeping. She stirred and woke up at the sound of his footsteps. Despite her age, his wife still looked somewhat youthful. Ibrahim sat on the other side of the bed and looked at her.

"Still waking up at the slightest sound?" Ibrahim remarked sarcastically.

"I can hear this sound from afar. I'm very used to it," she said, turning towards him and looking into his eyes.

The spark of hatred flared equally on both sides.

"This same arrogance... this same pride is ingrained in both your sons," he said bitterly.

"Treachery and rebellion still remain. From your side," she smiled faintly.

"The punishment for a traitor is death."

"Death makes one immortal," she said, sitting up.

"Death brings defeat."

"Defeat brings wounds, and wounds bring strength."

"The intoxication of power is very dangerous. It could be that your son loses everything to this intoxication."

"My son. He is my son. He is my blood. If anything happens to him, I will never forgive you," Sultana snarled.

"Make him understand that he should do what I want... otherwise..." Ibrahim warned with a threatening tone, pointing his finger.

"What do you think, that I haven't tried?" Sultana Begum's voice wavered as the conversation turned to their son's life. Ibrahim knew his wife's weaknesses better than anyone. Both mother and son were each other's vulnerabilities. "He doesn't talk to me because of you." She got up and sat in front of the dressing table, combing her freshly dyed hair.

"Fine, then I'll leave you. Tell him that his father is divorcing his mother, and let's see how he rushes here," Ibrahim said, unbuttoning his coat and laying it aside before lying down on the bed.

"You won't do anything like that."

"If you want to sleep, you're most welcome. Otherwise, turn off the lights when you leave." He pulled the blanket over himself and pretended to sleep.

Sultana felt a pang of frustration and helplessly stared at him. Then, she turned off the lights. Darkness engulfed everything. Everything.

Once robbed in love, then fall in love again,

Who knows, perhaps fate will change for the better

After cleaning the veranda, Samaira was standing in front of the basin, washing her hands. The mobile phone lying in the room was constantly ringing. She kept glancing at it from time to time. She wiped her hands with her dupatta, took the mobile out of her bag, and put it to her ear.

"Assalamu Alaikum." She recognized the voice on the other end. It was Behram.

"Walaikum Assalam." She pushed back the hair that had fallen on her face and sat down next to the bed.

"How are you?" He was sitting in his office.

"I'm fine." She had nothing else to say.

"How is the job going?"

"It's going well. And yes," Samaira remembered, "thanks again."

"Thanks? For what?"

"For doing so much for my job. That's why." She spoke slowly and carefully, with great caution.

"Why thanks between us?" Behram's voice conveyed a lot in that moment. Samaira held the mobile with both hands, closed her eyes, and smiled.

"Us? Is he really mine? He's not really mine," Samaira thought for a moment.

"Did you hear me?" Behram spoke again.

"Y-Yes," Samaira replied hesitantly. "Still, what you did wasn't a small thing," she said with a touch of formality.

"I told you, I am your guardian angel." Behram was twirling a pencil on the table.

Samaira's face changed expressions several times.

"You can discuss any problem with me. Okay?"

"Yes. Thanks."

"Oh... again with the thanks..." Behram expressed annoyance.

"Sorry, sorry," Samaira bit her tongue.

"Sorry won't be accepted like this."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll have to meet me," he said playfully. For the first time, Samaira's heart pounded loudly and then felt as if it would stop. Her hand instinctively went to her chest.

"Will you meet me?" Behram asked from the other side, perhaps waiting for her to say yes.

"Behram..."

"I'm listening. So, when are we meeting?" He was enjoying himself while rocking in his chair.

"When you come here, we... can meet," Samaira replied after some thought.

"No, no," Behram shook his head in disapproval.

"Then?"

"You come to Lahore this time."

"Me?" Samaira was startled.

"Yes, why not? Can't you come? Is it difficult? I come for you too."

"It's not like that."

"Then tell me, will you come or not?"

"Behram..."

"There are only two answers: yes or no?" Behram was waiting for a yes.

"What reason can I give to come to Lahore? I don't have any work there. And how will I get leave from the hospital? How will all this work?"

"Don't worry about the leave. I'll handle everything. Will you come or not?"

Samaira felt troubled. She remembered Behram's kindnesses. She thought for a moment.

"Please, no," she barely made her decision.

"Okay. Take care." And with that, Behram slammed the phone on the table. Samaira looked at the mobile screen, where the call had disconnected.

