For the one who wears a mask on their face and carries the storm inside, hidden from the world's eyes.
Every story has two sides. One is visible. The other, no one can see.
People say it's painful and terrifying to watch a crime happen.
But have you ever seen a place after the crime?
After people have forgotten the murder from a few months ago. After the house, or the place, has been sealed off for the police investigation, and someone has tried, and failed, to solve the case.
Go there long after, searching for answers, and you'll find it all still lying there: scattered dishes, broken glass, a burned-out piece of furniture, bloodstains. They are the last, physical shape of the victim's will to live...
The chalk marks where the body lay. The dried-up plants. Cobwebs on the walls. The smell of blood still hanging in the air. All of it whispers that people once lived in this desolate place...
It's that hour of the night when the whole world sleeps, except the sinners. Some are begging their Lord to forgive their sins. The rest are busy committing more.
In the dim moonlight, a shadow slips into a room in the darkness of that house. He feels his way along the books in a cupboard. Then, with a sudden tick, some of the books slide aside and a door swings open. He glances around and steps in.
The air in this secret room was heavy with fear and menace. But when he looked closely, his breath caught. On one side lay equipment and computers. On another, piles of cash. On the other, strange triangular objects, and packets of pointers.
The place reeked of the kind of wickedness found in dens of haram (forbidden, sinful) trade. And at that very moment, the lights snapped on, revealing the wounds on the shadow's face.
Then a thundering, repulsive voice:
"I warned you not to meddle in things that could cost you your life."
A few months later
Look at the house in the morning. In front of the main gate was a lawn, and beyond it, the ground floor had four rooms in all. Two bedrooms faced the front, a study on the right, a baithak (sitting room) on the left. Set slightly apart was the kitchen, where a woman was working at that moment. She was making breakfast.
Now come up to the second floor. There was a veranda, just one room, and a kitchen. The third floor also had two rooms, a study, and a kitchen. His uncle's family used to live there, but they had now moved to the US.
Still, whenever Taya Abu (father's elder brother) came to Pakistan, he stayed here. The house was simple but dignified inside. In the ground-floor veranda stood a table, with a small glass house on it as a decoration. The staircase was on the other side.
Just then a bedroom door opened and a man of about forty-five stepped out. He was clearly the head of the household. A few white hairs showed at his temples, and on his wrist he wore an old-fashioned vintage watch.
He sat down at the table in the veranda. At that moment, a boy of about fourteen came out of another room.
He sat down too, and everyone began serving themselves. The mouth-watering smell of parathas (flaky flatbread) drifted through the house. At the breakfast table sat Zaheer Sahib (Mr. Zaheer), Zareena Begum (Mrs. Zareena), and Asad, all silent. After a few moments, Asad asked, "Ammi (Mom), when is Aapi (big sister) coming home?"
The moment he asked, silence fell over the table. Sadness filled Zareena Begum's eyes, while Zaheer Sahib's face turned hard.
"I've filed a report with the police. They're trying." His tone was ice. "And if she left of her own free will, there's nothing I can do. We will not discuss this again."
Asad went quiet, but one question kept echoing in his head. Asma never went anywhere without telling anyone. So how could she just vanish?
After breakfast, Zaheer Sahib left for the office and Zareena Begum began tidying up. Grief was etched in lines across her face, as if something precious had been taken from her.
Asad went up to the roof and opened his sister Asma's room. Dust lay thick on the books, probably because the window had been left open. He rested his hand on the desk and heard Asma's voice: "Asad, what good deed did you do today?"
"I bought some biscuits with my pocket money and fed a cat on the way," he answered. "Well done, Asad. And remember, our money isn't only ours. And Allah loves it when we give." Asma explained it to him, and Asad nodded as if he understood completely.
Then the wind pushed the window open and he opened his eyes. Tears were running down his face.
☆ ☆ ☆
A few months earlier
Islamabad
It was the dead of night, and the whole corridor was deserted. This was the second floor of a house. Darkness everywhere, except for one room. A bulb was burning there, and if you looked in, you'd see a figure who was sitting less than slumping over the desk. A laptop screen glowed in front of her, a document open on it. When the figure lifted her bowed head to take a sip from the bottle on the desk, the light revealed a girl. Intelligence showed in the lines of her face. Under her ear was a scar, hinting at some untold story.
She wore her black hair in a bun and was lost in her work.
