Lawyer Safdar was being briefed by Jahangir Sahib.
Walking down the courthouse corridor, Lawyer Safdar took out his phone and texted a robotic-looking number:
“The scapegoat has been compromised. The hidden CCTV evidence has surfaced.”
A little while later, a cash transaction message landed on his phone. He wanted to profit from both sides. To him, nothing was more precious than money.
Surrounded by police, Wahab was being walked through the courthouse corridors. The marks of wounds on his face looked old. Dried blood was caked under his fingernails. At the last hearing, his lawyer’s petition had barred the police from further physical remand, so there were no fresh wounds for now. It only looked that way. It wasn’t the whole truth. Seeing Wahab from afar, Jahangir Sahib almost ran toward him.
“I told you not to lose hope, didn’t I? Watch, God willing, you’ll be cleared with honor very soon.”
He said it to Wahab. Rays of hope appeared on Wahab’s battered face. About forty-five minutes remained before the hearing.
Zaheer Sahib was driving carefully. After so many days, he finally felt a kind of peace. The peace of having saved someone like his own son.
He was only praying that he’d reach the court on time and the real culprits would be exposed. The very USB drive Wahab’s fate hung on was in his pocket. Zaheer Sahib looked in the rear-view mirror. The same white truck had been following him for quite a while. He pulled to the side once and slowed down, but the truck stayed behind him too. An unfamiliar dread began to rise in his heart.
He was driving at a normal speed down Shahrah-e-Dastoor in Islamabad when, on a somewhat deserted stretch, that same truck swung around ahead of him and slammed into the car. Compared to the truck, the car was tiny, and the impact sent it flying off to the side of the road. The truck driver was the same robot-like man who had been in the AC’s (Assistant Commissioner’s) office earlier.
Zaheer Sahib’s head smashed against the steering wheel and a large shard of glass lodged in his forehead. The pain was as if someone were tearing him to pieces.
In the courtroom, the usual proceedings were underway. Jahangir Sahib could barely breathe. The judge closed the file. Silence fell over the courtroom for a few moments. Every few seconds Jahangir Sahib’s eyes flew to the door. He was certain Zaheer would walk in any moment. Just now. Wahab was staring at the door too. His fingers, bound in handcuffs, were trembling.
“Taking the witnesses and evidence into consideration, this court rules that the convict Wahab Jahangir be sentenced to two months’ imprisonment, banned from educational institutions for the next five years, and fined one lakh rupees.”
The judge’s voice tore through the silence. The thread of hope Jahangir Sahib had been clinging to snapped.
“Your Honor, some evidence remains to be submitted. For God’s sake, delay the verdict. My son wants to be a doctor. Don’t destroy his future.”
His voice shook.
“What evidence? Is any evidence present in court?” the judge asked coldly. “No, sir, my brother is on his way. He has CCTV footage that will prove the other boys’ involvement.” Jahangir Sahib said in a panic.
“Today was the last day for submitting evidence. The court cannot postpone a verdict on speculation.” The judge’s voice was hard. Tears stood in Jahangir Sahib’s eyes.
“May God destroy you! You’ve turned my innocent boy into a drug dealer.”
Saliha Begum said, her voice thick with sobs and overwhelmed by emotion. Wahab was weeping in broken sobs. His hands kept trembling.
“Ammi, Abu, please save me... I’m so scared... I can’t stay in this hell any longer... You said, just make a false confession, and then I’ll save you.”
He spoke in the gaps between sobs.
“Please take me home, they beat me so badly.” He pushed up his sleeve, and there were cuts, as if the skin had been ripped open again and again. And below his elbow were cigarette burns.
“Ammi, Abu, I’m not going back to that prison again. Abu.”
He kept screaming as the policemen shoved him toward the police van. Saliha Begum was beside herself with weeping. Meanwhile, Jahangir Sahib was thinking: why hadn’t Zaheer made it in time? Had he too sold out for money, in league with the principal or the AC?
Just then the truck backed up slightly and then lunged like death itself. This time the collision was so catastrophic that Zaheer Sahib was thrown through the car’s windshield and landed on the very edge of the road. The sound of cracking bones echoed through the air. His breath caught in his chest.
At that very moment, the little box holding the USB drive slipped out of his pocket with the jolt and was lost in the wild grass growing by the roadside.
In his half-conscious state, Zaheer Sahib felt his pocket go light. His blurred eyes fell on the little box dropping into the grass. He tried to reach out, but his fingers fell lifeless in the dirt. Zaheer Sahib’s vision dimmed. He looked one last time at the USB lying in the grass. Then darkness.
After crushing the car, the truck didn’t stop for even a moment. It picked up speed and vanished around a bend in the road as if it had never been there.
After going a short distance, the stone-hearted, robot-like man stopped the truck. With a blank face he opened the door and got down. Going around to the back of the truck, he skillfully tore off the number plate and fixed another in its place. As if nothing had happened.
Meanwhile, near the wrecked car, a man leapt from a vehicle and ran up, panting and shaking. With trembling hands he peered into the car. The driver’s seat was empty. His heart leapt into his mouth. Looking around wildly, he saw Zaheer Sahib some distance away, sprawled in the dirt, motionless.
With shaking hands he fished out his phone and immediately called an ambulance.
Behind the merciless bars of the prison, he sat like a stone statue, leaning against the cold cement wall. His head was buried so deep in his knees it was as if he wanted to hide himself from the world. Since returning from court he hadn’t moved an inch.
“It’s all over... everything’s ruined.” He kept repeating the same lament like a madman. For his age he looked very worn out and broken.
Memories threw him back years.
He was huddled in front of the computer, encircled by his Ammi and Abu. On the screen, the home page of the Board of Intermediate and Secondary Education, Multan’s results website glowed. Hope and fear mingled on his face. His lips moved softly in recitation of Ayat al-Kursi (the Throne Verse).