Did Behram get upset? It's just a short meeting, should I agree? Won't that encourage him? She kept getting tangled in her thoughts. He comes here too, but what if someone finds out that I went to meet him? What will they think? Samaira shuddered. No, no, no. I can't take the risk. But I wouldn't be doing anything wrong. I'll come back quickly.

Behram massaged his temples. He felt a headache. The mobile on the table beeped. He leaned back in his chair, drank a glass of water in one gulp, and looked at the small calendar in front of him.

He circled the dates 23, 24, 25 with a red marker. He counted on his fingers, calculated something, and then picked up the mobile.

"Okay, let's meet." Samaira's message had arrived.

Without replying, he appeared busy with his work. Neither joy from the reply was visible nor his mood improved. He frowned, opened his laptop, and pulled up some files in front of him. He pressed the bell on the table. A man came inside.

"Send Furqan."

"Yes, sir."

After a while, Furqan entered.

"May I come in, sir?"

"Yes, yes, come in, Furqan." Furqan sat on a chair in front of him.

"The file you gave to Dad, is this the one?" He placed a file in front of Furqan. Furqan took the file, opened it, and looked inside.

"Yes, sir."

Behram closed his eyes in agony and leaned back.

"This is no longer just my responsibility. Tell Dad and Uncle Ibrahim to bring Fateh into this field. All the corruption cases are falling on my shoulders alone. Why?" he growled. His face clearly showed his anger, but more than anger, it was sorrow.

"Sorry, sir... Niaz sir took your signatures on my behalf. I was also helpless," Furqan felt regretful.

"It's okay, Furqan. I'm not blaming you. It's not your fault," he said, continuously massaging his head with his eyes closed. "And then there's Junaid... once we get our hands on the laptop, everything will be fine."

"Has Fateh agreed?" Furqan asked worriedly.

"Yes... but it's not clear if that girl will bring the laptop or not. She might refuse to come," Behram revealed.

"It will all be fine, sir," Furqan said with a slight smile.

"Hmmm."

"May I leave?"

"Take this file with you and give it to Dad," he pointed towards the file. Furqan took the file and left.

Behram dialed a number on the landline and put the receiver to his ear.

"Hello... ASP Behram Sikander speaking."

"Yes, sir."

"I had submitted a request to the court... what happened with that?" he seemed worried.

"One moment, I'll check and tell you."

Behram held the line. After a few minutes, the voice on the receiver returned.

"Sir, are you still on the call?"

"Yes, yes, I'm listening."

"Yes, sir. Your request has been approved."

"Okay."

"Life imprisonment rejected?" the person on the other side confirmed.

"Yes, exactly," Behram felt relieved. "At least one problem is solved." He put the receiver back on the cradle and sat up straight. He signed the open file in front of him and picked up his mobile phone.

He opened Furqan's chat where Junaid's number was texted. Behram called that number. The phone was ringing, but the call hadn't been answered yet.

Junaid was standing outside on the balcony. Folding the cuff of his sleeves up, he came inside. His hair was slightly wet, with raindrops falling on his head. It was an unknown number.

"Hello," Junaid answered the call.

"Is this Junaid?" Behram wanted to confirm.

"Yes, this is Junaid. Who is this?"

"This is ASP Behram speaking."

Junaid's eyebrows furrowed. His lips pursed.

"Yes, what is it?"

"I want to meet you. Can we talk in person?" Behram asked politely.

"In what regard?" Junaid fired back. "If I'm not mistaken, you probably want to debate your record of deeds."

On the other side, Behram felt a surge of anger. "Record of deeds?"

"Then I don't want to talk about that. We will be meeting in court in a few months anyway," Junaid preemptively declined.

"Look, Junaid, just listen to me once. Just once," Behram tried to persuade him. He wanted Junaid to hear him out.

"And what will that accomplish?"

"You will know the truth. You've only seen one side of the story," Behram spoke with patience, a level of patience he himself was unaware he possessed.

"And what is the other side? What other perspective will you show me? One that you've crafted yourself?" Junaid interrupted angrily.

"Congratulations on your government versus justice," Junaid said, and then he cut the call. Behram felt anger rising within him. He started rocking back and forth in his chair. Both were stubborn. Even if he told Junaid everything, he would still be the culprit. If he supported his father, Behram Sikander would still be the criminal. He was trapped from all sides.

Time is ruthless, like the grounds of an execution site,

And compassionate, like the prayers of a sincere friend.

