H.O.

C PUBLICATION PRESENTS

A Novella

Contributing Authors are

Rakhshanda Zahir, Tehreem Iftikhar, Tayyaba Noor,
Nabiha Memon, Salama Faiz, Maria Saeed
Copyright © 2025. All rights reserved and retain copyrights. As per
law, no part of this publication may be reproduced by any means
without prior permission from the author.

An Unchanging Reality
A Project of HOC Publications
(House of Creation Publications)
Published in Pakistan, February 2025

ISBN:

Contact us: +923242233320

houseofcreation01@gmail.com
Instagram: @hoc_publications
Facebook: HOC Publications
Website: www.hocpublications.com
An Unchanging Reality H.O.C Publications

ABOUT H.O.C PUBLICATIONS

House of Creation was founded in June 2022 to
Promote literature and help writers portray their talent through
writing and art.
We aim to provide a platform to writers that helps people showcase
their talent and skills through Anthology books, Solo Books, and
Magazines. We are the voice of young aspiring writers and artists,
a place where we believe anyone can jot down their thoughts on
paper.

Services of H.O.C Publications

 Anthologies [Collective work of 25 Co-authors]
 Solo book publishing
 Spotlight interview of authors
 Collaborative Novella of 5 Writers.
 Magazine Volumes
 Printing of all kinds of book
 Design your Book or Magazine
 Give an attractive look through Book covers.
 Book formatting helps you get a good insight into your book
An Unchanging Reality H.O.C Publications
An Unchanging Reality H.O.C Publications

DEDICATION

To the youth of Pakistan

An Unchanging Reality H.O.C Publications
An Unchanging Reality H.O.C Publications

PREFACE

“An Unchanging Reality” brings you the experiences and

complexities faced by people in our part of the world. It is
a touching tribute to the warriors who seek justice despite
opposition, challenges and hardships. This beautiful
collection of stories is not only a written expression but a
heartfelt celebration of resilience, perseverance and
resistance in all its forms. This collaborative effort of six
young authors brings you anecdotes and insights from
contemporary Pakistan. This novella delves into the
ramifications and subtleties of the human spirit and invites
readers to newfound truths and unchanging realities.
“An Unchanging Reality” pays a sweet homage to
Pakistan's youth and brings their stories to the forefront
by narrating and highlighting tales from the land of pure.
We hope you enjoy reading our novella as much as we
enjoyed bringing it to life.
Welcome to “An Unchanging Reality”
An Unchanging Reality H.O.C Publications

TABLE OF CONTENT

CHAPTER 1 ……………………………………………………………….. 07
TALES FROM THE LAND OF PURE
Rakhshanda Zahir

CHAPTER 2 …………………………………………………………….… 18
THE LAST PETAL OF MY FADING INNOCENCE
Tehreem Iftikhar

CHAPTER 3 ………………………………………………………………. 26
THE UNSEEN GUARDIAN
Tayyaba Noor

CHAPTER 4 ………………………………………………………………. 37
THE WEIGHT OF BETRAYAL
Nabiha Memon

CHAPTER 5 ………………………………..…………………………..… 53
ECHOES OF YESTERDAY
Salama Faiz

CHAPTER 6 ……………………………………………………………..… 61
WHISPERS BENEATH THE STARS
Maria Saeed
An Unchanging Reality H.O.C Publications

AUTHORS PROFILE

RAKHSHANDA ZAHIR
Rakhshanda Zahir is the author of the book A
NOSTALGIC SILENCE and a Co-author of four
anthologies: DREAMS AND DELUSIONS, EVERY
WOMAN IS EXCEPTIONAL, WHISPERS OF TODAY
and INFINITE REFLECTIONS. As a full-time
journalism student at the University of Peshawar, certain
histories and ancient legacies interest her greatly and not
to her surprise; she finds this to be relevant here as well;
that is how stories mould and make us better human
beings. As a 6th-semester student, she knows her niche
and loves creating stories by observing and reading about
the past and present.
Rakhshanda loves to read and write. She made her writing
debut at the mere age of 21. She has been writing articles
for various online forums about social issues that are
prevalent in present-day Pakistan. Her recent work aptly
defines her art and creativity, which helps her to bring a
unique narrative to her writing endeavours. Currently, she
is working on her second solo book which will come out
super soon.
Let’s connect on Instagram @rakhshandazahir

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TEHREEM IFTIKHAR
An aspiring wordsmith writer, Tehreem Iftikhar, is a
student of BS English at Superior Group of Colleges
Mianwali. Her imagination knows no bounds with a
published book and an upcoming anthology to her name.
Her insatiable curiosity and passion for creativity drive
her to explore new frontiers, from the digital realm to the
natural world, always seeking to learn, grow and stay true
to her values. Life’s adventures are her playground,
whether that’s driving down a winding road or snuggling
with a furry friend, for her peace, means sun-soaked
adventures and games galore.

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TAYYABA NOOR
Tayyaba Noor is a student of Doctor of Physical Therapy.
She is the co-author of an anthology called QUIVERING
WHISPERS FROM WITHIN. As a medical student, she
has been writing research papers concerning social issues,
especially mental health. Tayyaba has always been lost in
books, finding a different perspective of the world in the
written words. She believes that written words hold more
power than spoken ones.
She writes to illuminate topics that often go unnoticed,
giving voice to the unspoken and the overlooked. She
found herself drawn to stories hidden for centuries which
she writes in her blogs - the harsh truths, the hidden
struggles. In her writing,she invites readers to see the
beauty of untold stories. Currently, she is working on her
solo book which will be out soon.

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NABIHA MEMON

Nabiha Memon is a final-year student in English

Language and Literature. Writing has been her passion
since 2019, and her journey as a writer has been both
exciting and fulfilling. A dedicated, passionate, versatile,
and enthusiastic content writer, she has built a strong
background in creating engaging and thought-provoking
content.

Her most recent achievement is winning the Award for

Best Author at the 3rd Sindh Youth Convention. Nabiha
enjoys reading novels and reviewing them, as living in a
world of fiction provides her with an escape from reality
and serves as a constant source of inspiration. Her
aspiration is to continuously grow and improve in her
field, seeking opportunities to expand her experience,
enhance her skills, and gain deeper insights.

As an English major, Nabiha has focused on developing

her creative writing abilities, allowing her to explore and
grow in this field. She has also worked as a content writer
during various internships, further honing her craft and
contributing to her professional development.

Her Instagram Account: @allaboutnabiha_

LinkedIn and Medium Account: Nabiha Memon

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SALAMA FAIZ
Salama Faiz is a dedicated author with a passion for
storytelling, having contributed to six anthologies and
published one solo book. With a keen eye for detail and a
deep understanding of human emotions, Salama’s writing
resonates with readers across diverse backgrounds. Each
piece reflects a unique blend of creativity and authenticity,
capturing the essence of life’s experiences. Whether
weaving intricate narratives in anthologies or crafting
compelling solo works, Salama continues to inspire and
engage audiences with their distinct voice and storytelling
prowess.

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MARIA SAEED
Maria Saeed, an English Literature graduate from the
Women University Multan (WUM), Pakistan, is a
passionate writer and lover of words, creativity, and books.
Her contributions to renowned English and Urdu
newspapers showcase her talent, while her love for
collecting certificates and badges reflects her commitment
to growth and learning.
Through her writing, Maria sheds light on social issues,
advocating for equality and justice in a world where every
voice is heard.
If her words resonate with you, explore more of her
literary journey and bookish adventures on her
Bookstagram: @readwithmaria6.

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CHAPTER 1
TALES FROM THE LAND OF PURE
Rakhshanda Zahir

T here was a time when peace had landed over the

sophisticated beauty of rural Sindh. Sindh’s story is

woven within tranquility and solitude that has shaped the
very skyline and identity of the region and its inhabitants.
Stories from the past transcended boundaries and led the
future generations to seek purpose, but within a stream of
winners, there have been a few black sheep that paved the
way for potential conflict amidst long-standing tensions.
Asmara, a 17-year-old, kind, silly girl, aspires to become
an author one day and bring change through her powerful
words. Likewise, Ahad, her younger brother who happens
to be a die-hard storyteller but deep inside, his instincts
are that of a social reformer. They both deeply valued
education due to their forefathers' diverse educational
pursuits. Folk tales have been one of their most powerful
legacies, which today seems to be no longer a matter of
public knowledge but keeping alive the spirit of
generosity and learning about how Islam reached the
Nordic countries eventually led them to a life of
intelligence. In the months that followed, the cities began
to rebuild and the world stood still for a moment. Asmara
knows that authority negates independent thinking;

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therefore, her solo journey took place from humble

beginnings to unheard cries of 18-year-old Hooria. She
not only just skims through the surface but instead delves
into the complexities and emotional weight of these
experiences through the beauty of existence. She knows
that vast knowledge is preserved in our culture, which, at
the end of the day, holds no value for many people as they
are in pursuit of a progressive temporary ideal. She has
seen children like Yumna and Yameena who live life to
the fullest, but Hooria’s past memories are stuck inside
her head. Hooria’s plea is an ode to the forgotten voices
that have been shaped by the weight of her silence.
Asmara is older than Ahad by two years, and both of them
are fully purpose-driven for a future that is worth fighting
for. They strongly believe that long-term commitment and
dedication will eventually lead them toward glory in life,
as the world is a contingent reality based on perpetual
struggle. Growing up, they had heard tales from the
fascinating past about how the migrants were displaced
during the partition. They even remember asking their
Dadi Jan about their Hindu neighbours who had settled
back in Pakistan while practicing the roots of Indian
culture and tradition. Their Dadi was very fond of them.
She used to look at her grandchildren with great pride and
honor. Asmara was her favourite child, and she often
wondered about the beautiful future that awaited her as
she has always been a headstrong, straightforward and
socially active girl. Ahad, who has been clinically
diagnosed with social anxiety, often finds himself in the
deep blue sea of multiple emotions, be it anxiety, fear or
restlessness. Asmara, due to her aggressively kind nature,

