The cold and desolate December night was quietly spreading across the sky of Islamabad, as if concealing countless secrets within it. As soon as Salar entered the hotel room, he took off his coat and collapsed onto the bed with tired steps. For a few moments, he stared at the ceiling, as if questioning himself—why had he agreed to help that unknown girl? He neither knew her nor had any connection to her life… yet somewhere deep within his heart, an unnamed feeling had awakened. Without thinking about the time, he dialed the number Aizal had sent. After a few moments of silence, a serious male voice emerged from the other side. Even Salar couldn't believe the call had been answered. He paused briefly, then said, "Hello… this is Salar… Aizal's friend." As he said the word *friend*, he himself was startled, because he didn't even know Aizal. Quickly regaining composure, he continued, "I'm Aizal's friend… I believe you are Mustafa. Aizal told me you're not attending her calls, so she asked me to pass along a message—that you should contact her." There was silence on the other end for a few moments, then only a faint "Hmm" was heard, and the call was abruptly disconnected. Salar stared at his phone in surprise, then muttered under his breath, "Both of them are strange… I don't know what I was thinking getting involved in this." With a vague sense of irritation, he lay back on the bed again, but sleep was miles away from his eyes… as if a faint echo of an approaching storm had already brushed against his heart.
He didn't even realize when he fell asleep. When he woke up, it was eleven in the morning. He slowly got up and quietly went to freshen up, but somewhere in his mind, that strange conversation from the night still lingered. On the other side, Aizal sat in silence. Musfira and her mother were also at her house. With great difficulty, they managed to make Aizal eat breakfast. Even after much insistence, she barely took two bites. Her eyes had turned red from staying awake all night, and the shadows of exhaustion and grief were clearly visible on her face. There was a constant restlessness in her heart—why hadn't Mustafa called yet? She kept looking at her phone again and again, as if waiting for some news every second. Suddenly, a message notification sound broke the silence. With trembling hands, she picked up her phone.
"Aizal, how are you? It's me, Mustafa… I'm sorry, I can't call you right now, and you shouldn't call me either. I have spoken to my parents about you, but they have not agreed yet. I will speak to my mother again so she can convince my father. Don't call me—I will call you myself. I'm a bit busy right now… I hope you understand."
As soon as she read the message, a strange feeling stirred in Aizal's heart. For a moment, she felt happy that Mustafa had at least spoken to his parents about her—but the very next moment, a wave of pain surged through her heart. She wanted to talk to him, to tell him about the catastrophe that had fallen upon her, but it was as if the words were trapped somewhere inside her. Then a fear rose within her… what if they didn't agree? What if Mustafa's mother couldn't convince his father? What would become of her? For a moment, it felt as though she was about to break, but in the very next second, she steadied herself. Closing her eyes, she whispered softly within her heart,
"Everything will be alright… I have faith in Allah. Mustafa will not leave me alone."
And that faith became the only support for her shattered heart at that moment.
Musfira's mother had been staying at Aizal's house since yesterday, but she had gone back to her own home for a while because Musfira's father was alone there. Musfira herself was still at Aizal's house. Suddenly, she felt a slight headache. She got up to make tea and went into the kitchen, only to see that most of the groceries were nearly finished. She returned and softly told Aizal that she would be back shortly after getting some necessary items. It wasn't possible to take Aizal along—she was still unwell and both mentally and physically weak. Aizal silently nodded. Adjusting her dupatta, Musfira picked up her bag and quickly left for the market, leaving behind a house filled with silence…
Aizal remained seated in the lounge. The silence of the house felt unusually heavy. The stillness spread across the walls, the memories scattered in every room… everything weighed down on her from within. She kept staring ahead blankly when suddenly she felt as if someone was watching her. A strange sensation crept into her heart. She instinctively turned her head and looked around. The house was just as silent as before… yet an unfamiliar fear rose within her. Then suddenly, her father's last words echoed in her mind.
Her entire body went numb. Even breathing felt heavy.
She had to protect herself… she had to fulfill the promise she had made to her father.
At that very moment, she made a decision.
Quietly, she stood up and walked to the table, picking up a piece of paper and a pen.
Her hands trembled, but her resolve was firm.
She began writing a letter to Musfira:
"Musfira…
By the time you read this letter, I will have gone far away from you.
I am helpless. I do not want to put you or Uncle and Aunty in any danger because of me. I have to fulfill my father's last wish and keep myself safe. I don't know where I will go… but I cannot stay here anymore.
InshaAllah, if Allah wills, we will meet again… and perhaps then things will not be like this.
Work hard and make sure you achieve your dreams.
