Kaabil

1. The First Look

Meerab

Two years later.

Stretched on my belly, I watched my favorite Harry Potter movie. The lights were out. Barely any moonlight came through the thick curtain. Out of the blue, my door burst open, and the lights were back. I cringed and yelled, keeping a hand on my racing heart.

"Mom, for God's sake. The death eaters were close to attacking Harry."

She did not reply, which was strange. Usually, she always has a remark.

I sat up and saw Mom walking over to my closet and taking a bag out. "What happened?" She silently took a few of my clothes out. Confused, I followed my mother. "Is Dad okay?"

Again, there was no reply. This time, I yelled, "Mom." She took a step back, and I saw her face—red and runny nose, tear-shrunken cheeks, and Puffy eyes. I held her shoulder and forced her to keep looking at me.

"Is everything okay? Where is Baba?" I asked calmly. Yet there was nothing calm about the situation. She gulped and, silent, started crying. I pulled her in a hug. "Ma, please say something?" My pulse picked up. My heart was hammering against my ribcage. Too fast.

"You are my daughter, and no one can change that. Always remember this?" I nodded, but she was not answering my question. I raised my eyebrows. "Your Uncle Shahnawaz passed away. We have to leave for Hyderabad now."

It felt like someone had pulled the rug from under my feet. I stared at my mom, hoping to process what she said. If Uncle passed away, then Dad lost his best friend and brother. Maryam, Holy Shit. I blinked, trying to stop myself from crying. "Mom, leave this. I'll pack my bags. You go and help Dad. Don't worry, everything will be alright." I spoke so softly that even to my ears, it felt strange.

She nodded and left me alone. I sighed and packed my clothes. I had no idea how long we were going to stay. But it will most likely be more than a week. I walked over to my bedside, took my laptop, phone, and chargers, and stuffed them in my backpack. Then, I ran to the bathroom to grab my things from the vanity. After ten minutes, I was ready and changed into ethnic wear. I wrapped a scarf around my neck and walked out of the room.

The ride to the Khan Haveli was long and eerie. No one said a word except for Mom's occasional sniffing. I glanced out of the window. There was another car following behind us, protecting us. I have no idea why we need protection in our own house. Why can't we live as ordinary people do? Like my friend Saba. I have never seen her with bodyguards, and I am stuck with a few of them.

A year ago, I fought with my parents because of this. But they never bend for my will. They never do. So, I took my frustration on other people who dared say anything to me. Even the first time I met Murtasim, that day Ali- our class bully- called me snobby, arrogant, and many more names. We had recently learned about genetics. He kept saying how I don't look like my parents. I always tried to stay quiet as much as possible, but He crossed the line many times. This once, he paid it with a fractured arm and a broken bone. But later, when Uncle and Murtasim left, Dad scolded me. He raises his voice but never yells. He called me irresponsible. Dad never asked why I hit the guy. I cried myself to sleep that night.

The sky turned light purple. I looked at the time; it was almost Fajr, and we were 30 minutes from Khan Haveli. As our car pulled up the drive away, people moved away. The driver parked the car near the back, and we got out. Many men approached Dad, and he hugged each one back. Meanwhile, Mom led me into the house, following the housemaid who came to greet us.

I saw Maryam, Uncle's daughter and Murtasim's sister, crunched up in the corner. She had her head down in her lap, but from her body movements, I could tell she was sniffing and crying. Maa Begum, Uncle's wife—the eldest daughter-in-law of Khan's family—was sitting on the floor near her husband's body. After greeting the random aunties, Mom and I approached Maa Begum.

Mom kept a hand on her shoulder; Maa begum looked up and started wailing. "Anila, he is gone. He just left me alone." Mom kneeled and hugged her. Maa Begum started shaking up more. I took a step back, and my gaze found Maryam. She looked up at me, and I ran in her direction to hug her. My best friend crashed her body into me and started crying.

Maryam was my age. But, in our times together, she was more than a friend to me. "Meerab. Baba." She whispered in my ear, and I wrapped my arms tightly around her.

"It's okay, Maryam. I'm here." I tried to console her, but no words came out. How can I say things? How can a daughter comfort another? The loss of a parent is heartwrenching.

In the quiet moments of life, Uncle stood as a pillar of love and trust. His guidance was her compass, and his laughter was a melody that echoed through her heart. Through shared smiles and unspoken understanding, their bond became an enduring testament to the strength of a father's love. My soul ached for Maryam. She loved her father more than anyone.

I pulled her to the side and sat beside her. When the men entered, I glanced over at Uncle's body. Maa begum held tightly on the bed and kept shaking her head. Maryam closed her eyes, letting herself cry more. I looked up at my dad, who walked in with Anwar Chacha. They asked the men to uplift the bed. But where was Murtasim? I did not see him.

As if Maa begum heard me, she wailed and called his name. "Murtasim. Where is Murtasim?" Anwar Chacha answered, "Bhabhi Begum, we can't find him. We don't know where he is. He is not picking up his phone." Maa Begum stood up and cried.

"Please, Anwar. Find him. I know he is hurt, but please look for him."

Chacha left the room to search for his nephew, and I followed him for some reason. "Chacho," I yelled his name. He turned around. "Uhmmm. Can I help you? Look for him? He might be in the house." Chacho regarded me for a second, nodded, and walked out.

I could not explain why I chose to search for Murtasim. But, if this was his last chance to meet his father, he should be here. No matter what emotion he is feeling.

I walked fast enough to reach the wing on the second floor. I knew this haveli from the back of my mind. I have spent every summer here. Maryam and I played hide and seek enough not to get lost in this labyrinth. Still, I had no idea where he could be. Even when Murtasim was in boarding school, he never used to come home on holidays. If he did, I was not there. It was like I grew up with a myth of Khan Murtasim Khan. I don't know him. At all.

I walked past many rooms but still did not see him. Finally, I entered the room Maryam used to tell was hers and Murtasim when they were young—more like when she was a baby. Maryam refused to use this room a few years back when Murtasim decided to stay in the boarding school. She convinced everyone she was old enough to have her room. But one night, she confessed her true feelings. She missed Murtasim too much, and staying in that room only worsened it.

I held the knob and hesitantly twisted it. The door creaked like no one had come, and the dust flew away. I coughed and took more steps in.

"Murtasim?" I called out but heard no one. I moved further in. The light was coming through the curtain. Yet no one was in sight. I tried again. "Murtasim, if you are here. I just wanted to tell you that they are taking your father away. I have no idea what you are feeling, but I think you should still see your father last time. Uncle loved you. Maa Begum and Maryam also need you." I had no idea what I was blabbering about. He was not even here. I'm going crazy.

I retreated a few steps. Suddenly, I heard some movement. My body was frozen in time. Shit, this house is haunted. One summer, Maryam and I stayed up all night talking about talking about ghost stories. According to her, this house was built on a graveyard when her grandfather moved to the city—one of the reasons why I never 'hang out' at night. This place is enormous, and at night, it's scary.

My hands started sweating, and I rubbed my palms on my trousers. I was prepared to dash out of the room when a tall figure appeared before me. The figure moved closer, Murtasim. I whispered his name.

I noticed the stains on his crisp white shirt. My eyes matched his intense gaze, and I saw his eyes were puffy and red due to crying. His shoulders were hunched over, and his hair fell on his face, covering his forehead. My hand itched to move them away but held back. He stared at my face. This closeness was causing my inside to fold. I should not be in the same room as him. Not when he is broken, but my feet betrayed my mind. I stayed rooted to my place. I gulped and looked at the stain.

"You are bleeding, Murtasim."

AND...

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