“Wahab, my child, be brave... why are you so nervous?” Saliha Begum laid a hand full of motherly love on his shoulder. “Beta (dear child), you burned yourself out the whole year. What is there to fear now? Be my brave lion.” The pain hidden in Jahangir Sahib’s voice was plain.
The website panted as it loaded. At last it opened. With trembling fingers he entered his roll number. Pressed Enter, and time stopped. His eyes turned to stone.
The result card shone in golden letters.
“Well done, my lion!” Abu crushed him to his chest in a rush of emotion. Tears of joy flowed from Ammi’s eyes like a string of pearls.
Wahab sprang up like lightning. He performed wudu (ablution). Spread the prayer mat and offered two rak’ahs (units) of nafl prayer in gratitude. The moment he went into sujood (prostration), his restraint broke. He wept bitterly with joy. One plea alone was on his lips:
“Alhamdulillah, Ya Rabb, Alhamdulillah!”
“My son will definitely be a doctor.” Jahangir Sahib’s voice was choked. Then he was eating cake with his Ammi and Abu.
“Bhai (Brother), I have a gift for you.” Amal came hurrying over after gobbling the cake on her plate. A smear of white frosting was on her cheek. When Wahab opened the tiny box, inside lay a bracelet woven from white and pink threads.
“Bhai, I made it myself.” Amal said quickly.
“It’s so pretty.” His face glowed with happiness.
“Hey! Shove your food down, are you planning to starve?” A vile voice jerked him back to reality.
That hideous voice smashed the beautiful glass palace of memories with a stone. Everything shattered. When he opened his eyes, he was again imprisoned in that hell of a cell. A fellow inmate’s voice came: “Doctor Sahib, your dal (lentils) will get cold.”
Wahab’s jaw clenched. The word “Doctor” went into his chest like a dagger. The poisonous reality bit him. No medical college would touch him now. His parents’ dream, the very purpose of his life, all of it had turned to ash. When dreams shatter, it isn’t just some feeling that dies. A deep, black void opens inside the soul, one that never fills again. Later, even if you gain every blessing in the world, that emptiness, that silence, follows you forever.
But gritting his teeth, he decided he would live. Even if this life killed him a little every day. And to stay alive, he had to force food down his throat. He pried his dead body from the wall with difficulty. The moment he moved to pick up the tray, an agonizing crack rose from his bones. It was the punishment for sitting for hours in the same tortured position.
On the tray was the same colorless, watery dal and a roti that had almost turned to charcoal. His extinguished, desolate eyes stared at the emptiness in front of him. And like a machine, he swallowed the morsels listlessly.
A deathlike hush hung over the hospital corridors. Everything was as usual when suddenly a nurse came running out of the ICU. She looked panicked.
“The patient in Room 504 has regained consciousness.”
She was telling the doctor. Zareena Begum, sitting on the hospital’s waiting bench, and the little girl with the birthmark rose anxiously and waited for the doctor to emerge from Room 504.
“Doctor, my Abu is okay, right?” There was more hope than question in the girl’s voice.
“He’s come to after a month. Thank God. If he hadn’t woken up now, his condition could have become even more dangerous.”
The doctor was telling them.
“You can’t see him yet, he’s been put under anesthesia. His brain is still in shock and not responding properly. But God willing, he’ll be discharged within a week.”
“He regained consciousness for just a second,” the doctor said quietly. “He spoke only one word.”
Zareena Begum asked eagerly, “What?”
“USB.”
Then he lost consciousness again.
Zareena Begum thanked Allah and now sat in the hospital’s mosque praying.
“Amal, you pray for Baba too.”
She was saying to the girl sitting quietly beside her.
“Ya Allah, why is my Baba sleeping so much, please wake him up and make him like before. Pleaseee.”
Amal said in her lisping little voice.
When Zareena Begum heard this innocent prayer, her composure broke. Tears flowed from her eyes uncontrollably. With trembling hands she pulled Amal to her chest and kissed her forehead. “Yes, my darling, your Baba will be completely fine. If Allah wills, he’ll come home with us very soon.” Her voice was drenched.
Present:
Tears were falling from Wafa’s eyes and wetting her chin.
Past:
About a week later, everyone was sitting on the lawn of Jahangir House. Though Zaheer had been in the hospital for a month, Jahangir never visited him there. He had gone abroad for a business meeting. But even before leaving, he hadn’t gone to see his condition in Room 504. Perhaps he simply didn’t have the courage to see his brother in such pain after his son.
“Wahab, take some more biryani.”
There was motherly sympathy and love in Saliha Begum’s voice.
Wahab silently put just two spoonfuls of biryani on his plate and began eating it without raita (yogurt dip) or salad. After eating tasteless prison dal, a person becomes ready to eat grass.
Going to jail had taken everything from him. His dream, which had been his reason to live. And over his right eyebrow was a cut mark. It looked as if someone had tested a knife’s edge on it. His elbows and arms bore countless wounds. As if someone had dragged him along.
When Amal saw those wounds, she cried as if it were she who was hurting.
Since returning from prison, he lay on his bed in his room staring at the ceiling.
He seemed to have forgotten how to speak.
To anything said to him he only replied with “hmm” and “huh.” He didn’t even go out of the house. He felt people’s eyes speaking.
One night Saliha Begum came into his room. Wahab was awake. Staring at the ceiling.
“Beta, can’t sleep?”
He shook his head.
“Should I bring medicine?”
“No, Ammi.”
Then silence fell. The mother who once talked with her son for hours couldn’t draw two sentences out of him today.
In the middle of the night he sat up with a scream. He thought a policeman had come to drag him away again. It took a few moments to understand that he wasn’t in his prison cell but in his bedroom at home. Drenched in sweat, his heart pounding, he sat gasping against the wall.
In his dream he had seen the same cell. The same black shoes. The same sound of the baton. And a voice echoing:
“Confess... Confess...” He sat clutching his head with trembling hands. The prison had ended... but the prison was alive inside him.
Once he went to meet his classmate Ali.
“Yaar (man) Ali, how are you?”