Gulzar had returned home after giving his final exam. Upon entering, he saw that life was still challenging. It had to be endured. Numerous clay pots were lying under the shed. Fareeha was feeding the goat. Ayesha and Gul-e-Lala were studying while playing, as usual. He placed his books on the wooden table inside and came outside.

"How was your exam?" Fareeha asked.

"It went well. It was easy," he said, drinking water from the pitcher.

"Gulzar, Gulzar!" A voice called from outside. Gulzar drank the water quickly and stepped out. Rasab was standing outside.

"What's the matter?"

"Your chacha is taking over the remaining pieces of your land. He had gone to the big city," Rasab informed, panting. He had come running.

"What are you saying?" Gulzar's nerves tensed up. He felt anger rising.

"Don't believe me? Go ask him yourself," Rasab said and left.

Gulzar went to the back of the house, where lush green grass was waving. These were their fields. The only hard-earned income of Shah Jamal, which his own brother, Shah Kamal, had taken over. Shah Kamal, who was wealthier and lived quite grandly in the town, mingled with the big landlords.

At the edge of this land, there was a large, shady tree, next to which stood a single room. This was the baithak (guest room).

Gulzar came back inside.

"Where's abba, Fareeha?" he asked Fareeha, who was busy cleaning the mat.

"I don't know. He said he was going to chacha's house," Fareeha answered busily, not noticing his worry.

Gulzar went outside. He was now heading to his uncle's house. He entered the guest room. His father was sitting on the floor while his uncle was sitting on a cot with some other big landlords, smoking a hookah.

Gulzar sat cross-legged next to his father on the floor.

"Kamsalay, it's simple, that piece of land is worth only a few thousand. I told you to take the money, but you didn't sell it, so I took the land myself," Shah Kamal was saying ruthlessly.

"But chacha, how can you take our land without our consent?" Gulzar mustered the courage to speak up for their rights. He knew his father would never open his mouth. Shah Jamal sat like a criminal.

"You keep quiet," Shah Kamal scolded Gulzar harshly. Gulzar fell silent.

"In a few days, the hawaldar will come, and you will put your thumbprint on the documents," said the man sitting next to him, wearing a turban.

"Now go. Come back when you're called," Shah Kamal dismissed both of them.

Both father and son, exhausted, returned home. Shah Jamal entered inside after opening the door. Gulzar lay down on the cot under the shade of the tree outside.

"Where were you and abba?" Gul-e-Lala ran to Gulzar and lay down next to him.

"Abba had gone to chacha Kamal's house," Gulzar said, running his hand through Gul-e-Lala's hair.

"They are very cruel, aren't they? Why did Abba go to their place? I get scared when you or Abba go to them," he said innocently.

"Why? They are not God. Didn't Fareeha tell you that we should fear only God?"

"Fareeha Api did tell me, but I've never seen God. What is He like?" The rustling of dense leaves could be heard due to the breeze.

"He is very kind. Whatever you ask from Him, He gives it." A sudden peace descended on his heart.

"Then I will ask Him for Abba's land. A lot of it." Gul-e-Lala spread his arms wide.

"Yes." Gulzar smiled a little.

"Will He give it? He won't be angry?"

"No, He doesn't get angry. He gives."

"Really? Can I meet Him?" he asked curiously.

"Yes. We all meet Him."

"Where? I haven't met Him yet." Gul-e-Lala felt a bit sad.

"When you pray, He is right in front of you. When you place your forehead on the ground, He comes very close to you." The cool breeze felt even more soothing.

"But there's no one in front of me. I once secretly looked while hiding from Fareeha."

Gulzar laughed. How could he explain to this innocent child? These things were beyond his understanding.

"You just keep asking. How to give, that's God's work. Just never ask for anything wrong."

The chirping of a small bird from the tree was audible. The voices started to fade. The soft sounds of Gul-e-Lala and Gulzar's conversation reached Fareeha in the lawn, but she was busy with her work. Ayesha was playing with a clay doll, wrapping Fareeha's scarf around it. Life continued in its simple way. It was tough, challenging at times, but there was also peace somewhere.

When he met, he divided me even more

The pieces that needed to be gathered, Mohsin

Evening was descending on the mansion. The servants in the mansion were busy with their respective tasks. Qasim was preparing the evening tea. Iftikhar was busy trimming the plants in the lawn, humming a tune, a task left over from the morning.

