The Curse

The Weight of Decisions

"David, David...? Are you here?" I called, my voice echoing through the sparse room.

"I'm here. What now?" David's tone was calm as he entered, his presence grounded amidst the tension that seemed to always linger.

"I need a favor."

"What favor now?" He raised a brow, half-expecting another odd request.

"I want to watch anime. Could you set up the LED and get me an internet connection? Please?" I asked, almost pleading.

David's lips twitched in a faint smile before he replied, "You do realize this isn't a hotel, right?"

"I know that. But aren't you my friend? You know the saying—a friend in need is a friend indeed."

His eyes narrowed as he shook his head, unimpressed. "First of all, I am not your friend. And if I have to hear that line again, I might lose my mind."

"I'll just ask the commander then," I threatened playfully, though I knew he wasn't one to be easily moved.

Before David could respond, a voice interrupted us. "What's happening with you two?" Mr. Khan's deep voice filled the room as he stepped in from the doorway.

David turned to face him, his demeanor becoming instantly more formal. "Back already? Do you have the papers to meet the commander?"

"Yes, I have them. Here, you can check." Mr. Khan handed a neat stack of papers over. David scrutinized them for a moment before nodding, allowing Khan to proceed.

"Riaz, how's your phobia?" Mr. Khan asked, his hand extended in greeting.

"It's easing off, probably due to the meds." I shrugged, feeling the lingering numbness from the heavy dosages they had me on.

Khan nodded thoughtfully before speaking again, his tone more serious this time. "I went through your entire case last night. It's one of the toughest I've ever come across. Almost all the evidence points against you, even though there's nothing direct. But that's the thing about the world government—they don't need to follow conventional justice."

He paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in, before continuing, "And from what I've gathered, there's been no sign of Qalid since the attack. He's most likely gone. And as for 'The Weeping Child,' they've been strangely quiet. No moves, no signals. If they don't act soon, it's going to be nearly impossible to get you out of here."

I leaned back, absorbing the implications. "So, you're telling me you weren't recruited by them. This sounds more like a betrayal than anything else."

Mr. Khan didn't flinch. "I wasn't recruited by them, Riaz. It was my choice to take your case. I've got no interest in 'The Weeping Child' family affairs. But let's leave that discussion for now."

I exhaled sharply, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on me. "Yeah, let's drop it. I've got things to do anyway."

Khan sighed, picking up his diary, the conversation ending just as abruptly as it had started.

October 10

Yesterday was... a good day. After an entire month of darkness, I saw a smile on my mother's face—a real one. It's been fifteen days since she left her room, and life, albeit slowly, seems to be inching back to normal.

Now my only headache is getting into a high school. I'm already half a semester late, and it's been a challenge finding an opening, but I'll manage. I always do. Today, I sent out applications to several prestigious schools in the area. There's also the possibility of a part-time job to lighten the financial load on my family. It's the least I can do.

That's it for now, diary. I know I don't come to you often, but when I do, it's because something important is about to change.

October 20

It's been ten days since I last wrote. In the meantime, something remarkable happened—I received an invitation for an interview at a prestigious school in Berlin. Today was the meeting.

The school... it was magnificent. As I stood before its grand doors, I could feel the weight of history, of achievement. After a brief wait, I was ushered into the dean's office. The room was lined with medals and trophies, accolades that told the story of triumphs spanning decades. The dean himself... he reminded me of a figure from a storybook, his long white hair and the glasses perched on his nose giving him an aura of quiet wisdom. He looked like Dumbledore, the headmaster from those old fantasy tales.

"Mr. Riaz Sheikh," he began, his voice rich with experience, "Do you realize you are standing in one of the most esteemed institutions in this country?"

"Yes, sir," I replied.

"Are you aware that the sole purpose of..."

Later that morning, as we sat down for breakfast, a letter arrived. My mother opened it with trembling hands. It was news regarding my father's case. From what she told me, the government seemed to be easing their pursuit, probably because my father's wasn't the only case. There had been a greater betrayal—the entire special forces unit, of which he had been the commander.

It seems now that Berlin has taken an interest in the case, and they want us there. Another storm on the horizon. Fortunately, my grandmother's family lawyer has agreed to take on the case. But it will be no easy task—fighting a nation in the courts rarely is.

Despite everything, my mind keeps wandering back to school. Today, my mother visited several institutions, but none seemed to meet her standards. I can only hope she finds something soon. High school seems like the one normal thing I can still reach for, even in the midst of all this chaos.

Mohammad closed the diary, glancing at me as he did so. "It's late. I should head home. But Riaz, I've got to ask, why did you choose this path? Your life seems... well, not normal, but stable. Was there really a need to take this profession? What if you had lost? Things could have been so much worse."

I smiled, not because of his words, but because of the simplicity with which he saw the world.

"That's the thing," I whispered, "Everyone assumes their view of the world is the only correct one. But it's not."

As Mohammad left, he promised he'd return to see what my high school life turned into. Whether I'd have one at all was another question entirely.