Ali glanced around as if someone had caught him doing something wrong.
“I’m in a hurry. Okay. Let’s meet some other time.”
And then he left at once.
After that, he never went to meet him again.
Once, when he went to a shop, he overheard a man talking to Ali’s father:
“That boy with the cut on his right eyebrow, look, he just got out of jail a little while ago...”
The stranger was spewing poison without a thought for his feelings.
“He was inside for a drug case, brother. I saw Ali with him just yesterday. Keep your son away from him.” The notes in his hands got soaked with sweat. His breath caught in his chest. He felt everyone was staring at him. He knew he was innocent, but at that moment he prayed desperately for the earth to split open and swallow him so he could vanish from this world.
He couldn’t listen any longer and hurried out of the shop.
He kept walking fast. But those words chased him.
“He’s an addict.”
“He’s done time.”
“Keep your kids away from him.”
That night he stared at his bedroom ceiling for a very long time. That night, for the first time, he felt no desire to prove his innocence. For the first time he felt maybe the problem wasn’t him... the problem was this world.
That night nothing inside him broke. Something changed.
Present:
The shifts in Wafa’s expression made it seem as if she could feel that pain.
Past:
Whenever he thought about his future, he felt his chest tightening. Sometimes he felt he was no use to anyone anymore. That it would be better to die. But then his parents’ faces would swim before his eyes. He lived split in two. In the daytime he’d get up, clean his room, check the scope of medical fields on Google, or play with Amal. Now he even talked a little with his Ammi and Abu. Everything seemed normal.
And then suddenly voices would start coming from inside him.
“You were innocent. But you’re still serving a sentence for sins you didn’t commit.”
“Destroy everyone responsible for your condition.”
“Take revenge. That is your purpose now.”
“Wahab Bhai, please help me with my homework. And I want you to tell me that princess story too.”
One day he was thinking exactly this when Amal came in.
When the whole world had cut him off like a useless limb, she was still trying to console him.
He began to think: I still have a few sincere relationships. And someday the whole truth will come out. And in my quest for revenge I can’t become someone I’ll be ashamed of afterward.
Then he’d get up and read the Quran.
“Aswad wants to talk to you. He’s very ashamed... please meet him once on Saturday outside the school. Then he’s ready to do whatever you say.” Wahab sat with his phone open, eyes fixed on the screen for nearly five minutes. His hands were turning cold.
It was a message from Ali.
All those scenes from school rose before Wahab’s eyes.
“We’re just pranking.”
“Come on, take your medicine now.”
“Looks like he’s totally wasted.”
Now he often had flashbacks, but they felt completely real. He didn’t merely see those agonizing moments, he felt them. The oppressors commit their cruelty and go back to their own worlds, but the victim’s sentence never ends. Sometimes it comes as memories, sometimes as humiliation to be endured.
He opened his eyes suddenly in fear. His body was trembling slightly. It felt as if someone had a grip on his throat. He got up and began taking long breaths. He made up his mind to go.
Saturday came and went. But all day his heart pounded. He sensed that something terrible was about to happen.
The next day a picture arrived on his phone from an unknown number. The girl in the picture had a birthmark under her eye. It was definitely Amal.
“If you don’t reach House No. 5 in Gulberg at 10:00 tomorrow morning, something bad could happen to this innocent girl.” The text was written below the picture. As he read it, his heart began to pound. He had no real sister. Amal was his foster sister. When Wahab’s sister had died at birth, Saliha Begum had nursed Amal, so his bond with Amal was that of siblings.
He couldn’t let any member of his household come to harm because of him. But before going, he wanted to tell some elder about it. At that time his father, Jahangir Sahib, was abroad on some business.
It was raining. Wahab sat by his bedroom window. A book was in his hand, but his eyes weren’t on the lines, they were on the drops trickling down outside.
There was a light knock on the door.
“Wahab Bhai.”
Amal came in. She had a small notebook in one hand, and the other hand, sleeve and all, was soaked.
Wahab said at once, “You’ve gotten wet, come inside!”
Amal smiled: “I like the rain. That’s why I came running, I need you to help me with my homework, or Ammi will scold me...”
Wahab laughed softly. “Why do you only remember everything when you’re about to be scolded?”
Amal sat down in front of him. “Because nobody except you explains things to me...”
She said it casually, but Wahab went quiet for a moment. He had been writing, but his hand stopped.
There was someone for whom he was still important.
Amal asked: “Wahab Bhai... if you don’t become a doctor when you grow up, what will you become?”
Wahab looked out the window. “I don’t know.”
Amal said at once: “I know. You’ll be a very good person. Because you never hurt anyone.”
A faint sadness came over Wahab’s face. “If only everyone saw it that way...”
Amal looked at him but didn’t understand what he meant.
She suddenly stood up and said: “If I ever get lost... you’ll find me, won’t you?”
It was a casual sentence, as if a child were joking. But something inside Wahab broke.
He said at once: “Don’t say such things. Never.”
Amal smiled: “Why do you get so serious? I was only asking.”
For the first time, Wahab placed his hand on her head, a little late, as though he himself were afraid. “I won’t let you go anywhere.”
He said it softly, but it carried an unspoken vow.
Amal just laughed and said: “Okay, fine, then I’ll stay with you always.”
She went to pick up her notebook and said: “Now help me with my homework!” Wahab opened the notebook. Outside the rain had grown heavier. But inside him, for the first time in many days, a storm had calmed.
At that moment something struck the window glass hard. They both started.
Wahab got up and went to the window. Outside it was dark. He couldn’t see clearly because of the rain. Maybe it was a branch, maybe a stone. But for a second he felt as though someone was standing across the road, under a tree. A long coat, and a mask on the face.
He blinked. No one was there. Only rain.
Amal called from behind: “What happened, Wahab Bhai?”
Wahab took a deep breath and drew the curtains. “Nothing... just a strong wind. Come on, let’s get to work.”
But his hands were still cold. He felt as though someone had just overheard his vow.