At the back of the house where some animals were kept, Ibrahim Sikandar was sitting, lovingly holding a lion cub in his lap. Malikah was watching him from the window of Sultana Begum's room. Hearing the sound of footsteps, she quickly turned around and started dusting.

"Malikah! Once this is done, clean the guest room," she ordered and started to leave.

"Who is coming?"  Malikah called out.

"Behram," was all she said as she walked away.

Malikah quickly started dusting. Everything in the room was already clean, but Sultana Begum still had it thoroughly cleaned morning and evening to avoid even a single speck of dust.

After dusting the room, Malikah went to the guest room. From its window, she could see the lawn. Qasim was heading there with a tea trolley. Adjusting her sari, Sultana Begum sat down on a chair in the lawn. Qasim began serving tea. Ibrahim also joined and sat down.

"Hajra... Hajra," Sultana Begum called out to Malikah's mother. Malikah drew the curtain of the window and got busy with her work. Dusting every item, she now seemed fully occupied with cleaning. She wiped the mirror with a wiper, cleaned a glass table with a cloth, removing a magical dirt that wouldn't be visible to the human eye, let alone under a microscope. There was a stand beside the dressing table holding a delicate glass duck as a showpiece, which she also cleaned. After cleaning, she was about to leave when her dupatta got caught in the stand, causing the glass duck to fall and shatter into pieces. Malikah stood still, shocked.

"Another replacement? Any showpiece in this house is worth no less than millions," she thought, clutching her head. She looked around to see if anyone had noticed. In such a large mansion, no one knew what others were doing. Everyone was busy with their own tasks.

Quickly, she gathered the broken glass from the floor. Now she was unsure where to dispose of it. She peeked out the window where Ibrahim and Sultana Begum were still sitting, sipping tea. Her mother was standing to Sultana Begum's right. Hastily, she collected the glass pieces and went to the bathroom. She threw the glass into the toilet and flushed it away. Returning to the room, she looked at herself in the mirror, fixed her hair, and composed herself, giving a faint smile.

"You didn't do anything," she muttered to herself. She glanced around the room before closing the door. Everything looked perfect, so she went to her own room.

She turned on the fan and lay flat on the bed.

Iftikhar entered the room.

"Go, there's a call for you," Iftikhar informed her. She jumped up and stood.

"Whose call is it?"

"It's from the sir's younger son," Iftikhar said and left.

Malikah quickly ran inside the mansion. She crossed the long room and went to the lounge where the phone was. She picked up the receiver and put it to her ear.

"Fateh?" she asked with a pounding heart, sitting down on the sofa.

"How are you, Malikah?"

"I am fine. How about you? Why did you think of me?" she kept smiling repeatedly.

"I needed to tell you something important. About the problem with Behram that you mentioned to me."

Even today, he was talking to her, but for someone else. Only and solely for himself.

"I told her about the laptop. I don't think she will bring it," his words brought comfort to Malikah's ears.

"Did she refuse herself? What did she say?" Malikah was surprised.

"I haven't read the email yet."

"When will you read it?"

"Should I read it now?" he asked.

"Yes, read it now." Malikah started twirling the phone cord around her fingers. She was curious and excited.

On the other end, the email began to open.

"Assalamu Alaikum, Malikah!" he began.

"Walaikum Assalam," Malikah smiled.

"I thought you were good. But maybe you're like the other ordinary people in my life who have used me," he read, startled. Malikah's facial expressions also changed.

"You lied too? You deceived me? You played a double game with me? You've taken my place, Malikah." He was reading an email in disbelief.

"Where my name should have been at the top of the list, your name is there. Why? My father isn't an influencer for me. But maybe yours is." And with these words, Malikah felt something break inside her. Such a big accusation.

"It hurt me... but never mind. Now you tell me the reason."

"Go to hell, I'll give you the answer," he roared.

"I also wanted to be at the top where no one could compete with me. But on my own merit, not by pushing others down," he shook his head while reading, smiling bitterly.

"Everyone thought my father recommended me. But my father... I wish someone could understand me. Someone who understands just me, more than my relationships and friends, who cherishes me. Maybe someday..."

"Did you understand?" Malikah said softly.

"I hate lies and deceit in friendships and relationships. I can give my life for my loved ones, but betrayal? Don't even think about it. I will discuss the rest with you face to face. Take care. Allah Hafiz."

"Immature and foolish girl," he said and laughed.