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doesn’t let the demons mislead her but wants to open

doors that work in her favor.
She once asked her Dadi Jan why India, the land of epics
like Mahabharata and Ramayana, tells their own history
in its own way! Why do Pakistan and India always look
for foreign validation? ‘My dear Asmara! As long as I
remember, we’ve been ripped apart since the very
beginning. I feel that our choices are likely to mislead us.’
Asmara wanted to protect all these stories in words as she
was obsessed with the undulating power of pen and paper
and wanted to make it big by connecting strongly with her
roots, tradition and customs. She knew that Sindh was a
religious hub for the Hindu and Parsi community. In fact,
they played a major role in conceptualizing Karachi’s
development and turning it into the economic epicentre
that it is today. Unconsciously, she wrote about some fears
that mentally challenged her life and the ability to think
and ponder. Vague but crystal clear, her mind was clouded
by many thoughts but she has bravely outshined every
time. She was hesitant at first but penned her emotions in
bilingual, purely out of passion. There and then, she went
through an intense psychological feeling of loneliness. It
gave warning signs and welcomed stress with a multitude
of indicators. Being big on western philosophical aspects
of life, she has been following the concepts of reality
propagated and popularized by Immanuel Kant and Rene
Descartes.
Living in Karachi’s rustic Sindh she has seen people
battling with a wide range of heart diseases. Asmara is not
at all aware of her surroundings. She has met many

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complex and challenging youth in her life and

occasionally thinks about the social evils that exist in
Pakistan. From the exponential rise of political parties in
2011 to 2025’s modern economic restoration, her gut
feeling has sent shivers to the civic sense that is perceived
by the international world. Due to their patriotic nature,
both of them are fully goal-oriented for a cause that will
bring stability and peace to their lives.
One day, Ahad came running in astonishment and looked
confused. Disillusionment came in the way of hope and
darkness took over her personality as Asmara held herself
from getting any bad news but looked straight into his
eyes. He was going crazy with bizarre and absurd
behavior flowing over him as he narrated his way back
from the hospital where he saw Hooria, a girl badly
entrenched inside her delusional thoughts. Her mental
health was disturbed due to the bullies she has faced, the
emotional detachment from her favourite hobby and all
that a girl desires for her well-being and safety. Life
brought its own taste to Asmara and Ahad’s unknown
journey. The prognosis took them to a far-reaching end
where empathy was a mere dream. There was scrutiny,
manipulation and exploitation in all its forms, shapes and
sizes. Hooria’s condition was known to everyone. The
onlookers often used to question the severity of her
disease and how mental health issues were on the rise in
Pakistan. Hooria had a poor childhood – a trauma-driven
life took her heads and shoulders above the rest and
landed her into a grave pool of sighs and sorrows where
marginalization and bullying were a household name. Her
country was living in a fool’s paradise where certain
individuals never sensed their sheep morality which made

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it utterly painful for people like Hooria. It was hard to

separate from the past and live in the present. Her lifeless
existence never thought of the future but she had to see a
psychiatrist for her well being.
At the prime of her youth, she has realized that life on
earth ceased her four years back. Asmara felt the need to
narrate Hooria’s story to the world by turning her
emotions onto paper and let it to find its own course
through the eyes of outsiders but she knows that an
author’s job is tough and becoming one, takes a lot of
courage as the story has to stem entirely out of
imagination. She wanted to witness the rough yet
evolving transition of government hospitals in Pakistan as
she wanted to conduct a survey by running it all the way
from Sindh to its outskirts. Is it even possible? The
thought of penning an unchanging reality scared her. She
feared the ‘what if’ situation and wanted to let it all go out
in haste but her gut feeling was not letting her to sit in
peace. She remembered that once Ahad took great interest
in the political climate of the country and said out of
frustration that he’ll step into decision making role by
changing the policies and bringing fresh reformation as
the outdated pattern has been haunting the people of
Pakistan since decades. He wanted to grow up but the
stories he heard as a child brought out the quest, anger and
sentimental approach in his behavior.
One of the biggest reasons behind the domination of
humans in this world is their skill to tell stories. From the
agricultural revolution to the concept of the barter system,
turning nature’s miracles into medical breakthroughs,
common myths and imagined realities never shattered

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their growth. Ahad had a regular class with Dadi Jan. That
very day, she told him about the Radcliffe line and how
the subcontinent was divided into two. Asmara quickly
went inside the room, grabbed him by the shoulder and
pulled him aside. Dadi didn’t see this coming but got
herself busy with some little street fellows. Asmara
explained her little brother about the scenario. She told
him that she needed an up close experience of all the
major government hospitals in the city.
‘We should pay a secret visit to the near hospitals
without letting anybody know about it. Will anyone take
us seriously? I cannot do this. It seems quite mundane. We
are so small. You are but I’m not. Asmara! you are only
17. You think you are smart enough? Yes! I consider
myself the best in the world because I read. Reading is the
only thing I do. Dadi Jan’s life-long stories have shaped
us, and she will be so happy to see that we are working for
a good, sustainable cause. I desperately want to write
Hooria’s story and tell people that she is a struggling
human like all of us. We need to lend her an ear and listen
to what she has to say. She has withered a storm and
coming out of darkness is a challenge in itself and I
believe that she is stronger than ever before.’
Yesterday, a passerby took blessings and prayers from
their grandmother and told her that Hooria’s Phupho had
finally taken her to a psychiatrist. He is Muhammad
Hamza, a 25-year-old well-read man.
Asmara was certainly not aware of what tomorrow will
bring so she waited inside her room for the night to fall
while looking at the frosty stars in the sky. She knows that

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accountability is a choice and one has to let go of certain

things in order to draw the perfect outro. Such choices
flustered her to the core but her inner belief allowed her
to go beyond the hospitals of Badin, Sukkur, Umerkhot,
Gotki and Rohri. The arrival of dawn brought the sun
seeping through the curtains as Sindh’s luxurious lifestyle
enhanced its enriching beauty and added even more value
to it. Asmara woke up early, went straight to her Dadi’s
room and bombarded her with lots of questions. Dadi Jan
was left spellbound and curiosity starting hitting her like
never before. She wanted to know her grandchild’s
purpose behind asking such illogical questions.
What does Asmara aim to achieve? Occasionally, she was
labelled as foolish, immature and naive, but it didn’t
bother her at all because she was at peace with herself.
From very early on, she felt secure within herself, which
led her to the point that people know nothing as they all
are a product of assumptions and rumours. She believes
that foolish and naive people flourish in life and reach a
state of self-actualization. Asmara was a girl of high
fortune. Her blissful life turned out for her in a way that
she had never thought of. One fine afternoon, her healthy,
wise grandmother fell ill due to the pain in her knees and
was rushed to the near hospital. Asmara accompanied her
as Ahad was busy dealing with his anxious thoughts.
Upon reaching there, she was shocked and frightened as
she witnessed the dark and deep condition. Her eyes
welled up with tiny tears as she imagined the situation in
the emergency wards. Such government hospitals are at
the brink of a collapse but nobody looks after it. It’s sad
but true. She thought to herself.

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Asmara wanted to conduct an informal survey and wanted

to speak to Hooria’s therapist. Her Dadi was taken inside
and she went in search of the clinical ward. She ran here
and there, but it was indeed a classic hard work. Her
grandmother was looked after by nurses and doctors while
other patients were coming in and going out, but Asmara
was roaming all around like a five-year-old. People sitting
in the waiting room showed her the way, and the door
creaked open. She finally spoke to Muhammad Hamza
and told him, ‘I’m running a random survey on the rising
cases of mental health in Pakistan. It is a matter of social
concern but we don’t talk much about it. I want to try my
luck at writing; therefore, I want you to tell me about
Hooria, a young teenager who is battling abuse of all kinds.
Regarding such stories, people in our locality are busy
spreading rumors. Isn’t it weird? I need some tidbit
information as it is very heartbreaking to even think about
it. Well, I’m impressed as that is the kind of spirit that we
need. There’s nothing much to say about Hooria. She was
being bullied in school, and it eventually took a toll on her.
Till date, she is living in the past. In fact, I asked her to
leave the secluded shell and come out stronger and better
as it will lead you to a higher level of growth and
contentment in life. The only way to connect, interact and
live life in all its glory is to dwell in the moment - the
present but her face said it all before coming to a
conclusion. I know. It is indeed an unchanging reality. So,
Hooria goes to college but lives in school as her mind is
dominating her existence. Absolutely!’ The psychiatrist
said.
Without uttering a single word, she went to see her Dadi
Jan. Her grandmother was being shifted to the ICU as she

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was in a very critical condition. The emergency ward was

saturated with people. The entire scene was
uncomfortable and there and then she saw her brother
running towards her. ‘Dadi Jan has been taken to the ICU.
I’ll come home in a while. But why are you staying here?
Ahad! you better go now as you know I have some work
to do. You are so dumb, Asmara!! Come on! Life is all
about playing games.’
Putting up a research together is a whole lot of pressure
and people like Asmara who are careless in terms of
organizing and planning then it is a lost war. She left and
Ahad stood in the middle of the stairs where he was
surrounded by anonymous people of all ages be it patients,
doctors or security guards. Fifteen year old Ahad saw an
interesting exchange of corruption and bribery. He saw a
man with head covered carrying a well built and a
measured smile. The security guard hesitated at first but
thought to himself of the ransom he was about to receive.
This mutual exchange of gift in the form of wealth
redefined the concept of money making in Pakistan which
unknowingly led to the formation of money laundering.
This was indeed a wake up call for youngsters like him as
it left him stunned for a while but deep inside he knew that
such evil practices are part of the world we live in.
Without making any eye contact the guard and man flees
the scene and left. Asmara has got an influence on him by
always pushing him to ask informed questions as it will
lead to better results in life ahead. He was stabbed by
many flashbacks and wanted to know the rise in
corruption cases. He thought to himself that only the elites
exploit us. Therefore, we are not a self governing body but
a product of oligarchy. There are many silent game

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changers behind every fallout and likewise his sister's

curiosity started killing him. He wanted to know the ‘why’
behind such an ugly exchange of wealth. Being exposed
to such an extreme and a volatile environment at a young
age both sister and brother were in search of an
unchanging reality which has shattered their evolution
and growth by giving birth to uncontrollable lies,
Jingoism and rhetoric.
Asmara and Ahad lost their storyteller, best friend and
caretaker after a long battle with kidney infection. The
shock they received upon hearing the news was horrific.
Such events occur in life but leaves devastating impact by
bringing drastic change in one’s life. Days and months
had passed by but they had not recovered yet. In fact their
condition got worst. The grit, determination and aim to
achieve big for Pakistan by taking their Dadi Jan’s long
forgotten tales to the world has sadly turned into a lost
dream of many sorts. Pakistan’s problems are not very
hard to handle but it needs time to define its values of
unity, faith and discipline. The minds, hearts and souls
that demanded this beautiful piece of land for us was
indeed a courageous step towards enlightenment but as
time went by everything came to a halt. Such
revolutionary ideas and emotions feels heavy on the heart
and damages the fatal, wounded thoughts. They
remember Dadi Jan speaking to them about indo Pak
subcontinent and its undivided polarization. She used to
say that both founders were staunch supporters of an
undivided India but ideologies speaks when nobody
listens. Asmara and Ahad wanted to heal and protect that
sweet part of their time spent with Dadi Jan as it brings
back all the memories of their idyllic childhood. Their

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Dada Dadi’s home felt like a barren land with nobody to

tell stories, pass on to the next generation and love their
beautiful grandchildren. A home where they were born
was left with colorful melodies of their grandparents
which eventually gave them the hope, courage and
motivation to make storytelling the next swag in Pakistan
by keeping their legacy alive, healthy and fine.

