"I'd even find you among a crowd of hundred people."
"𝐾𝑎𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑜𝑠 𝑘𝑎ℎ𝑖𝑛 𝑘𝑦! Crowd of hundred people, 𝑡𝑢𝑚 value 𝑏𝑎𝑟ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑘𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑦𝑒 million 𝑏ℎ𝑖 𝑘𝑒ℎ 𝑠𝑎𝑘𝑡𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑦."
Judgement is a discourse of narrow foresight. Which has yet...
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᯽᯽᯽
Gule stepped into her father's house, her heart weighed down by a whirlwind of emotions. The silence in the house was almost suffocating. She walked through the familiar hall, upstairs towards his room, stopping at the door.
After hesitating for a moment, she stepped into the room with a heavy heart. Everything was just as she had left it after his death, untouched and frozen in time. Her eyes swept over the room. The past, his memories seemed to cling to every corner, every item.
Her gaze landed on his wardrobe as she remembered the locked drawer inside it. She remembered they hadn't found the keys to the drawer even when cleaning his room after his passing. He had always guarded it, never letting her near it.
She rushed forward and opened the cupboard, pulling and tugging at the locked drawer's handle with desperation. The handle snapped off, falling to the floor with a clatter as the edge cut through her skin.
Ignoring the searing pain and the blood dripping from her fingers, she stumbled out to grab a hammer. Breathing heavily as tears poured down her eyes non-stop, she returned with a hammer in her hand.
She struck the lock repeatedly, with frantic desperation, each blow fueled by her anguish, until it finally broke open. Her breath hitched as she opened the drawer with trembling hands.
Inside laid an old diary, a bundle of letters, and fragile pages yellowed with time. She pulled them out, scattering them across the floor. Collapsing to the cold floor herself, she sifted through the papers, her vision blurry with tears as she began to read, hoping for answers to the questions.
She turned the pages of the diary, to find an old confession sitting on the pages, waiting for her to read it. She felt the emotions poured in with generosity, a lump sum amount ashamed to collect.
She skimmed through the words, an overwhelming sensation spread across the blood in her veins. The feeling of pain got tangled in the web of hopelessness. An eventual dismay to her delicate heart.
The woman her father loved. The woman her mother always mentioned when fighting with him. The woman he wrote all his poetry for.
It was his mother. It wasn't just a coincidence at the mall. Her father had known his mother since way before. They had a long history. She was his first love.
The truth further destroyed her. It took her into an abyss of hopelessness, despair and horror. She read through the letters he wrote for her, the poetry he formulated for her, how he mentioned his love for her hazel eyes.
ہے آنکھوں میں کمال اسکے جب کلام پڑھتی ہے تو دل دھرکتے ہیں
Hai ankhon mein kamal ussky Jab kalaam parhti hai tou dil dharakty hein