"Now you tell me, what should I say to her?" He placed the laptop on his lap, waiting for Malikah's reply.

"Write," Malikah's tear fell into her lap.

"I am an ordinary girl who is lucky to have a friend like you. If you are distrustful of me, misunderstandings can end relationships. If not treated, they become deadly. I want to maintain this friendship. We'll clear everything when we meet face to face. I don't want you to end this friendship. Talking in person will be better."

"Your sincere friend, Malikah," she fell silent.

"That's it? Or is there more?" he asked sarcastically from the other side. "By the way, there was no need for so much formality," he said, clicking the send button.

"She's quite a foolish girl," he laughed. Malikah sat there, feeling sad.

"You should meet her. Or better yet, when she comes to the university, steal her laptop," he suggested.

"Is she innocent?" Malikah asked in a choked voice.

"Innocent, I don't know, but I do know how foolish she is. Easy prey for an eagle."

"Eagle? Are you the eagle? Will you hunt her?"

"Yes."

"Why? What did she do?"

"Not her, but her sister and brother," he replied indifferently.

"I thought you would do it for me," Malikah said, disappointed.

"Why for you?" His question made Malikah realize that he was also capable of breaking her, but he didn't care. She couldn't complain.

"She insulted me, dragged my deceased father into her matter, accused me." Just to lessen her own pain and console herself, she gave him an explanation.

"No, no. I have my own issues," he said dismissively.

Her hope shattered once again. The last remaining glimmer of it began to fade.

"When will you come?" Malikah changed the topic.

"I'll come when Behram gets married."

"Behram? When will he get married?" Malikah was puzzled. She had no knowledge about Behram's marriage plans.

"I don't know, but perhaps soon," he responded.

"Okay..."

"Yeah. And don't tell Dad I made the call." It was the last thing he wanted to do, Malikah replied affirmatively.

"Tell Behram to work on Plan B. She won't agree," he said.

"Alright."

"Okay, I'll leave now. Take care of yourself."

"You too."

The call ended abruptly. The final words had changed. She remembered her thoughts. Doubts had begun to creep into her relationships like termites. Now, she had to end them. Malikah sat by the telephone.

Could Aneesa think all this about me? My father...

She still couldn't believe it. Maybe she didn't even want to do it. She wanted to meet her once, to resolve everything that Aneesa had tangled up.

I will assist the wind in every devastation  

I will drive the birds away from the green tree myself  

The door to the room was open. Shayan and Mahenoor's voices, sitting in the lounge, were reaching inside. Mahenoor was scolding Shayan about something. Aneesa had gone out with Gul-e-Lala and Ayesha under the pretense of a walk. Kabeer was searching something everywhere in his room. He was wearing a black T-shirt, his neatly cut hair combed, though some strands had fallen over his forehead. He still didn’t look bad. He opened the drawer of the bedside table, then the drawer of the dressing table, moved things around, closed it, then suddenly startled, opened it again. He picked up and opened Omar's wedding card.

"Anam." He read just one name, and memories took him back to the past, where there was only pain.

"Mahey. Mahey," he yelled angrily and came outside where she was sitting with Shayan.

"What happened, Kabeer?" She was coming toward him. Her dupatta was hanging over one shoulder, her loose hair swaying behind her.

"What is this?" Kabeer waved the wedding card he was holding in front of Mahenoor.

"Kabeer, this is from Omar and Farhana Aunty..."

"Shut up, just shut up!" Before she could say anything, Kabeer grabbed her by the arm and brought her into the room.

"Kabeer, listen to me." She said, moving forward a bit fearfully. "This is from Omar’s side."

"Omar’s mother was involved, right? You’re not going." He screamed.

"Dad will be upset, Kabeer." Mahenoor's hands and lips were trembling.

"You care so much about dad. And what about me? Who am I? Just because of your family, I stayed away from you for a year. Do you remember that? Do you remember that pain? Or should I remind you again? How they all blinded me together, do you remember that?" Kabeer was enunciating every word.

"Kabeer, let it go. It's been many years now." Mahenoor pleaded, her strength failing.

"How were those years? Did they ever come to apologize? Or will they now?" He sat on the edge of the bed, holding his head, his voice softening.

"It's just one happiness, just one day to attend their wedding. What does it matter?" Mahenoor sat beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"It matters a lot. If you want to go, then go, but after that..." He stopped and closed his eyes. Mahenoor got up, kneeled in front of him, and looked up at Kabeer, who had his face buried in his hands. She removed his hands from his face and held them in hers. Kabeer looked at her, his eyes beginning to redden.