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Chapter 2
The Last Petal of My Fading
Innocence
Tehreem Iftikhar

L eaving behind the memories of seven years, I hold

onto the hope that someday we’ll be whole again, just like
before. Her eyes welled up with tears. Her past memories
were making her emotional. She was crying at the
moment. She was not ready to left her home, her toys, her
memories, and more than it the countless moments she
shared with her parents within these walls. Her belongings
were carefully packed and transported to her new
residence. She didn’t know, where her new house would
be, and where her fate will take her.
Yumna ? Are you ready to go child? “Said Rashid”
She became frightened, aware that her mind was
elsewhere….
Oh! Uncle I got scared, I didn’t hear what you just said…
“Yumna replied”
Child, I know its difficult to leave but there is no other
option. “Said Rashid”

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I don’t want to go, I know Uncle there’s no other option,

but Shall we go a bit little late. I am feeling this place
peaceful, As it’s making me remembered all those
memories I had here. “Yumna replied”
I can understand child, you stay here, we will go there in
the evening. “Said Rashid”
She went towards her room’s window pane where as her
uncle left the room.
She was looking at the sky with a hope in her tearful eyes.
She was in nostalgia at that time as she was in love with
each and everything of her house. She was in a great pain
at that time. Her tears fell like pearls, a luminous
reflection of her heart’s pain. It pained Rashid to know her
struggles and be unable to alleviate them. The memories
she cherished now seemed tainted, infused with a deep
and abiding sorrow. Tears streamed down her face as they
drove away, leaving behind memories and a piece of her
heart. Rashid’s reassuring voice filled the car, a soothing
balm for her wounded heart, as he described the warmth
and love of her new home. She stayed quiet but with a
sense of longing, she looked at the Teddy bear, it presence
was a reminder of happier times, and the promise of bright.
He was bound for America, with a flight scheduled to
depart at 4:00 pm. The prolonged journey came to an end
as they reached the place after parking the car, he politely
asked her to exit the vehicle. Afterwards they both were
standing in front of the door of Yumna’s new home.
Yumna, daughter now it’s your new home, you will get
everything you want. “Said Rashid”

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Her eyes brimming with tears, she grasped his jacket, as

if reluctant to let him go…
Come on Yumna…..get in,…. Don’t be scared, I am here
with you. “Said Rashid”
She stepped inside the house, her small steps echoing
through the silence.
Her gaze spoke volumes,
a silent language that conveyed,
the complexity of her feelings.
Rashid and Yumna were standing in front of the reception.
After a few minutes the key of the room was handed over
to them. They started walking towards the room. Yumna
was still silent as she was not ready to leave, her uncle
after the death of her parents. She burst into tears.
With a voice trembling with emotion , she cried.
I won’t leave you uncle! Please. “Said Yumna”
My dearest child, I also don’t want to leave a great and
beautiful daughter like you, your aunt will never accept
you and you know I did have a flight today, but you are
my brave daughter. I know after sometimes you will
adjust here. “Rashid replied”
She was speechless at that moment.
He opened the door of her room, It was a small size room
with two beds inside. The air was heavy with the scent of
stagnation and the dirt and dust that covered everything
told the story of a room left untouched.

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Uncle! Should I stay here? “Said Yumna”

Amm my child not forever, you are a brave girl just don’t
be scared. “Rashid replied”
Once the paperwork was finalized, the room was prepared
for her occupancy, including the relocation of her luggage.
After the completion of paperwork, now It was the time
to say Goodbye…..
The orphanage’s threshold became a poignant dividing
line. He hugged his niece tightly, his eyes welling up with
tears, before summoning the courage to bid her a
heartbreaking farewell. As he retreated to his car, she
stood frozen in the door way, her gaze a bitter sweet
mixture of love and sorrow.
In the wake of their departure,
The warmth of life ebbs, leaving
a chill that freezes the heart dries
the luxurious eyes and shatters the soul.
She bid her uncle farewell with a handshake before he
departed.
Afterwards she came inside the house and went towards
her room with the tearful eyes.
At that Night, she welcomed a new roommate, initially
feeling apprehensive, but soon finding comfort in the
companionship.
Yumna……..? “Said Miss Razia”

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Yes Ma’am…… “Yumna replied”

Child this is Yameena, your roommate, she will also stays
with you and I don’t want any sort of conflict, otherwise I
will punish you. “Said Miss Razia”
No, No, No, No,…. Yumna responded in a firm, yet
unsettling tone, we will maintain a peaceful coexistence.
Miss Razia then left the room…..
Yumnaaaaa ! why are you crying? I know her tone was
harsher, but relax, she’s the controller, she can do
whatever she wants... “said Yameena”
I want to go home back…… I don’t want to live here…
It’s a hell……… They have misguided my uncle. I will
tell him about their behavior. “Yumna replied”
Ohh Noooo ! Don’t be ridiculous, that’s not a good idea,
she will not spare you or will punish you as well, never
ever try to commit this sort of mistake. “Said Yameena”
How do you know all this? “Said Yumna”
Having lived here for 7 years, I’ve gained insight into the
rules, consequences, and staff interactions. I’m here to
share this knowledge, enabling you to navigate the
environment effectively. “Yameena replied”
Do we have to work as well? “Yumna shockingly said”
I wish someone had warned me when I first arrived.
That’s why they’ve asked me to share my experience with
you to make your transition easier, you should have to say

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yes…, no matter whatever they used to say. “Yameena

replied”
And be remember that these challenges are temporary, but
your strength and resilience will carry you through and
best of luck for your upcoming challenges. “Said
Yameena”
She listened intently as her roommate spoke, her mind
reeling with the unsettling realty of her situation. Fear and
uncertainty haunted her, making every creak of the
floorboards sound like a looming threat.
As she finished her breakfast, a detailed list of chores was
presented to her, outlining her daily obligations.
Subsequently, a group of minors between the ages of 5
and 7, escorted by a mentor, went to a designated area
where they were taught methods of begging, including the
creation of fictitious stories and the act of lying, all for the
objective of acquiring financial resources.
Yumna was shocked, but she was not be able to say no to
him, she left the group without knowing that how harmful
it would be. Under the tree’s shade, she sat in quiet
defiance, ignoring the instructions, but when the group
began to disperse, she reluctantly rejoined them.
So, how much did you guys collect today? Hand it over!
“Said Mentor”
All of the money was handed over to the mentor. Only
Yumna was standing quiet. When the mentor called her to
submit the money. She stayed quiet. She was speechless.
The mentor then administered a slap. She began to cry.

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Yumna, you did a very bad job, you would have to stay
hungry all night, and it’s your penalty for not obeying me.
“Said Mentor”
Yumna’s tears were talking at that time, but she was
speechless. Afterwards, they went to the orphanage.
When Miss Razia gets to know about Yumna’s
misbehaviour, she looked her in the room and slaps her
repeatedly. Silent tears spoke louder than words,
revealing her sorrows. Not a word escaped her lips. She
experienced a sleepless night marked by pain.
The Very Next Morning:
Upon their return, they were instructed to collect all the
useful items without informing the authorities. This time,
Yumna brought a wristwatch. She picked it up from the
jewelry shop. While the time of departure, she handed
over the clock to her Mentor and she received ten rupees
as a prize from his mentor.
Afterwards, they went back to the orphanage; she was
then invited to select one of two tasks: kitchen cleaning or
room tidying……
It became her daily routine to engage in dishonest
behaviour, including deceitful acts, false statements, and
soliciting money. As she migrated adolescence, her
actions became increasingly defined by a disturbing cycle
of cheating, lying and hurting others, with a calculated
pretense of innocence to avoid consequences. She was
deprived of proper supervision and protection, allowing
child labor to persist. Her life unfolded as a desolate
tapestry, woven from threads of sin, mortality, and

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isolation, a haunting testament to the absence of love and

connection not only of her but in a desperate bid to survive;
many children are lured into the clutches of mafia
organizations, sacrificing their Innocence and childhood.
Just like Yumna, Yameena, and many of the other kids are
affected by this sort of societal issue.
In the eyes of our children, we see the future of Pakistan.
A vulnerable future, yet unbreakable. Let us honor this
sacred trust by joining forces to eradicate CHILD
LABOR.
Together, we can create a Pakistan where every child can
grow up to be a bacon of hope, a symbol of strength, and
a testament to our nation’s unwavering spirit. So are you
inn?....You are the catalyst for change. Let’s transform
society together, one thought at a time…….
My Pakistan, a canvas of hope and dreams,
Where every individual shines, is educated and beams.
Like stars in the night sky, our children
Sparkle bright,
Guiding our nation’s progress a celestial delight.

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CHAPTER 3
The Unseen Guardian
Tayyaba Noor

A car moving at approximately 50 mph speed hit

a girl. The man driving the vehicle approached Hooria,

standing a few feet apart from the accident. He bends
down at Hooria`s face level and touches her cheeks with
an evil smile. “Don`t say anything to anyone or else…”
And his hand moved from the face to her neck. Her mind
was blank but she managed to nod after 10 seconds. The
blood of the girl was turning brown. Suddenly she wakes
up and realizes it was just a bad dream. She recited the
duas. Again, when she tried to sleep, she encountered
another nightmare in which she was trapped in a scary
house and couldn`t escape it; she wanted to shout but was
unable to move her lips.
“ Hooria! “, her mother called out while entering the room.
“ Yes, Mama! Hooria replied and tried to normalize her
facial expression.

