Forbidden

5. Prettiest Star

By the time we left Salman's place, the moon hung high in the sky, casting a soft silver glow over the plains. The stars were scattered across the vast expanse, their light faint but persistent, a gentle reminder of the quiet night. It was already 10 in the evening, and the only sound that cut through the stillness was the roar of the motorcycles, their engines humming in harmony as we sped across the empty road. The flat fields stretched out endlessly on either side, the dark silhouette of the land broken only by the occasional rustle of the wind sweeping across the tall grass.

The air had grown cold, crisp against my skin, but it was nothing like the freezing night from before. This time, I had prepared. I pulled the sweater I had brought with me tighter around my body, the fabric soft and warm, offering a comforting shield against the cool night air. It brushed against my arms as I held onto Kashifa, the sensation of it mingling with the rhythm of the ride.

The wind bit at my face, but it was a clean, fresh kind of cold. Not harsh, but invigorating. I could feel it tugging at the edges of my sweater, ruffling my hair, but still, it didn't bother me. If anything, it seemed to sharpen my senses, making everything feel more alive-the sounds of the motorcycles, the distant calls of nocturnal creatures, the rush of air past my ears. It was as if the world was slowing down, the quiet hum of the night wrapping around us in a cocoon of peaceful isolation.

And as we rode, I found myself lost in thought, caught somewhere between the chill of the night and the warmth that seemed to grow steadily inside me, in that quiet space between the two of us. The air, cold as it was, didn't seem so important. It was as though the ride, the night, and Kashifa's presence had a way of making everything else feel distant, like I was in a world of my own, one where the only things that mattered were the steady hum of the engine and the weight of his body against mine.

There were three motorcycles on the road, ours at the center of the small procession. Afsar and Said were in front of us, their bikes cutting through the darkness, their lights casting brief flashes of brightness onto the empty road. Shoaib and Sulaiman trailed behind, their laughter and chatter carrying across the space between us, filling the night with a familiar warmth.

I felt less scared knowing that we had company on our way home. The rhythmic sound of the engines and the soft glow of the headlights in the distance made the night feel less isolating, less intimidating. There was something comforting about being part of a group, knowing that the road ahead, though quiet and vast, wasn't something I had to face alone.

The other four were neighbors and childhood friends of Kashifa, a circle of people who had known each other for years. I could tell by the way they joked with one another, their easy camaraderie, how close they were. Kashifa fit seamlessly into that group, his presence as natural as theirs. It made me feel, if only for a moment, that I was part of something-something bigger than myself, something steady and grounded in the familiarity of friendship.

I couldn't help but appreciate the sense of belonging that came with being in their company. It made the ride home feel safer, even as the night air chilled around us.

Kashifa shouted something in Pashto, his voice cutting through the air, as he blared the horn, the sharp sound echoing and drowning the silence of the night. The rhythmic beeping reverberated across the open fields, a loud, playful call to the others. Afsar, up ahead, slowed down and came to a complete halt, followed by Shoaib and Sulaiman, who joined the temporary stop. They continued speaking in Pashto, a language I couldn't fully follow, and I couldn't help but feel a little left out, like a silent observer in their world.

The motorcycles rolled off the main road and to the side, the engines purring to a stop as the others dismounted their bikes. Kashifa and the rest of them spoke animatedly among themselves, their voices low but energetic, and I stood back for a moment, letting the cool night air settle around me.