"Will you go?" Kabeer asked softly.

"We'll go from Omar's side. What fault is it of Omar's?" She pleaded.

"Then what was my fault? Was I at fault? What did they gain by misleading me? How did I unknowingly ruin the first beautiful year of our life?" Regret appeared on Kabeer's face. He was leaning on his knees, giving his hands into Mahenoor's hands. He turned his face away.

There was a knock on the door. Shayan was knocking. Kabeer gently helped Mahenoor up and stood himself. He moved Mahenoor aside and picked up the card.

"You are not going." He tore the card into several pieces and threw them into the air. He opened the door, picked Shayan up in his arms, and went outside to the lawn where the clouds were casting shadows.

Mahenoor started gathering the pieces. She collected all the pieces in her left hand and threw them into the dustbin in the corner. She moved the curtain aside and looked outside where Kabeer was standing with Shayan. Kabeer, leaning slightly, his hands on his knees, was watching the little birds caged together. Shayan's laughter reached Mahenoor's ears.

Shayan was now running inside. Kabeer stood there, and Mahenoor was watching everything. The room door opened, and Shayan entered.

"Mama, Baba is asking for the medicine for wounds. Can you give it to him?"

"Why, what happened?" Mahenoor asked in surprise.

"A beautiful bird's wing is injured. If we put medicine on it, it will get better," he said hurriedly.

"Okay, I'll give it." Mahenoor smiled and took out a box from the drawer. She handed a tube to Shayan.

Mahenoor also came outside with Shayan. Shayan gave the medicine to Kabeer. Kabeer opened the cap and started applying the medicine to the small bird's injured wing. Mahenoor just watched him.

"Are you angry?" Kabeer asked, glancing at Mahenoor while applying the medicine, and then continued.

"No," Mahenoor shook her head but did not smile. Shayan was circling around the cage, watching the colorful birds.

Kabeer put the bird back in the cage, opened the tap in the lawn, and washed his hands. Looking at his wet hands, he moved forward, wiped them with Mahenoor's dupatta, and smiled. How could Mahenoor stay angry if he smiled? Mahenoor forced a slight smile too.

"Go, Shayan, go and study. I'll come and listen to your lesson soon," Kabeer said to Shayan, who then left.

"What's the matter? Tell me now," Kabeer asked as he walked in the lawn, holding Mahenoor close.

"It's nothing," she said softly.

"Okay, if you want to go, then go," Kabeer tightened his grip on her shoulder.

"No. If you said no once, then how can I... And I think you’re right, perhaps," she said sadly.

"Not perhaps, definitely." Kabeer kissed her on the hair. Mahenoor's dupatta was touching the ground.

"Shall we go out for dinner tonight?" Kabeer stood her in front of him and held her by the shoulders. He looked into her blue glassy eyes, conveying a lot. Mahenoor smiled and nodded. They both started walking again.

"And tomorrow, I'll take you on a date." Kabeer said, holding her close. His voice grew softer. The chirping of birds and the sounds of neighborhood children were clearly audible. Mahenoor and Kabeer went inside the house.

☆☆☆☆☆

In the early evening, Aneesa, Gul-e-Lala, and Ayesha returned home. The house was quiet. Aneesa climbed the stairs and entered Mahenoor's room, where Kabeer and Mahenoor were getting ready. Mahenoor was wearing a black sari, her hair loose on one side of her neck, and Kabeer was putting a necklace on her.

"Are you both going somewhere?" Aneesa stood by the door, watching them. She glanced towards Shayan as well who was sleeping. 

"Yes. I've prepared dinner; you should eat and give some to Gul-e-Lala and Ayesha too." Mahenoor gave a few more instructions.

"Can I come too?" Aneesa asked eagerly. Mahenoor glanced at Kabeer and then glared at Aneesa angrily.

"When will you be back?" Aneesa quickly asked.

"It will be late; you should go to sleep. We have another key to the house. Shall we go, Kabeer?" Mahenoor extended her hand towards Kabeer. They both started to leave. Mahenoor suddenly turned back.

"And yes, don't wake up Shayan; he ate and went to sleep. Close the door." She said as she left.

Anewsa held the grill and watched them leave. They were talking to each other as they went. Mahenoor suddenly laughed. Aneesa smiled.