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“ You are already late for Ushna`s surprise birthday party.

Get ready while I am preparing the food.”
“ Okay, Mom! “ replied Hooria
I have known Ushna for the past two years, but this is the
first time I am visiting her house. I am nervous because I
don`t easily mix well with strangers. I greeted Ushna`s
parents and her two friends, Anas and Areeba. The event
went smoothly until I got uncomfortable when Anas put
his hand on my shoulder in one of our pictures. I tried my
best to control my body, but my body started shivering,
and words didn’t form to respond to him. I excused myself
to use the restroom and calm myself.
I immediately took my pills to reduce my panic attacks.
“ Hooria, don`t forget you have taekwondo skills; just hit
him across the face and for now relax.” This was the
sentence I told myself to forget what happened a few
minutes ago. I took 3 deep breaths and opened my eyes.
When I opened my eyes, I regretted my life and wanted to
bury myself at the moment.
A tall 6-foot man in a black suit wearing spectacles
covering his piercing hazel eyes stood in the hallway.
Within a second, I recognized him with the help of hazel
eyes same as Ushna`s. He is Ushna`s elder brother
Muhammad Hamza.
I acted dumb, as if I didn`t see anyone, and increased my
walking pace toward Ushna`s room. “ I think hitting on
the face is less painful. Try hitting on the abdomen; it will
be more fun,” said Hamza.

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I was shocked and embarrassed at the same time. Thank

god, my back was facing him so he didn`t see my
expression. Umm… Thank you for the suggestion but I
don`t support violence. “
When I returned home, I realized I had forgotten my pill
box. I messaged Ushna, but she replied that she hadn't
found anything.
The next day, I had a plan with Ushna to explore a new
library together, but her driver was ill, so her brother
dropped her. Hamza was staring at me with a suspicious
corner of an eye from his car`s window. I ignored his stare
and got excited about our library adventure. We explored
the library for almost 3 hours. When Ushna was leaving,
she gave me a novel named “Without Merit “ while saying
that her brother suggested I read it and Ushna`s reviews
related to the book were pretty good.
It was normal for me to read a novel suggested by
someone else until I turned the pages and found a note
saying, “ Fun Fact: there is chewing gum named
fluoxetine in the market.”
I felt stupid as fluoxetine is an antidepressant pill that
reduces panic disorder. Still, I can`t take it without a
psychiatrist's prescription, so I just labelled my gum box
with it to make my brain believe I will get okay after
taking the pill. And the real problem is that this immature
act of mine got caught by a real psychiatrist.
I have made up my mind that I will never meet
Muhammad Hamza again, so there will be no more

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embarrassing moments in the future. My life has other

plans.
“Hooria! Don`t run,” my mom shouted while sobbing. I
didn`t listen to her and ran miles and miles until I found
myself on the edge of a hill, with darkness surrounding
me as if the world was at the end. My clothes were
extremely dirty and smelly. I closed my eyes and sat there
quietly. When I opened my eyes, I was on my couch. It
was just another disturbing dream.
A few months later, when I was sitting in a library, I saw
a familiar face and that was Muhammad Hamza.
“Hi! How are you ?” asked Hamza with an expressionless
face
“Hey! I am good Alhumduillah .” I replied and thought of
leaving.
“ Did you read the novel? ”
“ Yes, I liked the book. I replied with a soft smile.
He wasn`t interested in my feedback; he was watching my
hands, which were shaking due to nervousness.
“ May I ask you a question?” Hamza asked with a
concerned look
“ Yes, sure!
“ Do you have any panic disorder problem? It is safe for
you to share with me and one positive point I can provide
you with professional help.”

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“ No! No! If you think this because of that gum box that
was just for fun, nothing else.”
It was awkward because he didn`t believe my story even
though my words sounded realistic. I tried to lighten the
tension in the environment by asking about Ushna. Now
his concerned look was changed by a pale expression.

It`s Saturday morning, I didn`t sleep properly last night

due to my nightmares. I went to the library to get fresh. I
was reading a novel named Atomic Habits; it is a
personality development book so I was noting the points
in my sticky notes.
When I went towards the shelf to put the book back, I saw
a person who was the least-expected human to be there. I
got frightened, ran towards the main door but got pumped
into a man entering the library.
I was in a hurry and didn`t even look up to see who is the
person. “ Are you okay? “ Hamza asked in a confused
manner. I blurted out a question, trembling in fear.” Did
you bring your car with you? He replied with a yes and
wanted some explanation, but I couldn`t explain anything
at that time.
“ Can you please drop me to my house.? ”
In the car, both of us were silent. I crossed my hands
around my body and closed my eyes to relax my breathing.
I don`t know when I got sleepy and slept.
I was shouting “Leave me, please! And the person in front
of me was tying my hands with a cloth. Hooria! Hooria!

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Someone was calling me. I realized Hamza was calling

me to wake me up from my nightmare.
“ Relax Hooria, No one is tying your hands or harming
you” Do you want to drink water?
I said to him “ Is my house here?
He just replied with a normal no.
“ Why, I want to go to my house because I am very tired
and my mom will be worried it is getting late.”
“ I have brought you to my office, you are not in a good
condition to return to your home. As for your mother is
concerned, I have asked Ushna to inform her that you are
with Ushna. “ Hamza replied without waiting for my
response.
I was slightly annoyed by his dominating action but didn`t
argue further as I was still scared.
“ Hi! My name is Muhammad Hamza and I am solely a
psychiatrist for now, not your friend's brother. So now tell
me what bothers you and why were you scared that time?”
I didn`t utter a single word in front of him.
“And one more thing as a psychiatrist, I give you the
guarantee your conversation with me is confidential. If
you are still not ready right now to speak, that`s okay take
your time. Whenever you feel you can share, just come to
my office.”

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His words were like a mother`s warm hug, but at that

moment, I just wanted my alone time in my room to empty
my brain. He dropped me to my house.
For the next three days, my mind was rewinding the whole
accident again and again. I could not understand and
explain the emotions that I was experiencing. My
nightmares increased by 20 times after that accident.
I decided to consult Hamza for professional advice on my
nightmares. I planned to meet him on Friday evening and
told my mother that I was going to the library because she
didn`t know anything or else she would get worried for
me.
I told him about my nightmares and how it started 5 years
ago. At first. I didn`t have any hopes that these could be
cured but after sharing these with Hamza, my hopes
started to build.
He told me that all my dreams had something in common
and that was the presence of a man in the barren place. He
asked me if I knew that person. I nodded my head in the
direction of no. And that was the lie. My hands started to
shake as the memories rewind in my head. Hamza noticed
the change in my body and changed the topic.
He asked me to bring a notebook next time. I wanted to
ask the reason but was interrupted by his sentence that you
will know the reason in the next session, and have some
patience. I told him, I couldn`t come every week as my
mother won`t allow me and I can`t lie either.
“ Then don`t lie “ Hamza suggested

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I was quiet as I didn`t want to be rude. But he knew what

I wanted to say. “ It`s okay, I understand in our society,
people don`t appreciate getting psychologist help until
and unless you are mentally disabled. Don`t worry; only
Ushna, you, and I know about your sessions. “
In my next meetup, I had my notebook and a pen. He was
also holding a notebook with a cover saying.
“You’re never alone—there are people who care, support,
and stand with you always." He asked me to act as if we
were childhood best friends and were meeting after a long
time. He instructed me all the rules of the game. We both
had to ask each other a question turn by turn and the
answer should be written in the notebook. The person who
asked the question had to guess what the other person
would write and write that down in their notebook.
The game was fun until he asked me to write anyone good
or bad memories that I haven`t shared with anyone ever.
Initially, I hesitated in writing anything on the page and
proudly told Hamza that I didn`t have any memory like
that. He glanced at me with a suspicious look and
reminded me of the rule of the game that whoever lies
won`t be able to read novels for a whole month.
After a while, I managed to write two sentences. In my
turn. I asked him the same question with a smiling face.
At the end of the game, he asked to exchange the notebook,
I was excited to read his reply as I couldn`t guess his reply.
I was anxious waiting for the notebook exchange.
Suddenly I realize, he will also read my responses. I
quickly hid my notebook behind my back and changed the
topic by saying it was a fun game, now I should leave.

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He wasn`t in a hurry and took my notebook from my hand

and started to read. When he read my sentence, “ I hate a
person, and no one knows him and the reason. “ He looked
at me and wanted to say something but I interrupted him
by saying I won`t tell anything more.
I was shocked by his reply, he said isn't this person the
same as the one in the library? I replied with a nod. “ I
won`t ask you the reason for hating him,” I am just curious
if you hate him and where were you running from him,”
Hamza asked with a curious face.
“ if you are not comfortable telling, that`s okay. But do
remember. You can share it with me whenever you feel
like it. “ Hamza said with a soft smile.
After returning home. My mind was stuck in his words. I
was shocked at myself. I never shared this much with
anyone whether it be my friends or my family, and now I
shared this much with a stranger who I met a few days ago.
I thought I should try sharing with Hamza as he is a
stranger, so it won`t be a problem that I have to face him,
and he has also given the guarantee that my conversation
is safe with him.
I took some deep breaths and started telling Hamza from
the beginning.
“ I was in my fifth class when everything started. Sara was
my childhood friend, we both used to be in the same class,
and we were neighbours too. Our families were also
friends with each other. We used to stay as one family. I
used to go there to study and sometimes even stayed there.
One day, I was studying in Sara's room while Sara, with

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her mother, went to buy some groceries. Sara`s older

brother came to the room and started to talk to me, this
was normal until he asked me if I was tired and wanted a
shoulder massage. I replied with a no. He insisted that try
it, you will like it. I agreed and he started to give me a
massage, but slowly, his hands started to move toward my
neck and chest. I got a little uncomfortable and stopped
him. Days passed and whenever Sara wasn`t there, he
used to come and talk to me. He used to force me to watch
inappropriate videos in which I wasn`t interested but he
used to say it is fun, look at it. Every weekend, I used to
night stay with Sara. I was preparing my bed when he
called me into the dining room with a hand gesture. He
asked me to sit on his lap. I refused, but he forced me to
sit and started to talk to me while his hands were moving
in an inappropriate way. That day, I cried a lot as I felt
uncomfortable and stopped going to Sara`s house. I
couldn't tell my mother as they were our family friends.
When I got older, I realized how much wrong he did, and
as I couldn't share this with anyone, I got insomnia and
nightmares in fear that he would find me and harm me “ I
was crying while telling the story. Hamza didn`t stop me
from crying and just one sentence gave me the strength to
face everything that was
“ You Can`t forget many past memories, but that doesn`t
mean it should affect your present or future. And always
remember you can forget someone`s wrongdoing after
some time but god has fair plans for everyone. Now focus
on yourself and nightmares will automatically vanish.
And whenever you want to share anything, don`t hesitate
to share with me. Take me as your elder brother.”