Present:
Wafa began to smile... all those memories were true.
Past:
After Amal left, he quietly got up and stood outside Zaheer Sahib’s study. He knocked on the door and went in. He greeted him. Zaheer Sahib returned the greeting and said: “Is everything all right? What is it? You look worried.”
Wahab said he wanted to meet an old friend. Because if he had told him the plain truth, they would never have let him go to that dangerous place after that threatening message.
Zaheer Sahib was a little glad to hear that even in this bad time he had a friend he wanted to visit. He gave permission without probing further.
How could he know what calamity was spreading its wings over this family once more.
He tossed in bed all night. But then he consoled himself: what could be worse than going to jail? And Aswad couldn’t be so bad as to take my life, at the very least. Aswad and he had once been good fellows. And taking a person’s life isn’t so easy.
Consoling himself and praying to Allah, his night passed. Somewhere along the way he fell asleep...
He got ready in a rush, leaping down the stairs from the roof, and came down to the kitchen where Saliha and Zareena Begum were making breakfast.
“Wahab, where are you off to like you’re riding the wind? Eat breakfast before you go.” “Ammi, I’ll just have juice and a sandwich, I have to leave, I’m getting late.” “At least tell me where you’re going.” “Ammi, I’m going to meet a friend, I’ll be back in a while.” He was hurrying out when he heard a voice. “One minute, listen to me.” Saliha Begum came to him and, reciting Ayat al-Kursi under her breath, blew on his forehead. Then she kissed his head. “Be careful, drive within the speed limit, and come back soon.” For mothers, their child is always a little child, no matter how grown up he becomes. To them he is still that small innocent child whose hand they held to teach him to walk, who needs their advice at every turn in life. Seeing his mother’s love and her worry for him, tears came to his eyes. Neither of them knew that this was their last meeting. After this, everything was about to change. This cruel world, having disgraced their son, now wanted to take him from them.
☆ ☆ ☆
Present:
“Wahab shouldn’t have gone there. But Amal, he went for your sake.”
Her voice shook with the strain of holding back.
Zareena Begum was addressing Wafa.
Two weeks after that incident:
“Sir, this ID card belongs to Wahab, the one who was inside in that same drug case...”
Wahab’s family was informed. Wahab was dead.
A deathly silence hung over their home.
“Zaheer, I handed my son over to you... you took a vow to protect him...”
Jahangir Sahib was standing there gripping Zaheer Sahib’s collar.
“For God’s sake, enough now... I can’t take any more.” Saliha Begum hadn’t even finished her sentence when she put a hand to her chest and collapsed.
“Apa (Sister)...” Zareena Begum rushed toward her.
Saliha Begum had suffered a heart attack. A doctor came out of the hospital’s operating theatre...
“Sir... I’m sorry... she is no more... you brought her too late... We tried to give CPR too but it was Allah’s will.”
It felt as though the doctor had blown the trumpet of doomsday.
Jahangir Sahib sank to the ground. That day, news of another death was delivered to that house. Jahangir Sahib, who had grabbed his brother’s collar on hearing of his son’s death, was shattered by his wife’s death.
After burying Saliha Begum, he went to Wahab’s grave, as pointed out by the police. He felt he was no longer alive... as though someone had cut his heart to pieces and buried them in these graves.
They never got his son’s body, but after much pleading they did get Wahab’s phone. And he read that threatening message from the unknown number.
Present:
Wahab’s search never came home. Only news of a death. Wafa and she were weeping bitterly.
Past:
They had no hope from the champions of justice in this country, but after a great deal of effort and pleading, they were allowed to go to the crime scene.
People say that watching a crime happen is painful and terrifying. But have you ever seen a place after a crime? After people have forgotten the murder from a few months ago, after the house or place has been sealed for the police investigation and an attempt has been made to solve the case...
But long afterward, when someone goes to that place to investigate, they find scattered dishes, broken glass, bloodstains, embodying the victim’s will to live.
The chalk marks of the body’s position, the dried-up plants, the cobwebs on the walls, the smell of blood hanging in the air all say that people once lived in this desolate place.
Present:
“Now you’ll never be able to meet him, Amal. He died fifteen years ago.”
Past:
In those days Jahangir Sahib kept himself shut in his room. He seemed like a breathing corpse.
“Only Zaheer and Amal are responsible for the death of my son and wife...” He thought of nothing else all day long.
“Those who took my son from me, I’ll take everything from them...” He was planning.
Whenever something bad happens in a person’s life, or he loses something precious, he starts looking for someone to blame for it. He chose revenge, but he was really searching for a reason to go on living. No one knew his intentions.
Zaheer Sahib had to go to Murree for some work. He asked Zareena Begum and Amal to come along. Grief never ends, but still, to ease Jahangir Sahib’s mourning, Zaheer Sahib invited him along too.
Present:
And then you got lost. We searched for you everywhere but you were nowhere to be found. Amal, I felt as if you had never existed at all. But for a mother, denying her child is very hard.
To clear her hazy memory, Wafa decided to go to a psychiatrist.
Scene: “Dr. Farah’s Room - Memory Recall Therapy”
Present:
6 p.m. Karachi. The room was quiet. Only the soft sound of the air conditioner. The clock on the wall ticked. Wafa sat curled up on the sofa. A broken bracelet in her lap. Across from her, Dr. Farah, 40 years old, gentle manner, notepad in hand.
Dr. Farah: “Wafa, you said you remember something hazy about the night Amal disappeared?”
Wafa: nodding. “Just... a ceiling. Darkness. And silence.”
The doctor dimmed the light and switched on a table lamp.
Dr. Farah: “Close your eyes, beta - take a deep breath - we’ll go to that night - when Amal was brought to the orphanage.” She played a recording of rain from outside.
Wafa’s breathing quickened.
Wafa: “I’m... I’m lying on a bed - staring at the ceiling.”
Dr. Farah: “Good - and around you?”