"Their life is so beautiful, isn't it? They have everything—a big bungalow, a beautiful son, every facility. But they don't have a daughter. If they did, she would surely be beautiful too because only daughters are beautiful," she thought as she touched the grill, descended the stairs, and closed the door. She returned to the room where Ayesha was sitting on the sofa, looking at the bangles they had just bought.

"Here," Ayesha extended the bangles towards Aneesa. Aneesa looked at her in surprise.

"Gul-e-Lala gave them," Ayesha jingled the bangles. Half of them were placed in her lap.

"Gul-e-Lala did? When did she get them?" Aneesa asked in astonishment, but the bangles were still in Ayesha's hands.

"Yes. Now take them, or are they untouchable?" she laughed.

"Yes," Aneesa stepped forward, took the bangles, and wore them on her wrists. They were her size.

"Gul-e-Lala was right," Ayesha lovingly looked at Aneesa's wrists.

"What? What did Gul-e-Lala say?" she squinted her eyes.

"That your hands are lovely, and the bangles will look beautiful on them."

They really did look beautiful. Aneesa tucked her hair behind her ear, and the orange glass bangles jingled on her wrists.

"Thank you," she sat down next to Ayesha.

"No need. You are very nice."

"So are you both."

They both sat there talking for quite a while. It was almost nine at night. They were about to sleep when there was a knock on the door.

"Will there be food today?" It was Gul-e-Lala.

Aneesa, who was lying down, bit her tongue and frowned. She had forgotten. She thought that if she wasn't hungry, no one else would be either.

"Oh, I forgot. You guys don't tell Mahenoor." She quickly got up, grabbed her dupatta, and went out to the kitchen.

The bread was warm, but the food was cold. She poured the food into a plastic container, put it in the oven, and set the temperature high.

"Just wait for two minutes, Gul-e-Lala. The food will be warm soon," Aneesa said hurriedly to Gul-e-Lala. Gul-e-Lala sat down on a chair by the dining table.

Three minutes later, she turned off the oven and opened it to find that all the food was ruined. The plastic and the food had melted together.

"Ahhh!" she screamed. Gul-e-Lala ran over to see.

"Tsk tsk tsk," Gul-e-Lala shook his head in disapproval.

"Now what?" They both stared at the oven.

"I'll clean it," Gul-e-Lala stepped forward.

"I'll make something new for you in the meantime," Aneesa said, picking up a frying pan.

"No, no, no," Gul-e-Lala immediately stopped her. "Don't make anything. I'm not hungry."

"So?"

"I'll eat the bread with water," he said while cleaning the oven.

"I also ate bread with water once when I was a child," Aneesa began to share her stories.

"Hand me that cloth," Gul-e-Lala pointed to a piece of cloth on the table.

"Did you hear what I said?" Aneesa asked, handing him the cloth.

"Yes, I heard you."

"Good. When Mahenoor comes back, don't tell her anything."

"Okay," he smiled slightly, closed the oven, washed his hands in the sink, and started eating the bread.

"Won't Ayesha eat?" he thought of Ayesha.

"No, she already ate at the restaurant, so she's not hungry now."

"You can go to sleep. I'll wash the dishes and put everything back in its place. I won't tell Mahenoor Api anything."

"Okay," she smiled but still stood there.

"Do you have something to say?"

"Yes, I want to thank you for the gift you gave me."

He began to smile.

"Not welcome."

Aneesa laughed and sat down on a chair.

"They really are very beautiful. When did you get them?" she asked him.

"I got them for Ayesha, but I remembered you too."

"Oh."

"Didn't you wear them?" Gul-e-Lala looked at her empty wrists.

"I did. I took them off. They might break while sleeping."

"Right, because they're glass." Gul-e-Lala poured some water and started drinking.

"You know, your brother gave me a gift. A perfume," Gul-e-Lala told her.

"Really? I didn't know that."

"It's very expensive. It smells wonderful and lasts long. I liked it a lot." Gul-e-Lala brought his wrist close to his nose and smelled it.

"Junaid loves perfumes. He says if you want to be remembered as a beautiful memory in someone's life, gift them a perfume. Whenever they use it, they'll remember you."

"Junaid is right." Gul-e-Lala finished eating and started washing the dishes.

"Whenever I smelled the perfume today, I really remembered Junaid."

"Wow, that's nice. By the way, today was really fun." They began reminiscing about their day, the fun moments, the memories.

༒︎༒︎༒︎༒︎༒︎