After a night spent in pain, the morning sun finally rose.
As I opened my eyes, I found Iqbal Sahab sitting right in front of me.
I slowly sat up and began examining my wounds.
"Come here," Iqbal Sahab said, gesturing toward me.
I looked at him… then turned my gaze away.
"Son…" There was a warmth of affection in his voice.
I stood up and went to sit beside him.
He placed his hand gently on my shoulder.
"You've come a long way. Won't you tell me how it was?"
"Your journey seems even longer than mine," I replied with a faint smile.
"We will tell you a lot as well, son… there is much to share. But first, you should lighten your heart," Iqbal Sahab said.
I lowered my head… then suddenly remembered something and asked.
"Who was that girl?" I asked him suddenly.
Iqbal Sahab began to laugh… then leaned closer to me and whispered near my ear,
"You tell me about yourself… and I'll tell you about her," he said playfully.
I rolled my eyes and immediately stood up, moving away to sit at a distance.
"Not interested" I said
"Haha—"
Iqbal Sahab remained where he was, still laughing.
...
Click…
The sound of the previous cell door unlocking echoed through the silence.
Footsteps approached… steady and familiar.
Perhaps I had already begun to recognize them.
Ahmed Khan stood in front of our cell.
I glared at him with eyes full of hatred.
A look of satisfaction appeared on his face as he saw me.
Iqbal Sahab remained seated in his place, as if it were nothing unusual.
"So, have you met your new friend, Asim Iqbal?"
"What have you done to this innocent one?" Iqbal Sahab replied.
Ahmed Khan's tone shifted—his voice turning serious.
"The same thing I did to you."
Anger spread across Iqbal Sahab's face.
"I will wait for your downfall, Ahmed Khan," he said.
"Hahahahaha—" Ahmed Khan burst into loud laughter.
"I came to tell you that…" he gestured toward me, "teach him the work for tomorrow."
With that, Ahmed Khan stared at both of us for a few seconds… then turned and walked away.
"What work?" After Ahmed Khan left, I asked Iqbal Sahab.
"Slavery… what else…" he replied in a tired tone.
"We'll probably have to dig or something. It is we prisoners who made Ahmed Khan's Mansion so beautiful."
Hearing that, memories of home flooded my mind.
>>>
"Maaa…" I called out.
I was sitting in my mother's lap.
"Yes, my son," my mother replied.
"Ma, I'm so tired… Baba might take me to those fields. I really don't like them, you know that," I said sadly.
"That's wrong, son. Look, Baba works hard; you should help him too," my mother advised gently.
"I'm not interested in those things. I want to be a painter," I said, glancing at her with a sparkle in my eyes.
"Inshallah, you won't hold a plough, son. You'll hold a paintbrush in the future—I'm sure of it," my mother said, her eyes shining with the same hope.
"Then save me from Baba now. I'm not going. I'll just keep drawing, okay?" I said, winking at her while smiling.
"Haha… don't act smart. You know that, even if you refuse to work with Baba, he won't mind." my mother said, placing her hand gently over my hairs.
>>>
After remembering all this, I looked at my hand—wounds still marked it.
I wiped my wet eyes, and Iqbal Sahab watched me. His eyes held that same pain.
...
The sun had set, and night had taken over.
The girl stepped out of her room.
Slowly, she opened her door, wrapping a scarf around her hair, and went toward the kitchen. She picked up a plate and carefully served some pulao onto it, then had just reached the kitchen door when she saw a tall young man standing there, dressed quite fancily.
"What are you doing here?" the young man asked.
"And who is this for?"
"I'm taking it for myself. I'm hungry… Do I need your permission for that too?" she snapped rudely, glaring at him before moving to leave.
The young man grabbed her hand tightly.
She looked at him angrily, but in her other hand, she still held the plate of pulao, taking care of it.
"Let go of my hand," She said while trying to pull her hand away.
The boy was still holding on, but suddenly, he released her.
Crash!
She fell to the ground along with the plate of pulao.
"Ohhh," the boy exclaimed.
The girl glared at him furiously from the floor.
The boy stepped into the kitchen, picked up a fresh plate, and began serving the pulao. The girl started gathering the broken pieces.
"The servant will take care of it… why trouble your delicate hands?" he said, smiling, and added the pulao into the plate.
She stopped collecting the pieces and stood up.
He came closer.
"Here," he said, handing the plate toward her. "I put it in myself, just for you."
She snatched the plate quickly and was walking away.
"Wait," the boy called after her. "At least say my name once."
She rolled her eyes and looked at him angrily.
"Pervert, Zafar," she said sternly.
"Haha," Zafar laughed at that.
With that, she walked away.
"That's exactly what I want" Zafar murmured quietly to himself, smiling.
…
Iqbal Sahab and I were sitting close to each other.
He was explaining about tomorrow's work.
"This way, the work will become easier. Understand?"
I sat silently, my face etched with deep worry.
Iqbal Sahab noticed.
"son, what's the matter? Don't feel like working?"
I looked at him.
"I never liked this laborious work… and doing it for Ahmed Khan? I'd rather die than do it for him," I said, my voice heavy with sorrow and anger.
"I know what you're going through. I've been through the same, child… But you have to do this, not for Ahmed Khan, but for yourself. You have to live—for your parents, just as I've lived all these years—only so I could see the downfall of that Ahmed with my own eyes," Iqbal Sahab said, placing his hand on my shoulder.
"And I want you to live too, to witness it with me."
"He was asking about you," Iqbal Sahab said to the girl, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"NOOO WAY!" I blurted out immediately. "I was just asking who she is to you. I only wanted to know if she is a relative of yours."
The girl listened intently, her eyes fixed on me.
"You can think of me as Iqbal Sahab's daughter," she said with a warm smile, before turning to him. "Right, Iqbal Sahab?"
"Yes, absolutely! But she loves her real father more," Iqbal Sahab replied, smiling back at her.
She didn't say anything in response, letting her smile speak for itself.
Turning her gaze toward me, she asked, "What is your name?"
I remained silent and looked away.
"Rude," she remarked. "Well, I should get going. Iqbal Sahab, please enjoy this pulao in peace... do you need anything else?"
Iqbal Sahab nodded.
"What do you need?" she asked gently.
"I need some bandages and ointment," Iqbal Sahab replied.
I immediately snapped my head in his direction, looking at him with concern.
"WHAT? Where did you get hurt?!" the girl exclaimed, reaching out from behind the bars to check his hands.
"I am not hurt, my child," Iqbal Sahab said softly. "But there is someone here who cannot sleep all night because of the pain."
I quickly averted my eyes and looked down at the ground.
"Ohh," the girl whispered, her eyes falling on my hands.
"Alright, it is fine. I will bring it," she said, standing up to leave.
"BILAL!" I called out.
The girl stopped in her tracks and looked back at me, a flicker of confusion and worry on her face.
"My name is Bilal Afzal," I said quietly, my voice calm.
A smile spread across her face.
....