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Hamza was right; after some time, my nightmares

decreased, and I started to focus on myself and realize
sometimes you only need a person to listen to you, and
half of your problems get finished. My past can`t change
but now I will make sure no girl around me experiences
the same.

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Chapter 4
The Weight of Betrayal
Nabiha Memon

T rust is a fragile thing, easily shattered. The words

echoed in Hooria's mind as she stared at her reflection in the

mirror. Her eyes, heavy with exhaustion, betrayed the
sleepless nights spent replaying the moments that fractured her
world. She traced the cracks in her trust, each one a scar left
by betrayal.
"I don’t know what cuts deeper," she murmured to herself, "the
lies or the truth they revealed."
The world outside her window seemed indifferent to her
turmoil. People moved about their lives, oblivious to the
battles others fought silently. Hooria sighed and closed her
eyes, trying to silence the relentless storm within her.
Finally, after weeks of wrestling with her own thoughts,
Hooria had decided to reach out for help. The weight of
betrayal had become too much to carry alone. She picked up
the phone and scheduled an appointment with a psychiatrist
Muhammad Humza, hoping that maybe, just maybe, speaking
to someone could help her make sense of the wreckage in her
mind.
As she sat in the psychiatrist's office now, it felt surreal. The
room, quiet and neutral, was a stark contrast to the turmoil

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inside her. The psychiatrist sat across from her, observing with
patient eyes, as Hooria began to speak.
The world we live in is full of wonders, so countless they defy
imagination. Yet, alongside its beauty lies the harsh reality:
life teaches us, often painfully, who to trust and who to doubt.
In moments like these, the only three words echo in my mind:
Life goes on.
Life……
It’s strange, isn’t it? Betrayal doesn’t come from enemies but
from the ones we trust, the ones we never doubt. The scars they
leave aren’t visible, yet they ache in ways even time struggles
to heal.
I learned this the hard way. The faces I once turned to for
comfort, for truth, now haunt me with their carefully crafted
lies. It’s not just the betrayal that stings; it’s the hypocrisy of
their love and the pretense that they cared while secretly
sharpening their knives. It’s not the people who change; it’s
the mask that falls off. We live in a world of hypocrites, where
people smile to our faces but silently pray for our downfall.
I suppose life is a paradox. It gives us the gift of connection
while constantly reminding us of its fragility. Trust is built
brick by brick, yet it takes only one blow to bring the whole
structure tumbling down. And when the dust settles, you’re left
with one question, was it ever real?
I thought I knew the answers, thought I understood the people
in my life. But the truth came like a storm, ripping through my
carefully constructed world. Now, as I stand amidst the
wreckage, I know I must rebuild. This time, I’ll be more
cautious. This time, I won’t mistake their motives. This time,
no one will take advantage of me.
But rebuilding isn’t as simple as it sounds. It’s not just about
laying new foundations; it’s about confronting memories that

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linger like shadows in the corners of your mind. Each day is a

battle, a struggle to move forward without looking back, to
trust again without the weight of suspicion.
The hardest part? Facing them again. The ones who wear their
guilt like a mask, smiling as if nothing happened, as if their
lies didn’t tear me apart. Hypocrisy, I’ve come to realize, is the
armor of the guilty. They wrap themselves in it, pretending
their actions were justified. It’s infuriating, but it’s also
enlightening.
There’s power in clarity, even when it comes at a cost. Their
betrayal didn’t just expose their true nature, it revealed my
own strength. I’m still here, standing amidst the wreckage, but
I’m stronger now. They thought their lies would break me, but
they only sharpened my instincts.
As I turn the page on this chapter of my life, I know one thing
for certain: betrayal may break you, but it can also remake you.
I’ll never be the same, but maybe that’s a good thing. I’ve been
forced to shed my naivety, to see the world for what it truly is,
a place where trust is rare, but when found, it’s worth
everything.
And so, I move forward, not with bitterness, but with resolve.
The ones who betrayed me are no longer my burden to bear.
Their hypocrisy is their own prison, and I refuse to be a
prisoner alongside them.
Yet even as I walk away from the wreckage of what once was,
I can’t help but wonder how many more times will I face
betrayal? How many more people will cross my path cloaked
in deception, masking their true selves? In a world so
consumed by its own illusions, where does one even begin to
trust again?
The answer isn’t simple. Trust isn’t a switch you flip on or off.
It’s a slow, fragile process, like glass once broken; it can never

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be the same again. Each new person is a gamble, a risk that

forces me to decide: do I take a step forward or keep my
distance? Do I give them a chance to prove their worth, or do
I protect my heart from the darkness that once crept in
unnoticed?
It’s a gamble. But for now, I’m playing with my cards held
close to my chest. The next person who enters my life will
have to earn that trust slowly, patiently, without pretense.
There’s no room for half-truths anymore, no space for
anything less than authenticity.
I’ve learned that betrayal leaves scars you can never fully
erase. But those scars, though painful, remind you that you’re
still breathing, still capable of standing up again. The world
may be full of hypocrites, manipulators and liars, but it’s also
full of those willing to be vulnerable, who value truth over
deceit. They are rare, but they exist. And for them, I’ll learn to
trust again. I’ve learned to stop seeking perfection in people.
Instead, I look for honesty, even in its rawest, ugliest form.
Honesty doesn’t always feel good, but it doesn’t destroy you
like lies do.
Until then, I’ll keep my eyes open, my heart guarded, and my
mind sharp. The road ahead may be uncertain, but one thing is
clear: I’m no longer walking it with blind faith.
As the days turned into weeks, I began to see betrayal in a new
light. It wasn’t just an act, it was a mirror. It revealed the flaws
in others but also exposed my own vulnerabilities. I trusted too
easily, gave too much, and ignored the signs that, in hindsight,
had been glaringly obvious. Betrayal didn’t just break my trust
in others; it forced me to question my trust in myself.
So, I started over, not by erasing the past, but by learning from
it. I made a list, not on paper but in my mind, of the things I
would no longer tolerate: fake smiles, hollow apologies, and

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promises made with crossed fingers. These were the red flags
I would no longer ignore, no matter how much I wanted to
believe otherwise.
Yet, despite everything, I didn’t want to become cold or bitter
because that’s not my personality; it's not who I’m. And that
was the real challenge to protect myself without losing the
warmth that made me who I am. It’s a delicate balance, one
I’m still learning to navigate.
People often talk about forgiveness as though it’s the ultimate
solution, the key to moving on. But what they don’t tell you is
that forgiveness isn’t for the ones who hurt you, it’s for
yourself. It’s about cutting the chains that keep you bound to
their betrayal. It’s about saying, “You don’t get to control my
life anymore.”
And so, I forgave, not because they deserved it, but because I
deserve peace. Their hypocrisy, their lies, their betrayal that’s
on them. My job is to rebuild my life, to surround myself with
people who value honesty as much as I do, and to remember
that trust, while fragile, isn’t impossible.
Every betrayal leaves a lesson behind. This one taught me that
while the world is full of hypocrites, it’s also full of second
chances if not for them, then for me. A second chance to
choose better, to live wiser, and to love stronger.
But forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetting. The lessons etched
into my soul are scars I carry forward not as burdens, but as
reminders. They tell me who I’ve been, what I’ve survived,
and how far I’ve come.
I started to notice things I’d overlooked before: the way people
spoke, the shifts in their tone, the gaps between their words
and actions. Betrayal sharpens your senses, gives you radar for
insincerity. And though it’s exhausting to always be on guard,
it’s also empowering.

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It wasn’t long before life tested me again. Another face,

another smile, another seemingly innocent offer of friendship.
I wanted to trust them, wanted to believe not everyone wore a
mask. But doubt lingered like a shadow, whispering reminders
of the past.
“Not everyone is the same,” I told myself, trying to quiet the
fear. “Not everyone is out to hurt you.”
It’s a strange thing, rebuilding trust. It’s not about finding the
right person; it’s about deciding to give someone a chance
despite the risk. And so, I let them in, piece by piece, wall by
wall. I wasn’t naive this time. I set boundaries, made sure to
keep my sense of self intact.
Still, I knew better than to rush. Trust isn’t built in a day, and
neither is healing. But for the first time, I felt like I could see
the possibility of something better, a future where betrayal
isn’t the defining chapter of my story.
As I turned another page in my life, I realized that betrayal
didn’t break me. It remade me stronger and more aware. And
in the end, it gave me a gift I never expected, the courage to
let go and start again.
Hooria shifted uncomfortably on the couch, her fingers
fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. The room was quiet, save
for the steady ticking of the clock on the wall. Her
psychiatrist’s kind eyes observed her patiently, offering silent
encouragement.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about trust,” Hooria began, her voice
soft but resolute. “It’s such a delicate thing, isn’t it? One
moment, it’s there, holding everything together, and then just
like that it’s gone. Betrayal doesn’t just break the trust you
have in someone else; it makes you question your own
judgment.”