Wafa’s hand trembled - she clenched the bracelet in her fist.
Wafa: “Next to me... Warisha is sleeping - and... and tears are silently falling from Amal’s eyes.”
The doctor paused her pen.
Dr. Farah: “Don’t be afraid - you’re safe. Tell me what happened.”
Sweat on Wafa’s forehead.
Wafa: “For the first time... for the first time a question arose in Amal’s heart.”
Her voice choked. Dr. Farah: “What question?”
Wafa: “She was whispering... if Mama and Baba are coming to get me... then why haven’t they come yet?”
Silence fell over the room.
Wafa opened her eyes - tears were flowing.
Wafa: “There was no answer to that question, Doctor. No one came for her. No one knocked on the door.”
She began sobbing. “But that very question broke something inside her - maybe that night a part of Amal’s childhood died.”
Dr. Farah gently took her hand.
Dr. Farah: “Wafa, this memory is very painful. But this is the truth. And only the truth will carry you forward.”
She paused. “You said no one came for her - so where did Amal go?”
Wafa: “I don’t know... I only remember the second... then the third day... and the door was never knocked on.” The doctor noted:
Trauma memory fragment
Abandonment
Age 23.
Dr. Farah: “That’s enough for today - you’re very brave.” She rose and handed her a glass of water.
Wafa drank the water - the same sentence was still echoing in her mind:
“No one came for her”
And now she knew that even after the abduction, Amal believed no one would come for her.
Past:
Amal’s Abduction:
Murree Road, Murree - 6 p.m.
After finishing his business, Zaheer Sahib thought of exploring Murree with the family. Zaheer Sahib had Amal perched on his shoulder.
“Mama, which chocolate shall we get?” Amal was playing with his hair.
“Whichever you say, princess.” Zaheer bought cotton candy for her. The Mall Road was crowded. Zareena Begum was busy talking with an old friend. Zaheer Sahib set Amal down and went over to the corn vendor.
In that one moment, Amal’s hand slipped free.
She saw someone sitting on a bench in the distance. Dark glasses, a cap, and half his face covered by a muffler. He waved at Amal. She went to him without fear.
“Bade Abu (Uncle)...?” Her voice trembled.
Only silence came in reply. A strange smell entered her breath. Her head began to feel heavy. Everything grew hazy.
If she had spoken any more, Jahangir Sahib would have taken pity on her. But at that moment he wanted to be nothing but a heartless kidnapper. He lifted the unconscious Amal into his arms and headed toward the parking lot.
Deserted house - 40 minutes from Murree:
Jahangir Sahib laid Amal down in a dark room. When Amal regained consciousness, the room was pitch black, with only a line of moonlight falling on the floor through a broken window.
Every shadow felt alive to her. She felt that someone was standing in the corner of the room, watching her.
Thud... the sound of a door shutting.
“Is anyone there?... Please save me... I’m scared... is someone here... open the door!”
Amal kept screaming. Who makes enemies of children?
Jahangir Sahib stood outside listening to it all. He knew the pain of a child being taken away. Even so, he wanted to put Zaheer Sahib through that very agony. He was so buried in his inner darkness that he found his actions entirely right. To take revenge for Wahab, he was hurting the very person Wahab had loved most.
“I want to go to Mama and Papa. Bade Abu, please open the door now. Your daughter is scared...”
But not a hair on his head moved. He could not bear to hear Amal’s screams any longer. So he took the car and drove away.
Amal became certain that no one would come to save her now. Her voice was hoarse. She sensed only darkness all around and closed her eyes. She felt someone was strangling her. She couldn’t breathe.
“Let go... let me go...” a strangled sound came from her throat.
She was alone in the dark, delirious. And taking it for reality, she passed out.
The orphanage
When Amal opened her eyes, she found herself in an unfamiliar room. She was lying in a small bed.
She slowly looked around. The walls were strange. The room was strange. Her heart sank.
“Mama...?” she called softly.
No answer came.
“Papa...?” Silence.
She sat up at once. Suddenly some blurry images began to surface in her mind. Noise, fear, running footsteps... but then it all went hazy.
“Where am I?” she asked in a frightened voice.
A girl sitting on the bed next to hers came close at once. “Saqina Aunty found you unconscious near the gate. She brought you here.”
Amal stared at her in astonishment. “Who is Saqina Aunty?”
The girl shrugged. “She takes care of all the kids here. If someone gets sick, she stays up the whole night. But if someone gets very naughty, she scolds them hard too.”
Amal had no interest in what she said. Only one question was in her mind. Where are Mama and Papa?
“Where is my home? I want to go to Mama and Baba.” Her voice shook. The girl was silent for a few moments.
“My name is Warisha.” Amal looked at her with tear-filled eyes. “I’m Amal.” Warisha smiled faintly. “My mama and baba also went on an airplane one day. Then they never came back.” She was silent for a few moments, then said softly: “Then my uncle left me here. He said that when I grow up he’d come to take me.”
There was still hope in her eyes. “One day I heard my aunt say that Fahad and Shiraz’s studies get disturbed because of me. Maybe that’s why my uncle left me here.” She shrugged innocently, as if it were an ordinary matter. Amal’s heart contracted strangely. “But my Mama and Baba will come for me,” she said at once. “They’ll definitely come.” As if she were not convincing Warisha but herself.
Warisha looked at her for a while. Then she said softly: “Saqina Aunty says children whose mama and baba are around never come here.” The color drained from Amal’s face. “No.” She shook her head at once. Children come here because nobody wants to keep them at home. Though only a child, she grasped such a big thing.
“I have a Mama and Baba. They’ll definitely come.” There was stubbornness in her voice, and hope too. But that night, lying in bed looking at the door, Warisha’s sentence kept echoing in her mind. “Children whose mama and baba are around never come here...” Amal couldn’t sleep that night. She kept looking at the door. At every sound of footsteps she thought: Papa’s come— Each time she was disappointed. She waited. Then the next day— then the next— Every evening she’d go and stand near the gate. Every time a car came in, her heart filled with hope. And every time that hope broke. A week passed. Then a second. Then a third.