It was one in the morning, and the girl was working on an assignment.
Every so often she searched something on the phone in her left hand, then her fingers went tap-tap-tap on the keyboard again. She worked a little longer, then, exhausted, fell asleep right there on the desk.
Now go to the other end of the city, into a one-room apartment. In one room, a girl sat with her back against the bed, the lights off. As her face came into view in the glow of a laptop screen, you could see that her eyes were black, but in that light they looked golden. And under one eye, on her cheek, was a birthmark.
At this hour of the night she was coding on her laptop. She was a freelancer. Her hands moved over the keys in a practiced rhythm, as though she'd done this a thousand times.
A few months earlier
It's morning, and the mood is pleasant. Everything is as usual. Asma comes downstairs dressed for university. She was wearing a black qameez (tunic), white trousers, and a white hijab. Her expression didn't look normal. She was tense, but she hurried out of the house. As she stepped outside, she closed her eyes and took deep breaths, as if releasing the suffocation inside her. Then she boarded the bus, and on the other side of town, the girl with the birthmark was also getting on a bus.
At the university, Asma stood by the gate, waiting for someone. Then her eyes went to the gate, and without thinking she started waving. It was the golden-eyed girl. Asma walked over and said, "Wafa, where have you been?"
"I woke up late today." Wafa replied.
"You stayed up late again last night?" Asma asked, laughing.
Wafa shrugged.
"A client wanted a project by morning."
"And you didn't say no?"
"Girls who grew up in an orphanage don't really know how to say no."
They walked toward the campus, chatting. They had become friends at university, but they looked after each other. Wafa was now doing a BS in Artificial Intelligence.
Asma, meanwhile, was doing a BS in Management Sciences. Though their departments were different, they were both members of the Management Club, so they spent their free time together.
In the afternoon, Asma decided to clean.
The maid was off today. After cleaning the rest of the house, she opened the door to the study to clean it, and started dusting the books. Then she went to the desk and began arranging things. When she opened the drawer, she found, in a clear white packet, two white triangular things like mint candies. She was baffled. Candy, in Abbu's (Dad's) study? And he only ate sugar-free food. She picked up the candy-like things, thinking the maid might have left them there by mistake, and walked out.
That night, when Zaheer Sahib came home, he called Asma to his room. Asma greeted him and went in. In the bedroom, the bed faced the door, and on the table beside it stood a photograph. It showed a man, a woman, and a little girl. The man and woman were Zaheer Sahib and Zareena Begum, but the girl, who knew who she was? Her features looked nothing like Asma's. Her eyes were golden and there was a dark brown mark on her cheek. Asma looked at the photo, then lowered her head and stood there. For some reason she always felt uneasy and uncomfortable in their presence.
"How did you do this time?" Zaheer Sahib asked.
"3.54," Asma answered fearfully.
At this, disappointment shadowed Zaheer Sahib's face. He said,
"Asma, I didn't let you study so you could waste your time and bring home a CGPA this bad. My friend's daughter got a 3.97 this semester."
Asma was close to tears. The scolding might have gone on, but suddenly the door opened and a kind-faced man walked in. He was a little older than Zaheer Sahib. The moment she saw him, Asma felt she belonged.
"What lecture is this now? Zaheer, go easy on the kids and let them live. And Asma, beta (dear child), come here."
He kissed Asma on the head, and she began to cry softly. He calmed her down. Then he looked at Zaheer Sahib.
"Do you know what the worst, lowest thing in the world is? When you keep comparing your children with others. That comparison shreds their personality." It's because of this comparison that children start to feel lesser than others. Constant criticism makes them pull away from their parents and hide their feelings. Parents should understand that every person is unique. One excels at sports, another at art or a skill. Parents should celebrate a child's individual strengths. Bringing home good marks alone doesn't prove a person is the best. Instead of comparing a child with someone else, compare them with their own past. For example: "You've worked so much harder than last time."
Words of encouragement like these motivate children to work even harder. Taya (Uncle) was the only person in this house who listened to her without judging and encouraged her in even her smallest wins. Beside him, Asma felt the peace of a father's presence. But in truth, he was atoning for a grave sin of his own.