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She paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve

always been the kind of person who trusts too easily. I see the
good in people, sometimes to a fault. And maybe that’s why
their lies hurt so much because I believed them. I believed in
them. And when they showed their true colors, it wasn’t just
their betrayal I had to face. It was my own naivety.”
The psychiatrist nodded, jotting something in his
notebook. “You mentioned that forgiveness has been a part of
your healing process. Can you tell me more about that?”
Hooria’s lips curled into a faint smile, through her eyes held a
trace of sadness. “Forgiveness was hard. For a long time, I
thought forgiving them meant excusing what they did, as if
their actions were justified. But I’ve come to understand that
forgiveness isn’t about them at all. It’s about me. It’s about
letting go of the anger, the bitterness, and the weight of what
they did to me.”
Her voice grew steadier as she spoke. “I realized that holding
onto all that pain was only keeping me stuck. And I refuse to
let their betrayal define my life. So, I forgave them not because
they deserved it, but because I deserve peace.”
The psychiatrist leaned forward slightly, his pen resting on the
pad. “And has forgiving them changed the way you approach
trust?”
Hooria’s expression grew contemplative. “It has. I don’t trust
blindly anymore. I’ve learned to look for actions, not just
words. And I’ve learned to trust myself more than anyone else.
I used to think that trusting people meant giving them
everything: my time, my energy, my emotions. Now, I know
that trust has to be earned, piece by piece.”
She glanced out the window, her gaze distant. “I won’t lie, it’s
been hard. I’ve let some people in since then, but I’ve kept my
walls up. There’s always that little voice in the back of my

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mind, warning me to be careful. But I don’t want to live in fear

of betrayal. I want to believe that there are people out there
who are genuine, who won’t hurt me the way others did.”
Her psychiatrist smiled warmly. “You’ve come a long way,
Hooria. It’s clear you’re finding strength in your experiences.
Betrayal may have shaken your world, but it didn’t break you.
And that’s something to be proud of.”
Hooria nodded a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “Thank you. I
guess…I’m just trying to take it one day at a time. Betrayal
taught me a lot, but it also reminded me of one thing: I’m
stronger than I thought. And that’s what keeps me going.”
She let out a small sigh, the weight in her chest easing just a
little. “Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll ever fully heal. It’s hard to
let go of that constant fear.”
The psychiatrist observed her, his expression thoughtful.
“Healing isn’t a linear process, Hooria. It’s okay to feel like
you’re taking two steps forward and one step back. It’s all part
of learning how to trust again both in others and in yourself.”
Hooria nodded slowly, absorbing his words, but there was still
doubt in her eyes. “I know, but… What if I make the same
mistake again? What if I trust the wrong person and get hurt
all over again?”
The psychiatrist leaned back in his chair, his voice steady and
reassuring. “It’s a valid fear, Hooria. But remember, trust isn’t
about perfection. It’s about finding balance, being cautious,
but not closing yourself off completely. Trust, when earned, is
a gift you give. And it’s okay to be cautious, to take your time.
Each experience, whether it’s good or bad, is an opportunity
to learn and grow.”
Hooria took in a deep breath, nodding as she let the weight of
his words settle over her. “You’re right. It’s just hard to trust
myself sometimes. I keep questioning my own judgment,

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wondering if I’m being too naive again. But…” She paused,

her voice growing quieter. “I guess I’m learning to take it
slower. Maybe, for once, it’s okay to not have all the answers
right away.”
“Exactly,” he said, his tone warm. “It’s a process, and you’re
allowed to take the time you need. Trusting yourself again is
just as important as trusting others.”
Hooria smiled faintly, her fingers slowly releasing their grip
on her knees as she leaned back into the couch. “I’m starting
to see that. It’s a scary thing to be vulnerable again, to let
people in, but I don’t want to keep living in fear. I deserve
better than that.”
The psychiatrist’s smile widened slightly. “And you will get
there, Hooria. You’ve already taken the hardest step by
confronting your pain and allowing yourself to heal. It’s only
up from here.”
For the first time in a long while, Hooria felt a flicker of hope
ignite deep within her a small but powerful reminder that she
wasn’t defined by her past, and that the future still held
promise.
As she walked out of the psychiatrist’s office, the weight of
the conversation stayed with her. She found a quiet corner near
the entrance and leaned against the cool glass of the window,
staring out at the bustling street below. The world outside
seemed to keep moving, but inside, everything felt different.
“Trust isn’t about perfection; it’s about balance,” she
murmured, repeating the psychiatrist’s words to herself.
The idea resonated with her deeply. For so long, she had
believed that trust was either fully given or entirely withheld.
That if she opened her heart, even a little, she was asking for
pain. But now, the concept of balance seemed possible,
something she could work toward.

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Her gaze drifted to the clouds that hung low in the sky, soft
and gray, yet somehow calming. “I’m not broken,” she
thought. “I’m not defined by my mistakes. I can still choose to
trust, to take chances…”
The thought was both liberating and terrifying. Opening
herself up to others, letting them in without the constant weight
of doubt and fear, felt like a monumental leap. But for the first
time, she felt like it was one she might be ready to take slowly,
one step at a time.
As she walked toward the park nearby, her steps fell into a
rhythmic pace, her mind replaying moments of her life like an
old film reel. Every instance of trust given and broken, every
smile that masked deception, every promise that turned
hollow. Hypocrisy and betrayal had marked her journey, but
now they no longer defined it.
They were lessons, not life sentences, she reminded herself.
Reaching a bench under a sprawling tree, Hooria sat down and
allowed herself to take in the world around her. Children
laughed and ran through the grass, their joy unfiltered and
pure. A couple strolled hands in hand, their quiet conversation
punctuated by smiles. For the first time in what felt like
forever, Hooria noticed these small moments, the fleeting,
unguarded beauty of life.
Betrayal may have cast a shadow on her world, but it hadn’t
stolen her ability to see the light.
The psychiatrist’s words echoed again: “You are not defined
by the pain others caused you. You are defined by how you
choose to rise above it.”
She leaned back on the bench, her head tilted toward the sky.
The clouds were beginning to part, letting a few rays of
sunlight peek through. It felt symbolic of a quiet promise that

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even after the darkest storms; the sun would always find a way
back.
“I won’t rush it,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone
else. “I’ll let trust grow naturally. I’ll take the time I need.”
And in that moment, Hooria made a silent vow to herself, her
future, and the person she was becoming. She would rebuild,
not out of fear or desperation, but out of hope. She would trust
again, not blindly, but wisely. And she would forgive not for
others, but for her own peace.
With that thought, Hooria rose from the bench and began to
walk. The path ahead was uncertain, but for the first time, it
felt like hers to navigate. Step by step, she moved forward,
carrying with her the lessons of her past and the promise of a
brighter tomorrow.
As Hooria walked home, she replayed the psychiatrist’s words
in her mind, each one resonating deeply, like drops of water
feeding parched soil. The streets around her bustled with life,
cars honking, people chatting, children laughing but within
her, a newfound calm was settling.
The journey home felt different today, lighter somehow. She
wasn’t carrying the weight of unspoken anger or unresolved
pain. Instead, she was carrying something far more precious:
clarity.
She reached her doorstep, pausing for a moment before
opening the gate. Her hand lingered on the cool metal, and she
gazed up at the sky. The sun had dipped lower, painting the
horizon with streaks of orange and pink. The sight stirred
something within her, a quiet realization that life, like the sky,
was always shifting, always offering new colors if only one
paused to notice.
Inside, the house was quiet. She placed her bag on the table
and made her way to the sofa, sinking into its comforting

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embrace. She closed her eyes, letting the day’s events wash
over her.
For so long, Hooria had felt trapped by the cycles of betrayal
and mistrust. It had been a suffocating existence, one where
every relationship felt like a ticking time bomb. But now, she
understood something profound: trust wasn’t about
guaranteeing safety. It was about finding the courage to take
risks, knowing she could weather whatever came next.
Her thoughts drifted to the faces of those who had betrayed
her, the ones she had loved, trusted, and confided in. She didn’t
feel anger anymore, not even bitterness. What she felt instead
was a strange, liberating detachment.
“They’re not my burden anymore,” she thought, her lips
curving into a faint smile. “Their choices, their lies, their
hypocrisy, that’s on them. I have my own life to live, my own
peace to protect.”
She reached for her journal on the nearby table and opened it
to a fresh page. The blank sheet stared back at her, inviting her
to fill it with thoughts, hopes, and truths.
Hooria picked up her pen and began to write:
“Life is a series of lessons, each one wrapped in experiences
that challenge us, shape us, and ultimately make us stronger.
Trust is fragile, yes, but it’s also resilient. It can break, but it
can also be rebuilt. Forgiveness isn’t about excusing the past;
it’s about freeing ourselves from it. And strength isn’t about
never falling; it's about always choosing to rise.”
The words flowed effortlessly, each one a reflection of her
journey. She didn’t stop until the page was filled, and when
she finally set the pen down, she felt a profound sense of
release.
For the first time in years, she wasn’t afraid of the unknown.
The future, with all its uncertainties, no longer loomed as a

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threat. It was a canvas, waiting for her to paint it with the

colors of her choosing.
As night fell, Hooria stood by the window, gazing at the stars
that dotted the sky. They reminded her of something the
psychiatrist had said earlier: “Healing isn’t about forgetting
the pain. It’s about learning to carry it without letting it weigh
you down.”
She smiled softly, a quiet resolve settling in her heart. “I’m not
broken,” she whispered to the night. “I’m just becoming.”
And with that thought, Hooria turned away from the window
and headed to bed. The journey ahead would be long, she
knew, but for the first time, she wasn’t afraid.
Tomorrow would come, and she would face it, not with walls
built from fear, but with a heart open to the possibilities it
might bring. Step by step, Hooria was ready to move forward,
carrying her lessons, her strength, and her hope into the dawn
of a new chapter.
The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting soft rays
across Hooria’s room. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open to
the quiet hum of a new day. For a moment, she lay still, letting
the warmth of the sunlight sink into her skin.
Today felt different not in the dramatic sense of a grand
transformation, but in the subtle way a new chapter begins.
She could feel it in the way her chest no longer felt heavy, the
way her mind wasn’t immediately clouded with doubt.
As she made her way to the kitchen, her phone buzzed on the
counter. Picking it up, she saw a message from Zara, a
childhood friend she hadn’t spoken to in months.
Zara: Hey, Hooria. It’s been a while. I was wondering if you’d
like to meet up? I’d really love to catch up.
Hooria stared at the message for a moment. Zara was someone
she’d trusted deeply, someone who had been a part of her life

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for years until a falling out had left their friendship fractured.
The thought of reconnecting stirred a mix of emotions in her:
curiosity, hesitation, and a twinge of fear.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she considered her
response. This was the first test of her resolve, a moment to
decide if she would let the past dictate her present or take a
step forward despite the uncertainty.
Finally, she typed a reply:
Hooria: Hi, Zara. I’d like that. When are you free?
The message sent, Hooria set the phone down and exhaled
slowly. This was her first act of trust not blind, not without
caution, but intentional.
The day passed in a blur of small tasks: tidying the house,
reading a few pages from a new novel, and journaling her
thoughts. By the time evening rolled around, she found herself
at the café Zara had suggested.
The familiar scent of coffee and baked goods greeted her as
she stepped inside. She spotted Zara at a corner table, her face
lighting up with a smile as Hooria approached.
“Hooria!” Zara stood, her arms outstretched in an embrace that
felt both familiar.
Hooria hesitated for a fraction of a second before returning the
gesture. “Hi, Zara. It’s good to see you.”
As they sat down, the conversation began hesitantly, each of
them testing the waters. They talked about surface-level topics
at first: the weather, mutual acquaintances, work but soon the
conversation dipped into deeper waters.
“I’ve been thinking about us, Hooria,” Zara said, her voice soft
but steady. “About what happened and how things ended
between us. I know I hurt you, and I’ve wanted to apologize
for a long time.”