And thank you…
You are a wonderful person and my best friend.
Allah Hafiz,
Your friend,
Aizal."
As she finished the letter, tears began to fall onto the paper, but she did not stop her hand. Folding it carefully, she placed it on the table… as if leaving a piece of her heart behind.
Then she picked up her phone and dialed Dr. Zaheer's number… which was currently with Salar. After a few moments, the call was answered.
"Dr. Zaheer… I had asked for your help… please, help me one last time. I will always be grateful to you…"
Salar was startled.
He couldn't understand what this girl was saying.
From the other side, Aizal's anxious voice came through,
"Please somehow bring Mustafa to wherever you are… and arrange our nikah as well. I don't have time…"
Salar's feet felt rooted to the ground.
"What?"
Now he was truly beginning to feel irritated. In a firm tone, he said,
"First of all… I am Salar, not Zaheer. And just because you helped me once doesn't mean I go around arranging people's marriages!"
Hearing Salar's voice, Aizal was deeply shaken. For a moment, that same cold, arrogant face of Salar flashed before her eyes—the one she had never liked.
She immediately said,
"This was Dr. Zaheer's number… he gave it to me. How do you have it? And I didn't ask you for help—I was trying to talk to Zaheer."
Salar sensed the helplessness in her voice, yet he still replied coldly,
"Look… I called your so-called boyfriend. To me, it seemed like he doesn't care much about you… and you're talking about marrying him. Strange."
"He is not my boyfriend!"
There was sudden firmness in Aizal's voice.
"His name is Mustafa…"
After a few moments of silence, she spoke again, her voice soft yet resolute,
"I helped you… now you have to help me too.
Please, somehow bring Mustafa here.
Tell him I don't have time… that he should come quickly.
I'm waiting for him…
And please arrange the nikah as well… I will be grateful to you."
There was such helplessness, such determination, and such urgency in her voice that for a few moments, Salar truly fell silent… as if unable to decide whether this girl was mad, helpless, or trapped in some deep secret.
When Aizal asked him to arrange the nikah, she herself knew that time was slipping out of her hands. She had to leave the house as soon as possible, because Musfira could return at any moment, and she didn't want to put her in further danger. With heavy steps, she walked out of the house. She didn't even realize that while she had asked Salar to bring Mustafa, Mustafa was in Lahore—it would take time for him to reach. Until then, where would she go? Her mind had gone numb. She kept walking, and walking… until she finally stopped at an unfamiliar place far from home.
At that very moment, the call to prayer rose from a nearby mosque:
"Allahu Akbar… Allahu Akbar…
Ashhadu an la ilaha illallah…
Ashhadu anna Muhammadan Rasulullah…"
These heartfelt words of the adhan fell upon her restless heart like a soothing balm. For a moment, she felt as if her breaking self had found support, as if her Lord was calling her toward Him. She had just taken a few steps forward when she noticed an elderly man standing ahead. White beard, serene face, and luminous eyes… from his appearance, he seemed to be the imam of the mosque. Seeing Aizal standing there in such a state, he gently asked,
"Daughter, are you alright? What are you doing here alone at this hour? Do you need any help?"
Hearing the compassion in his voice, the weight inside Aizal seemed to grow heavier, yet she composed herself. In a soft voice, she said,
"Yes… I'm a traveler… I lost my way. Is there somewhere I could sit for a while? I'll leave afterward."
The imam, whose name was Rehmat Ali and who was known for his kind nature, immediately understood that the girl was troubled. Without asking further questions, he said,
"Come with me, daughter. Rest for as long as you need—this is your home too."
He took her to his house. There, his wife Zeenat and his sixteen-year-old daughter Ayesha were present. Despite her being a stranger, they welcomed her with warmth and sincerity. Ayesha smiled and seated her inside, while Zeenat offered her water. This kindness brought tears to Aizal's eyes.
Hesitantly, Aizal said,
"I'll leave after resting for a little while… I'm sorry for troubling you."
Zeenat replied gently,
"There's no trouble, dear. Stay as long as you like—consider this your own home."
Aizal softly said that she wanted to pray. Ayesha immediately took her to perform ablution. A simple, kind-hearted girl who had just finished her matric exams, Ayesha quietly helped her. After ablution and prayer, when Aizal returned, her heart felt somewhat lighter.
The family treated her with great hospitality. Aizal felt ashamed every moment for having to lie, but she was helpless. Her intention was not to trouble anyone—it was only to fulfill the promise she had made to her father and to keep herself safe. Now she sat quietly… waiting for what was to come, not knowing which direction the next moment would take her life.