☆ ☆ ☆
This is the main entrance of a hotel. The lobby was buzzing as usual, when a mysterious man walked in. He wore a black shirt and trousers and a long black coat. A mask covered his face, white on one side, with red over the left eye on the other. He walked slowly toward the east side of the hotel. His stride was soft, calculating, careful. He pressed the elevator button. The doors opened and he stepped inside. He rapped three times on the steel panel: tap. tap. tap. Suddenly a small section of the panel slid open, and a red button rose out of it as if it had never not been there. He pressed it, and the elevator started descending without a sound. It stopped in a vast hall. As he stepped out, two guards fell into step beside him. On one side of the hall stood a long table with five chairs around it. Three people were seated there. The chair at the head was clearly empty for him. He ignored them and walked to the darker end of the hall. He opened the door to a room. A sharp smell of blood hit his nostrils, along with a sound like someone groaning. On one side of the room, a figure was tied to a chair. Blood ran from his head, and his face and body bore marks of torture. His clothes were torn. He was unconscious, but in so much pain that he moaned even in his sleep. A guard stood behind him. The masked man came up behind him and said to the guard in a cold voice.
"Wake him up." The guard threw water on his face.
When the water hit his wounds, the man gasped and opened his eyes. Seeing this, the masked man dragged a chair from the far corner of the room and set it in front of him. In the silence, the scrape of the chair was grating. He sat down, legs spread wide, leaning back with his hands loose, as if settling in to enjoy a scene from a movie. Then he studied the bound young man with a deep stare, as though weighing something. A mocking smile sat on his face. And then he roared:
"The least punishment for betraying Phantom is death. But you won't even get that. I'll keep you alive and make you suffer, day after day, and turn you into a warning for everyone else."
Balaj, wounded, said, "I worked for you for three years... I came for my father's treatment... and in return you threatened to kill my family..." Balaj could barely speak.
His throat burned, as if thorns had lodged in it.
But has haram ever truly profited anyone? Money earned through haram may bring a brief thrill or comfort, but it robs generations of peace. This boy had chosen easy money over honest work, and today he was paying the price of haram. He had sent his wife and son abroad and decided to expose this cursed business to the world. He gathered evidence in secret and handed it to the police. But then came our country's broken law and its bribe-taking officers. One of those policemen tipped off Phantom, and as a result, he was snatched off the road, and now he was in unbearable condition.
"What did you think, that you'd go to the police against me, you haram-eater? I gave you a position and a livelihood, and now the human inside you wakes up and decides drug dealing harms young people, so you run to that worthless police station? Didn't you feel ashamed when you were making money? And that law you trusted, if it were so strong or so just, I wouldn't be sitting here today. Scum."
Phantom hated betrayal. He didn't lie. He just presented the truth from the angle that made the listener see exactly what he wanted them to see. I'll hunt down every one of your blood relations, and chase them until they die, and if they cross my path, I'll drag them out of the underworld and give them the taste of death all over again. Phantom roared. Then he signaled the guard, who began beating the boy like an animal. Hearing his screams, Phantom let out a thunderous laugh and walked out of the room.
Then he sat in the central chair of the hall and looked at the others. Fixing his eyes on the man in the golden mask, he said:
"How's business? I hear the police raided near your area yesterday, Goldie."
The golden-masked man hesitated, then said, "Phantom, things are rough because of that idiot boy. For now, I've had the work slowed down a bit."
Before he could even finish, a man in a completely black mask spoke up: "We should've sent that SP (Superintendent of Police) a gift. The problem would've been solved in minutes."
The golden mask replied: "I sent him money, but it seems there's a new inspector at the station. He's the one ordering the raids. But don't worry, he has no information about us."
In the middle of this talk, another man, his face covered by a skull cap, with a mask over only his eyes, spoke: "Phantom, what will Balaj's punishment be?"
A terrible silence fell over the hall. You could hear them breathing. Then Phantom's ruthless voice broke it.
"Tomorrow, throw him to my pet dogs, so that not even his corpse is ever found."
In the dark, strange shadows seemed to circle around her, and someone was choking her. Her breath began to fail.
"Let go of me, let go!" The words came out strangled in her throat.
And just when she felt she was about to die, her eyes suddenly flew open. Her whole body was drenched in sweat and she was gasping for air.
She couldn't remember the incident fully, but perhaps it had made a home for itself in her memory.
Years had passed since that event, but she felt as though she was living those moments right now. It was some cursed memory from childhood.
She got up, and a little while later the golden-eyed girl was weeping in sajda (prostration) on her prayer mat.