“After that night Amal stopped looking at the door.”
Present:
Scene: Dr. Farah’s Room - June 17, 2026
Wafa was back at the psychiatrist’s office to learn about her abduction.
Dr. Farah set a notepad in front of Wafa. The room was dimly lit. Doctor: “Wafa, you said you remember something hazy about the night of Amal’s abduction?” Wafa: clenching the bracelet in her fist— “Just... Mall Road... the crowd... and then darkness...”
The doctor played the sound of rain. Doctor: “Close your eyes. Go to the day you were 6 years old - in Murree.”
Wafa shivered. Wafa: “I’m... I’m on Zaheer Baba’s shoulder. I’m asking for chocolate.” Her breath quickened— “Mama is talking to her friend. Baba went to get a snack... my hand slipped free...”
Doctor: “Then what happened?” Wafa: “A man... dark glasses... waved... Bade Abu?... and then a smell... my head heavy... everything hazy...”
Wafa suddenly screamed and pulled back from the chair. Wafa: “A dark room! Screams! No one’s opening the door! Please save me!... and outside I feel... someone was outside... maybe him...”
The doctor took her hand at once. Doctor: “That’s enough, Wafa. You’re safe. You’re in 2026. Breathe.”
Wafa was gasping. Tears were flowing. Wafa: “Then the orphanage... Warisha... children whose mama and baba are around don’t come here... and I used to stand at the gate every day... no one came...” Silence fell.
Dr. Farah noted:
PTSD + Repressed Memory
Doctor: “Wafa, you’re very brave. This memory will hurt you, but this very truth will lead you to justice.”
A day passed. But Wafa did not come out of her room. Zareena Begum thought perhaps she was in shock at hearing of Wahab’s death. But the real truth was known to no one... because she hadn’t told anyone anything.
Asad knocked on the door every day... “Wafa? Are you okay?” And then quietly went away. Inside, time seemed to have stopped. No voices, no footsteps... just a heavy silence. She was no longer so weak that the memory of the abduction alone could break her. The real pain wasn’t the abduction. The real pain was the one who had abducted her.
Bade Abu...
How could he do this...? That question kept hammering in her mind, like a wound reopening again and again.
Can blood relations be this cruel too?
She could hear herself breaking from within, but outside everything was the same. As if nothing had happened.
Only one question was left in her heart...
What was her fault...?
☆ ☆ ☆
The night was deep. At last she had decided to come out of her room and face everyone. The truth that was terrifying... that was about to take a relationship from her.
The whole house was drowned in silence.
Wafa was descending the stairs slowly. Every step was heavy, as if she were fighting a war within herself. The pain in her eyes seemed to tear at her. In the hall below, a dim light was burning.
And there sat Bade Abu. Just as he always sat. Calm. Indifferent. As if nothing had happened. For a few moments no one spoke. Only the ticking of the wall clock echoed.
Then Wafa’s lips moved... trembling.
“You...”
She stopped. Her breath caught.
“Why did you do that to me...?”
In the kitchen, Zaheer Sahib was startled, wondering what was going on.
Bade Abu raised his head. “Wafa... what are you saying?”
There was surprise in his tone... but very deep.
Wafa took a step forward. “I remember everything...” Her voice grew heavy. “Mall Road... that bench... that man... dark glasses...” She halted. “And then... darkness...” A deep silence fell.
Bade Abu said slowly: “It’s your imagination, Wafa. You’re in shock...”
Hearing this, anguish rose on Wafa’s face. “Imagination?” She gave a faint laugh, but it wasn’t laughter... it was shattering. “I’ve seen it all with my own eyes...”
She came closer. “And you were there too...”
Zaheer Sahib had been listening without meaning to. Hearing this, the color drained from Bade Abu’s face.
“Wafa...” His tone grew heavy for the first time. “You have no idea what you’re saying...” Wafa replied at once. “I know everything!” Her voice shook. “I just don’t know why you did that to me...” The silence now was an accusation.
Bade Abu rose slowly.
“How could you do this to me? What was my fault?”
She was trembling. Zaheer Sahib understood. What fault was she talking about? Bade Abu stopped. One moment. Just one moment... in which everything could have changed.
Then he said in a low voice: “You don’t understand me, Wafa...” Wafa stepped back. “No...” Her voice had now faded. “You don’t understand me...” For the first time there was complete defeat in her eyes. “I’m not the girl you can forget...”
And once again a deep stillness settled. And in that stillness, only one thing was alive: the last thread of trust... which was about to fall.
Wafa stood there... but she had emptied out inside. Bade Abu was looking at her. This time there was no confusion in his eyes.
“So you finally remembered...” His tone was very quiet. As if he were confessing to something old.
Wafa went still. “What...” Her throat gave way. “What do you mean?” Bade Abu took a step forward. “I told you... the mind doesn’t always show the truth. It shows only what you can bear.”
Wafa’s hands began to shake. “No...” She shook her head. “You saved me...” Her tone broke as she said it.
Bade Abu gave a slight smile... but it wasn’t kind. “Saved?” He paused. “I wanted to finish you, Wafa.”
In the kitchen, Zaheer Sahib gripped the shelf to keep himself from falling. In one jolt the truth stood before him.
Wafa stepped back. “You’re... lying...”
Bade Abu’s tone was now perfectly clear. “No.” “I decided to kill you.”
That sentence didn’t fall into the air... it went straight into Wafa’s chest.
Her breath stopped. “Why...” Just one word.
Bade Abu glared at her. “Because you were the reason my son died. He died only because of you.” There was poison in his tone.
The phone dropped from Zaheer Sahib’s hand. There were no tears in Wafa’s eyes... only emptiness. “And then...” she managed to say. “You left me in an orphanage?”
Bade Abu nodded. He paused. “But I couldn’t bear to keep you near me either.” Flames of hatred shot from his eyes as if to burn Wafa. Even the air stood still at his words.