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Hooria felt a lump rise in her throat. She hadn’t expected an

apology, let alone one so direct. “It did hurt,” she admitted, her
voice quiet. “But I think what hurt more was feeling like I
didn’t matter enough to you to fix it back then.”
Zara nodded, her eyes glistening. “You did matter, more than
I can explain. I was dealing with my own issues, and I took
them out on the people closest to me. That’s not an excuse, it's
just the truth. I’m sorry, Hooria. Truly.”
There it was a moment of honesty, raw and unfiltered. For
years, Hooria had replayed the fracture of their friendship,
wondering if she had done something wrong, if she had been
too trusting. And now, in a single moment, Zara had offered
her the closure she hadn’t known she needed.
“I appreciate you saying that,” Hooria replied after a pause. “I
can’t say it doesn’t still sting, but I’m willing to try. I think we
both deserve that chance.”
Zara smiled a mixture of relief and gratitude. “I’d like that.”
The conversation shifted after that, easing into lighter topics,
laughter bubbling up between them as they recounted old
memories. By the time they parted ways, Hooria felt lighter,
as if she had shed a piece of the past she no longer needed to
carry.
Walking home, she reflected on the encounter. Trust, she
realized, wasn’t about erasing the past or pretending it didn’t
happen. It was about choosing to move forward, one step at a
time, with an open mind and a guarded heart.
That night, as she journaled, she wrote:
“Today, I took a step. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t easy,
but it was mine. Trust is a fragile thing, but maybe, just maybe,
it’s also resilient.”

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With those words, Hooria closed the journal and climbed into
bed. The future still held uncertainties, but for the first time in
years, she felt ready to face them.
As Hooria drifted off to sleep that night, her mind replayed the
day’s events, the heartfelt conversation with Zara, the small
yet monumental step of choosing trust again. It wasn’t perfect.
It wasn’t without hesitation or fear. But it was real, and it was
hers.
She thought about the scars she carried, each one etched into
her soul by betrayal and doubt. They no longer felt like
burdens, though. They were reminders of lessons learned, of
strength found, of the ability to rebuild even when everything
seemed broken.
Trust, she realized, was never about guarantees. It was about
choices. It was about standing in the face of uncertainty and
daring to believe in the possibility of something better.
And as she lay there, staring at the faint glow of moonlight
spilling across her ceiling, a single thought surfaced:
“Maybe the cracks in our hearts don’t mean we’re broken.
Maybe they’re proof we’ve survived and that we’re still
capable of letting light in.”
Hooria closed her eyes, a soft smile tugging at her lips. For the
first time, she wasn’t just surviving; she was living, with all its
messiness, risks, and beauty.
And in that moment, she knew: her story wasn’t defined by
betrayal or fear. It was defined by her ability to keep moving
forward, one step at a time, and to believe in the power of
second chances.
The world wasn’t perfect. Neither was she. But that was okay.
Because life is messy, unpredictable, and imperfect, it was still
worth every bit of it.

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CHAPTER 5
Echoes of Yesterday
Salama Faiz

I n today’s world everyone is suffering somewhere

at their end that no one knows about. There’s a time when

we have no one to have our back and no one to hold us up
when we fell at our worst. Similarly, here we have a girl
from a rural area of Pakistan, and she was going through
a lot, knowing the harsh realities of people and the world;
at 18, she carried a burdened heart filled with unspoken
traumas and an ever-present shadow of societal
expectations.
Her life had become a delicate balance act between her
societal, family pressures and the unheard sorrows within
her soul. The judgment of society and much more made
her realize that she needs someone where they listen she
scream her soul out. With courage and bravery and to
untangle the threads within her soul she went to a
Psychiatrist Muhammad Hamza to take a first step
towards untangling the threads of past and hoping to
uncover the version of herself she lost and had long
forgotten.

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Hooria sat in the psychiatrist’s office, staring at the ticking

clock on the wall. The rhythmic sound reminded her of
how time had slipped through her fingers, leaving behind
only fragments of memories she wished to forget. Dr.
Hamza, her psychiatrist, observed her quietly, waiting for
her to speak.

“How are you feeling today, Hooria?” he finally asked.

She shrugged, eyes fixed on the floor. “I don’t know…

the same, I guess.”

“Still having trouble sleeping?”

Hooria nodded. “It’s like… every time I close my eyes,

the past pulls me back. All those things I tried to bury keep
coming up.”

Dr. Hamza leaned forward. “What is it that haunts you the

most?”

Hooria hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her

dupatta. “Everything. The pressure. Expectations. The
constant judgment. It’s like I’m living in a world where
I’m never enough.”

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Dr. Hamza nodded, understanding the weight of her

words. “You mean society’s expectations?”

She exhaled sharply. “Yes. The pressure to be perfect. To

have the perfect grades, the perfect career, and the perfect
life. And if you can’t… they make you feel like you’ve
failed.”

Dr. Hamza tapped his pen thoughtfully. “You’re not alone

in feeling this way, Hooria. Many young people in
Pakistan struggle with the same pressures—academic
stress, societal expectations, and even family obligations.
Have you talked to anyone about how you feel?”

Hooria laughed bitterly. “Talk? To who? My parents

would just say I’m being ungrateful. My friends… they’re
too busy dealing with their own problems. Everyone acts
like mental health is just… a phase.”

Dr. Hamza’s eyes softened. “It’s not a phase. Your

struggles are real, and it’s okay to feel overwhelmed. But
carrying it all alone will only make it harder.”

Hooria sighed. “Sometimes I think about how things were

when I was younger… before life got so complicated.

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Before I had to worry about my future, my reputation, my

worth.”

Dr. Hamza nodded. “The past can be comforting, but it

can also trap us. Have you thought about what you want
for yourself, beyond what others expect?”

Hooria was silent for a long moment. “I want to feel free,”

she whispered. “I want to stop living for others and start
living for myself.”

Dr. Hamza smiled gently. “That’s a good place to start.

We’ll work on that together. But it’ll take time and
patience. Are you willing to take that journey?”

Hooria looked at him, uncertainty flickering in her eyes,

but for the first time in a long while, a tiny spark of hope
lit within her. “I think so.”

As the session ended, Hooria walked out of the office

feeling lighter. The weight of the past still lingered, but
perhaps, with time, she could learn to carry it differently.
As soon she left the office, hearing the chaos of the lively
city of Karachi, where horns were blaring and vendors
shouting. As she returned to her car and sat in it, she got
unwavering thoughts of her past.

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Her eyes were welled up in tears; thinking about the

sleepless nights with tears shedding upon her pillow
silently in her rooms where walls echoing her unspoken
pain. Her father’s stern voice lingered in her mind: “Our
family doesn’t break under pressure. Keep your head
down and work hard.” And her mother’s resigned advice;
“Hooria, we all have burdens. It’s better to stay quiet than
to create a scene”.
Without knowing their child’s pains and burdens they
casually moved on and left behind a scar of disbelief and
distrust in their own daughter that it had cost her peace.
The following week, She returned for her session; this
time, she was all steady and ready to talk.
Hooria sat down and had a big sip of water, clearing her
throat to speak, getting herself ready to speak what she
kept inside for years now.
She started in a light, steady voice, “Dr. Hamza, I gave a
thought to what you said last time about what I want for
myself.”
“And what did you find?” He asked with an encouraging
and winning smile.
She inhaled deeply “I realized I’ve been living in fear, fear
of disappointing others, fear of judgments and breaking
hearts of my friends, family and even strangers who don’t
matter. I’ve been chasing a goal of success which isn’t my
type of vibe.”
Dr. Hamza leaned forward gently. “That’s an important
realization. What does success look like to you?”

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She paused, the answer she wants is not finding the way
to come out. “I…umm… I don’t know yet, but I want to
figure out who am I out of all these expectations.”

Over the next few weeks, their sessions became a

sanctuary for Hooria—a place where she could untangle
the web of her thoughts. She spoke about her love for
writing, something she’d abandoned because her parents
deemed it impractical. She shared her guilt over her
younger brother, who seemed to bear the brunt of their
family’s expectations now that she had faltered.

One day, she brought up an incident that had haunted her

for years.

“I was 15,” she began, her voice trembling. “I failed a

math exam. It wasn’t even a big exam, but my father… he
was furious. He told me I’d never achieve anything if I
couldn’t handle something so small. And I believed him.
I started seeing myself the way he showed me, as a failure,
as like what I do is wrong.”
Dr. Hamza listened intently. “That time, that moment
made you think the way others lead you to who you are,
you forgot that except one no one else could know you
better and that is you – yourself. You’re more than your
mistakes Hooria.”
Tears welled up in her eyes, but this time instead of
holding them up, she let them fall.

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After a few sessions and outside of therapy, Hooria started

taking baby steps to find herself who she really was. Small
steps towards reclaiming her real identity. She started
journaling again, pouring her heart onto a blank paper,
making it fragile. She found the way to feel like before.
One day, she submitted one of her writings to a
competition with a thought of anxiety and doubts, with a
fear of failure. She didn’t tell anyone, fearing rejection,
but when the results came out, she was shocked and
remained in a state of disbelief that she had won First
Place.
She took that certificate to her next session and showed to
Dr. Hamza with her face glowing, mixed with pride and
disbelief at the same time.
“I did this,” she told Dr. Hamza, holding up the certificate.
“You did this,” he said with a warm smile. “And you’ll do
even more than that if you remain believing in yourself
and have faith in Allah.”
Hooria exclaimed, “Allah, oh yes, the one who took me
far away till now, and I believe that He would be there till
the time I need him.”