"Ya Allah, please ease my pain."
"If I have a real family, please let me find them."
Her voice was full of anguish.
Asma and Wafa had finished university. Now both were looking for a stable future.
Wafa wasn't too worried about it. Her freelancing was bringing in good income. But Asma had earned a degree in hotel management and was applying to jobs at various hotels.
That day she was checking emails on her laptop when a message suddenly caught her eye.
Joy Hotel
Her heart pounded. With trembling hands she opened the email. She had been selected for the post of hotel manager.
"Ammi!"
A scream of joy burst out of her.
In moments, the whole house had gathered around her. Years of hard work had finally paid off.
That night everyone celebrated together. After dinner at a restaurant, Wafa set a small jewelry box in front of her.
"I can't give you anything very expensive, but this is special."
She opened the box. Inside lay two beautiful matching bracelets, shaped like a moon and a star.
Wafa held out the moon bracelet to Asma.
"This one's yours." Asma looked at her with a faint smile.
"You know I'm not really into jewelry, right?"
"I know." Wafa took her wrist and fastened the bracelet on.
"I still want it to be with you in every beautiful moment of your life."
With that, she put the star bracelet on herself.
They didn't know that someone at the corner table was watching them. His eyes were black, and he had a scar through his right eyebrow. His hair was set with gel.
☆ ☆ ☆
Her first day at Joy Hotel was surprisingly easy. Most of it went into learning the hotel's systems and responsibilities. She learned that the hotel had two owners.
Shahzeb and Safeer. They were equal partners. On the very first day, Safeer called her into his office and walked her through a few essentials. She didn't get to meet Shahzeb, though.
Later a colleague told her, "Shahzeb is mostly abroad, so Safeer Sir handles the day-to-day."
Asma didn't find this unusual. It often happened with big businesses. Still, something about this hotel unsettled her. A strange feeling. As though the place wasn't only serving guests...
but something else was going on behind the curtain. But what? She couldn't work it out. Two weeks went by. In that time she never had a proper meeting with Shahzeb. She had seen him only once, from a distance. He was in plain trousers and a shirt. His hair fell over his forehead, hiding his eyes. Asma found the look odd. How could anyone live so carelessly? But then she shrugged it off.
"What do I have to do with other people's lives?"
On the hotel's top floor was a room most guests didn't know about. A single plaque hung on the door.
Reading Room
On the surface it was an ordinary reading room. But something about its air was unusual. Thanks to the heavy curtains, it stayed half-dark even in daytime. Some of the bookshelves looked as though they'd been arranged in a deliberate order. Among the old staff, a rumor went around that not everyone who went in there came to read. But no one knew more than that. Asma had a habit. If something seemed suspicious, instead of running from it, she tried to get to the bottom of it. She wanted to know about every mysterious thing in the world. Was this habit good or bad? She didn't know herself. One evening, when most of the staff had gone, she decided to open the Reading Room door. With the master key, the lock opened. She slipped quietly inside. The air was filled with the mingled smell of old wood and paper. Shelves full of books stood all around. On the table by the window, a lamp with yellow light was burning. Meanwhile Safeer had spotted her on the security cameras going to that floor. He was quietly heading that way. There was no hurry in his stride. But his face was grave. Asma's eyes suddenly landed on a small packet on a table. She picked it up. Inside were a few triangular pills. Her brow furrowed.
"What is this? A sample of some medicine?" She was lost in these thoughts when she suddenly sensed someone behind her.
"Miss Asma." The voice was so soft that she started and spun around. Safeer stood in the doorway. His face showed nothing.
"This room is not for staff." Asma, flustered, put the packet back on the table.
"I... I was cleaning..." Safeer took a step forward. His gaze fell on the packet. And all the softness left his tone.
"No need to lie." His voice was now ice-cold. "And if I see you here again, it won't be good for you or your job."
There was not the slightest softness in his tone. Fear and anger rose in Asma's heart together. For the first time she felt that maybe she shouldn't have come here. She walked silently past him and started out.
"Consider this your first and last warning." Safeer's voice came again. Asma's steps paused for a moment. But she didn't turn around. Going down the stairs, she barely managed to hold back her tears.
"Who do these rich people think they are?" she muttered under her breath.
"I only went to look at a room." But then she remembered those triangular pills. And Safeer's unusual reaction. Her heart told her this wasn't just about books. Something was truly hidden in that room.