“So I sent you to a place where you’d be no one’s responsibility, nor my weakness.”
When that sentence ended, something inside Wafa shattered. But this time no scream came. She said softly: “So I wasn’t even human to you...”
Bade Abu looked away. That was the answer. She smiled faintly. But that smile was pain. “I waited for you all my life.” She paused. “And you left me alive so that I’d be remembered, but could never come back.” Bade Abu stayed silent.
Wafa stepped toward the door. This time there was no question, no hope. Only a decision.
“I’m not a criminal. I didn’t tell him to go there.” “I’m not a murderer.”
The door closed. And this time Bade Abu was not alone. He was imprisoned with his own truth. All Zaheer Sahib could grasp was that the one who had separated his daughter from him was none other than his own brother.
Wafa left the house at once. An icy wind was blowing. The cold was the kind that seeps into your bones. In the pitch dark only the occasional car was visible. She didn’t want to go back into that house.
She had thought she’d gotten her family back. But some truths ought to stay hidden... when they open, people shatter, and she was shattering too. Today she understood:
“An orphan isn’t someone without parents.”
“An orphan is someone whom even those who call her their own refuse to acknowledge.”
She hadn’t heard a confession from the criminal. She had heard rejection.
She sat down on a bench in a park. Her restraint broke and she began sobbing like a child.
If it had been daytime, the weather mild, there would have been people there. And then they would have judged her. Some would have thought she was crazy and walked on. These days people prefer judging a person to offering two words of sympathy. But at that hour there was almost no one. So she could let out the pent-up weight in her heart easily. But she didn’t know.
Another person was in the park at that moment to ease the suffocation inside him. The same man with the messy hair. The one who was ready to be her sympathizer in this crowded world. He sat quietly on a swing, listening to her sobs. Several times he wanted to quiet her, but sometimes you should let a person cry. When grief flows out through tears, a person feels light like a clear sky.
When her sobs began to subside, he slowly got up from the swing. He took a white handkerchief from his pocket and held it out to her. Wafa took it. When your own people betray you, you can’t refuse help from strangers.
He sat at a proper distance. Not a word passed between them. Only quiet moments and a quiet atmosphere. He asked no questions. As if to say with his presence alone: “I’m with you.” Then he spoke softly. “I...” He was telling her this to pull her out of this pain for a few moments. But she wasn’t listening...
“My son died because of you.”
Her mind was still repeating those poisonous words.
When the night began to wane, she slowly rose from the bench. She couldn’t cut off everyone else because of one person. And that was her home... from which no one could throw her out.
Her steps were on the path leading out of the park. The silent young man also rose quietly and followed behind her. He was her protector. How could he let her wander alone through the streets in the middle of the night?
The faint light of morning was coming in through the windows. The house was awake as on any other day, but there was no peace in this morning. A decision hung in the air.
The smell of tea filled the hall, but no one’s hand rested on a cup. Zaheer Sahib sat on a chair with a newspaper open, but his eyes weren’t on the words. Jahangir stood before him. There was no trace of last night’s exhaustion on his face, but the morning’s restlessness was plain. For a few moments there was silence. Only the faint sound of dishes being set down.
Then Zaheer Sahib slowly closed the newspaper. “What I heard last night...” His voice was gentle, but direct.
Jahangir said at once, “Zaheer, I can explain.”
Zaheer Sahib raised a hand and stopped him. “No... there’s no need for any explanation now.” The air in the room seemed to stop. Zaheer Sahib took a moment, then said in a clear voice: “Wafa is my daughter... and she will stay in this house.”
Jahangir’s eyes fixed on him. Zaheer Sahib stood up. The morning light now fell on his face, but his tone grew even harder.
“But understand one thing.” The silence deepened. “If you remain connected to this house... if even your presence comes near Wafa...” He looked straight at him. “Then every tie you have with this house will end.”
One moment. The whole room seemed to hold its breath.
Jahangir said nothing. No denial, no defense. Just a long silence... that broke everything inside him. Zaheer Sahib slowly looked away. “This decision won’t change, morning or night.”
Jahangir stood there a moment longer, then slowly turned. And walked toward the door. This was his punishment, that every relationship be taken from him too. In the morning light, the sound of his footsteps was all the clearer. And with every step, another bond was left behind.
Today, once again, a member of this house had been cast out.
Raindrops kept falling on the window.
Was Wahab always this harsh and unfeeling? he asked the shadow.
No. Once he was an ordinary person too. He had dreams. He was kind. The shadow set the teacup in its hand down and answered.
Then how did he become like this? he asked.
This world punishes innocent people for their innocence in such a way that they turn into embodiments of callousness.
This was fifteen years ago, when I first met Wahab.
☆ ☆ ☆
Past:
To destroy the evidence, the masked man put the lifeless body in the trunk of his car and took it to a deserted brick kiln. There he put it in a furnace and set it alight. When the body had burned to ash, he took the remains out and placed them in that same House No. 5, and threw Wahab’s ID card and car keys beside it. Wearing gloves, he further disordered the place and set fire to one part of the house.
Soon fire brigade trucks arrived to put out the fire. The fire was quickly brought under control.
“Sir, there’s a body lying here.” A young firefighter told his senior.
“So this is a police case.” He understood. The body was taken to be unclaimed and was buried. Its condition was such that no one could have identified it.
House No. 5 was sealed for further investigation and entry to the public was barred.
During the attack at House No. 5:
Past:
The moment he entered House No. 5, a message arrived on his phone.
I know you’ve always been a fool, wanting to help other people and make people like me feel inferior. But I never thought that after being so humiliated you’d put yourself in danger to save one little girl. Your courage deserves credit, but now this very courage will be the cause of your end.
At that moment, in that small apartment, a burly thug stood in front of him, certainly hired to finish him.
“Why don’t you just leave me alone... what have I ever done to you...” Wahab said wearily. The phone was on speaker.
