𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐑

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 -𝟖

Assalamualaikum Butterflies,

Hope you all are doing well.

So here is the new chapter. Please comment down your thoughts and opinions.

Read and enjoy ❤️‍🩹

The world is filled with many kinds of people, with different traits and personalities. But the one thing common to everyone is death. Death is inevitable. Whether you are the richest person or the beggar on the street, death does not discriminate.

But witnessing a person die, watching them struggle to breathe, and seeing life disappear from their body is another kind of pain. And for the past seven years, I have been living with that pain.

The first one was my brother, my elder brother Shamsher Haider. He was five years older than me. Always the caring yet annoying brother, he excelled in both academics and extracurricular activities. Everyone around him loved his carefree and kind personality. He was the chairman of the student union in his college. I loved him dearly because he had always been there to take care of my every need and problem. But the only thing I hated about him was his temper. He often got angry easily and acted on impulse. Though he never directed his anger at me, it always scared me when he got into fights during the college elections. And just as I feared, he died during a riot at college.

The second one was my father, my caring, loving baba who left us due to cardiac arrest around five years ago. And now, my mother. I know life is not easy for anyone, but I really wanted everything to be normal for a few minutes. I wanted to be a carefree girl, without any worries, but life doesn’t give you many options.

Finding out about Ibrahim Khan and my Baba's friendship was very surprising for me because I had never heard about him. We talked for about half an hour before he left for his home, leaving me with the little devil who was trying to act all cute in front of me. But I know better than to fall for her tricks.

"I'm really sorry, Angel," Niya said with a cute look on her face.

"Nautanki band kariye aap. Hum aapke ragh ragh se wakif hain," I said, faking anger. She pouted, at my words, and I tried my best not to smile at her cuteness. She bent her head down as she held the end of my kurti in her hand and played with the threads.

("Stop this drama. I know you inside out.")

"Idhar dekhiye," I said in a firm voice, making her look at me.

(" Look at me ")

Taking one of her hands between my palms, I explained calmly, "Dekhiye baccha, humare har problem ka solution violence nahi hota. Agar aapko koi masla ho ya phir agar aapko koi pareshan kare toh aap seedhe humare paas aa jaana, baaki sab hum sambhalenge, theek hai?" She listened to me carefully without even blinking.

("Listen, child, violence is not the solution to every problem. If you have any issues or if someone troubles you, come directly to me, and I'll take care of everything else, okay?")