As the months passed, the sessions continued, and Hooria

began to see the world and herself differently the way she
should have seen earlier. She still struggled with anxiety,
self-doubts and fear of failure, but Dr. Hamza made sure
to help her overcome and heal. But she no longer let these
control her. She started having conversations with her

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parents knowing and challenging their rigid views. It

wasn’t easy, but she was determined to bridge the gap
between their world and hers.
One evening, Hooria was sitting down on the balcony
with a cup of coffee and the cold breeze brushing against
her face. Watching the busy streets of the city and lights
flashing all over. The sky whispered the stories of endings
and new beginnings. When Hooria realized something:
Healing is not about erasing the past or woes of life.
Instead, it is about embracing and accepting them and
living with them, learning from them to let them guide you
throughout but not letting them define you.
For the first time in years, Hooria felt hope – not the
fleeting, fragile kind, but a deep-rooted belief she could
build a life worth living.
And she would….

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CHAPTER 6
Whispers beneath the stars
Maria Saeed

“G irls like you deserve flowers and books wrapped

in beautiful covers. Girls like you deserve stars. Girls like

you deserve the whole world.”
She was staring at the paper, reading all these words and
thinking that she didn’t deserve any of this. There were
tears in her eyes, but there was no one to clean her tears;
she had to do it herself.
“ Hooria!” Her aunt called her out.
“Yes, Auntie”, Hooria replied with a quivering voice.
“Come here, Beta; it’s time to say goodbye to your mom”.
Her aunt was crying already.
Hooria ran to the hall room and started crying
immediately after seeing her mother’s dead body. Her
mom was her only escape and happiness.
Now is the time when she was completely alone, standing
in front of her mom’s dead body, feeling her tears coming
one by one and thinking about what would happen to her

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after her mother. At this point in life, she also wanted to

die and find peace in the hereafter.
Relatives and neighbours started going back to their
houses after burying her mother, but she was sitting on the
sofa with her mom’s picture. The swelling in her eyes was
proof that she had cried the whole day.
The next morning she found herself sleeping on the same
sofa, and her eyes were still swollen. With silent steps, she
moved towards her dad’s room, thinking that he might
need her, but then she found out that there was no one in
the house except her. Then she moved towards her mom’s
room and found the same note she was reading yesterday.
This was the last note that her mom written for her.
Days passed, and Hooria’s life was slowly turning into a
mystery. She wanted to touch the sky, but her wings were
too weak to fly. She has never seen herself in the mirror
because her father always told her that she was ugly and
did not deserve anything.
Now, she wanted to talk to someone because she hadn’t
talked to anybody since her mother passed away, nor had
she seen her father from that time. After all, she was a
human being, and socialization was her need.
And today, for the very first time in the past 17 years of
her life, she saw herself in the mirror and immediately
started crying. She started talking to herself in the mirror
and found a very good friend in herself. She was so
innocent to believe that parents are always right; even if
they criticize your personality and call you ugly, they are
still right. Even though her mother used to tell her that:

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“You don’t need to believe him, Hooria. Your father

doesn’t see you the way I do. You’re beautiful.”
It’s been three weeks since she has seen her father. Still,
the loneliness gnawed at her. She hadn’t spoken to anyone
since her mother’s death. The silence was unbearable. It
was 11 pm, and she decided to go for a walk. In her deep
thoughts, she had no idea where she was going. She had
been walking for the past half an hour and ended up in a
silent playground. She sat on a table under an oak tree.
Her fingers were moving, her eyes were stuck on the
ground, and she was deeply thinking about her future.
Suddenly, she felt a presence behind her. Her body froze
in fear, her instincts urging her to run. But then she
remembered her mother’s words:
“The only way to silence the voice of fear is to speak
louder with the voice of courage. Speak up, Hooria, and
let your courage be heard.”
Summoning every ounce of bravery, she turned around.
But there was no one there. She thought it would be a
misunderstanding and stood to leave. But when she stood
up, she felt something hard on the ground under her feet
and lowered herself to pick it up. In the pale light of the
moon, she could see it was a diary,
She turned it over in her hands. Should she leave it?
Perhaps its owner would come looking for it. But then, a
flicker of hope stirred in her heart:
“Maybe there’s a message for me here.”

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. Taking the diary home, she locked herself in her room.

Her mother had always taught her to respect people’s
privacy, and guilt tugged at her conscience. But curiosity
won. , Hooria opened the diary; her hands were trembling
with the fear. She was afraid of the words because she was
aware of the power of words. She knew that:
“Words can break a lively heart. Words can destroy
someone’s mental peace. Words can make a talkative
person quiet for a lifetime.”
She began to read.
Dear diary!
Sometimes I feel like life is so miserable. We want to do
so many things, but what we can do is only wait for the
things to get better themselves. Sometimes, people are the
real problem. Yes, PEOPLE. They just want you to be
quiet and behave like you don’t exist.
As humans, we have a voice, and we want to raise our
voice for the things we at least deserve. But sometimes it
feels like it's impossible.
Dear diary!
You know you are my only friend, and I love to share my
stories with you because you listen to me very carefully,
and what else does a person want?
“Anyone who can listen to them carefully.”
Today, I want to tell you about the worst thing that’s ever
happened to me, maybe the last thing I’ll ever write.
Today is the third day I haven’t seen my little sister, who

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was the happiest chapter of my life. She was not just my

happy pill, but I loved her like my baby, and isn’t it sad
for a mother to not being able to see her baby for past two
days? Why it doesn’t sadden their hearts and shatter their
bodies who are responsible for this separation?
Dear diary!
With a heavy heart, shivering hands, and teary eyes, I am
trying to express my condition to you. I haven’t slept for
the past two days. My Ammi hasn’t eaten anything in the
past two days. For the past two days, people have been
coming to our home to tell us they can feel our pain, but
the reality is they can’t. The past two days were the worst
days of my life till now. I have seen my world devastated
in front of my eyes, but unfortunately, I couldn’t do
anything.
I swear, I tried my best to save Husniya. Yes, Husniya was
my sister’s name, who is no more in this world. In her last
moments with us, we all were in the hospital, and she was
in the ICU. The doctor told me that she was constantly
repeating my name, asking for help, and repeating the
words,
“What did I do to deserve this all?
Just think for a while: if Husniya’s condition, her last
words, and her tears can make us cry, how hard will it be
for her to get through all this?
How did she manage to say just a few words at her last
moments despite having a sea full of words?

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How heavy her heart would be at the moment when she

was leaving this cruel world!
Dear diary!
Let me tell you how Husniya died. Her death was like a
mystery. Her death was not because of nature causes.
She was murdered. Yes, a little 5-year-old girl was
murdered, and do you know who her murderer was? Her
own FATHER.
Ahhh, I am feeling like I can’t write more. I panned out
my words. I am ashamed that my own father killed my
sister. And when a family member killed another family
member, the murder is not only between two human
beings; it’s the murder of a whole family because where a
person loses their life, a family loses unity, love, peace,
and happiness.
Now, you must be curious to know the reason that my
father killed his own daughter, my sister, my beautiful,
innocent Husniya. Let me reveal this too, to you.
“My father killed my sister and his daughter because she
was so beautiful”. Ammi used to call her “Pari.”. She was
so beautiful and pretty that people would travel from afar
just to catch a glimpse of her. When she was born, some
of my relatives even said that she was not our blood, my
parents either adopted her or she was replaced in the
hospital. My Ammi used to said that she was born on the
14th of Moon and that’s the reason why she was so
beautiful.

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Ammi told me that when she was born, the lady doctor in
the room named her as HUSNIYA, which means THE
BEAUTY OF A WOMAN. “
Her beauty was her only enemy. When my father
observed that people around the city wanted to see
Husniya, his mind twisted that into something monstrous.
He feared her beauty would one day bring shame upon
him, so he took her life.
I don’t know whom to blame; who was the real culprit?
And who deserves punishment? On one side, it was her
beauty that caused all this tragedy. On the other side, it
was my father whose negative approach towards things
made him do such a heinous crime. But whatever the
conclusion will be, I will never forgive my father.
And yes, dear diary, I know if my father reads all these
notes I’ve written in you, he will know how much I hate
him, and then he will kill me too, and that’s why I am
leaving you here, in this playground where Husniya loved
to play.
When Hooria closed the diary, her eyes were filled with
tears, her heart was beating quickly, and she was totally in
a state of disbelief. There was only one sentence on her
lips at that time
: “How can a father kill his own daughter, his blood?
But then she remembered how much her own father hated
her, too, and how he always told her that she was ugly.
She stood up from her bed, opened the door of her room,
went to her father’s room, and caught him staring at her
mother’s picture, which was stuck to the wall.

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She had so many questions in her little heart, but she was
afraid to ask them all of her father because she didn’t want
to be another Husniya, nor did she want the world to
introduce many other Husniyas, so she started:
“Baba!” She whispered, her voice trembling “Why do you
hate me? Am I not your daughter? Your blood?”
I don’t want to talk to you, Hooria; go to your room right
now” her father said in a very straightforward way.
“No, Baba,” she said firmly, her voice raising, “Tell me
why you always traumatized Mama for giving birth to a
girl, which was me. Mama once told me you wanted a son,
and maybe that’s why you hate me, right?”
“Baba! Your hate for a woman destroyed two lives;
Mama died because of the trauma you gave to her, and I
couldn’t see myself in the mirror for the past 17 years of
my life because you always told me that I was ugly”
Hooria continued.
. At this point, her father can see her bursting into tears.
As a father, he couldn’t control his emotions, hugged
Hooria, and kissed her forehead, saying that:
“I am sorry, Hooria, In my ignorance, I hurt you and your
mother. I lost her, but I don’t want to lose you, You are
my daughter, my precious Hooria, Forgive me”
Through her tears, Hooria told him about the diary, about
Husniya. Together, they decided to create something
beautiful out of the pain. A shelter for girls who, like
Husniya, felt unsafe in their own homes.

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They named it Husniya’s Haven, a place where girls

could find love, safety, and hope.
And for the first time, Hooria felt the weight on her heart
begin to lift.

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