“Because of a two-bit nobody like you, I had to be humiliated in front of my father. I was the most obedient student in class. The teachers’ favorite. And then you came and ruined everything. You didn’t just take my honor, you took my life.” He was venting his spite.
“Anyway, goodbye now.” “When the job is done, be sure to send me a picture. I’d like to have the honor of seeing the dead man’s face one last time.”
And then the call cut off.
Wahab was still sizing up the situation when he heard faint footsteps on the roof. He looked up, startled. But the sound didn’t stop. At that moment someone came out of a corner of the veranda and tried to strike his head. He turned aside just in time. The thug kept attacking Wahab. He shoved Wahab onto a table. The dishes on the table scattered and blood began to flow from one side of Wahab’s head.
But he got to his feet. After enduring so much agony and humiliation, he couldn’t die an unknown death like this. A voice rose from within him. Meanwhile, the thug put his hands in a boxing stance and began hitting Wahab’s head, so Wahab raised both elbows in front of his face.
The advantage of being a medical student is that you know the sensitive spots of the body. Wahab struck the thug’s neck twice with the back of his hand. The thug staggered. His balance was lost and he stumbled two steps back, gasping, as if his breath were caught in his throat. Wahab didn’t waste that moment. Just then the second thug, who had been standing and watching, came running at Wahab. Wahab’s eyes fell on a vase on the table holding artificial flowers. Without thinking, he smashed the vase over that thug’s head.
As he fell, Wahab picked up the broken vase. After the first blow he could have stopped. But he didn’t. It was as if he had no control over his hands, over himself. He had now let the beast inside him out. It was as though Wahab were quenching a thirst of centuries by disfiguring his face.
Meanwhile, the first thug, who had recovered his breath, slyly pulled a pistol from his pocket and aimed at Wahab’s head. But at that instant Wahab shifted slightly and the shot missed. The bullet hit his shoulder. Wahab felt as if someone had driven an iron rod into his flesh. Blood spurted from his arm like a fountain.
The thug aimed again.
And at that moment someone leapt into the house. Smashing the window glass on the way in, he kicked the thug hard just as he took aim. The stranger wore only a black mask over his eyes.
The man who until today had considered even hurting someone with words a sin had killed a person today. Without caring about his arm, he was still striking the body.
The masked man said to Wahab,
“Enough... if you want revenge, focus on your real target... stop hitting him.”
Meanwhile, the second thug ran away.
Wahab was in such a state that he seemed unable to hear anything around him.
“I said stop!” Now he roared. And at that moment the vase slipped from Wahab’s hand. As though his senses were waking.
“I didn’t do this. How could I do this?” He couldn’t accept the first blood he’d shed with his own hands. He was still staring in disbelief at the lifeless body before him.
“It was self-defense.” He was still justifying himself. Wahab looked at the corpse with trembling hands.
“Get up...” His voice broke. “For God’s sake, get up...”
The masked man stood silent for a few moments, then bent and checked the corpse’s pulse. He paused a moment.
“He won’t get up.” Wahab’s heart sank.
“I didn’t intend to kill him.”
“Most people say that the first time.” Wahab looked up. “I’m not a murderer.”
“No.” The masked man said. “A murderer is someone who feels at peace after killing.” He looked at Wahab’s bleeding shoulder. “You’re still trying to save him.” Wahab stayed silent. “But understand one thing.” The masked man’s voice was now harder than before.
“What happened today, you can’t take back.” Wahab’s eyes fixed again on the corpse. “I spent my whole life studying to save people.” “And today for the first time you took a life.” The masked man completed his sentence. There was silence for a few moments. Only the sound of Wahab’s ragged breathing filled the house.
Then he extended his hand toward Wahab. “If this breaks you, then tonight you’ll die too.” Wahab looked at him involuntarily. “And if you survive.” The masked man’s eyes gleamed behind the mask. “...then you’ll learn that anger is a weapon, not a master.” Blood kept dripping from Wahab’s shoulder. A red stain was spreading on the floor.
The masked man said briefly: “Stand up.”
“I can’t walk...”
“You will.”
“Why?” The masked man glanced at the broken window. Then he said:
“Because tonight Doctor Wahab died.” Wahab went still. The masked man kept his hand extended.
“Now decide whether you want to go down into his grave too... or not.” The masked man’s hand was still held out before him. For a few moments no one spoke.
Wahab looked at the corpse. Then at his blood-stained hands. It felt as though those hands weren’t his.
“I...” His voice gave out. He staggered in his attempt to stand. A wave of intense pain shot from his shoulder through his whole body. The masked man didn’t pull his hand back. Wahab looked at that hand. Then once more at the corpse. At last he extended his hand, trembling. But this wasn’t a student’s trust in his teacher. It was a drowning man grabbing a last support.
The masked man gripped his hand firmly. And for the first time, Wahab let himself fall.
☆ ☆ ☆
It was the underground area of a building. In the room, a doctor was bent over Wahab, removing the bullet from his arm.
“Mr. Shadow, he’s out of danger now.” The operation was a success. Because of the heavy blood loss, I’ve put him on a blood drip.
“Just make sure he rests.”
The doctor was saying this to the man with the mask over his eyes. He was Shadow. He liked to stay in the shadows and appeared only when needed.
“I appreciate your help.”
“Your payment has been transferred.” His hands were stained with blood. And in front of him stood a man whose eyes were burst and whose face was covered in blood, blood streaming from his face.
“Why did you kill me? Are you a murderer?” Suddenly voices of “Murderer, murderer” began coming from all around. He felt such pain in his ears it was as if blood would pour from them. Just then someone struck the head of that wounded-faced man hard with something. Wahab felt blood splatter on his face, and the man’s head fell to the ground split in two. Wahab screamed and opened his eyes. There was no blood there, but the smell of medicine hit his nostrils. Where am I? He strained his mind. He remembered everything.
“I’m not a murderer...” It was self-defense.
He kept reminding himself, again and again, slowly.
