The next morning—
Feroz woke up suddenly.
Frightened.
Sweating.
Breathing uneven.
"Again that dream…"
He whispered to himself while getting up.
For a moment—
He just sat there.
Silent.
Trying to calm his mind.
Then he stood up.
And walked straight to the washroom—
A small structure built near his shack.
After returning—
He changed his clothes.
Taking another dress from the old shopping bag he kept with him.
Those clothes—
Weren't bought.
They were stolen.
Back when he escaped the orphanage years ago—
He had taken them.
Along with a few sticks collected from a nearby forest…
He built this shack.
A place that became his home.
Not by choice—
But by survival.
For the past 5 years—
He had lived in a city he never truly knew.
Multan.
A city of strangers.
A city of survival.
A city where every day meant stealing…
Just to live another day.
But now—
He was tired.
Tired of running.
Tired of surviving like this.
He had made a decision.
To return.
To the orphanage.
To find the truth about himself.
After taking medicine to reduce the pain in his foot—
He began dismantling his shack.
One stick at a time.
One support at a time.
Until it slowly collapsed into pieces of his past.
He packed his belongings.
Lifted everything he owned.
And began his journey.
Towards the place he came from.
Towards Abbottabad.
A city surrounded by mountains.
Beautiful.
Peaceful.
Alive.
But for Feroz—
It held no beauty.
No peace.
No comfort.
Only memories.
And nightmares.
After walking nearly 5 miles—
He reached the railway station.
With stolen money from a medical store—
He bought a ticket to Abbottabad.
He waited.
One hour.
Two hours.
Then finally—
The train arrived.
He boarded it.
Without hesitation.
Five hours passed.
The train reached Rawalpindi.
From there—
He took a bus.
Heading toward Abbottabad.
Three more hours passed.
And finally—
He arrived.
Stepping down from the bus—
A faint, painful smile appeared on his face.
He walked toward a nearby rickshaw.
"Roshan Orphanage House," he said.
The driver nodded.
And started the ride.
Thirty minutes later—
They arrived.
Feroz paid the fare.
Lifted his bag.
And walked forward.
Toward the gate.
He stopped.
Looked up.
And whispered to himself—
"At last… I am here after so many years."
He pushed the gate open.
Silence.
No guard.
No one.
That alone—
Felt strange.
Because in his memory—
There was always a guard standing there.
Always.
He took a deep breath.
And stepped inside.
The house was not the same.
Two floors.
A garden.
A rest house for visitors.
A place where orphans once waited for adoption.
But now—
Everything was covered in dust.
Still.
Abandoned.
Feroz felt something tighten inside him.
Fear.
Uncertainty.
Memory.
He walked toward the main door.
And knocked.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
No response.
He stepped back slowly.
Thinking—
Maybe no one lived here anymore.
Then—
Footsteps.
He froze.
Slowly turned his head toward the door.
It creaked open.
Slowly.
Feroz stood still.
Eyes locked.
Heart racing.
And then—
He saw it.
The person standing there.
His eyes widened.
Shock took over his entire body.
Because the person who opened the door—
Was not someone he expected.
And everything—
Was about to change again.