1

Flight of Fancy
Maira Jilani
Third Year

Blue
Fahad Nawaz Sheikh, Final year
I sniff my shirt and feel the aroma of my cologne, which has lightened. It is 4:50 pm and
I have to reach by 5. What if she reaches first? I wanted to arrive a bit earlier and get used to
the atmosphere. And maybe go to the rest room and set my hair or something. But that
doesn't seem possible now, thanks to the traffic. And the rain. And fate. God, why did it
have to rain today? Now that I am reduced to a snail’s pace, all I can do is pray she’s stuck
somewhere too.
Whenever I heard people talking about the difficulty of the first ever date, I often sensed
a tinge of embellishment. It cannot be that hard, I used to say. I remember a close friend of
mine sweating over how he looked, and ceaselessly asking us what, and what not, to say on
his first date. We all made fun of him, and now I reckon it’s my time or rather, my day of
judgement.
“Day of judgement? Don’t be stupid. It’s just a meeting with a girl you’ve known for
over a year,” I say to myself. But it doesn’t help slow down my racing heart. Why does the
word “date” have so much effect? Maybe it doesn’t after the first one. I perspire. Balls of
sweat roll down my forehead, almost into my eyes. But I have come prepared; my inventory
includes napkins, a pocket-sized mirror and the smallest of hairbrushes. I clean myself up
insidiously. My taxi-driver must not see, for he has already caught me a couple of times star-
ing into my mirror and smirked. I sense that he may know; a neatly dressed guy going to a
restaurant, continuously checking his appearance. What else could it be but a date?
I play the scene when I enter and greet her, in my mind, over a thousand times. What
will she be thinking? Will she be as confused as I am? She has always been the shy type,
and me the messiah who tries to guide her towards valiance. Where is that messiah now? I
giggle at the thought. I want her to like me so much that it is getting to my head. We have
met before, but always with company. The ask-out was unromantic. Being too diffident to
face her then, I chose the easier way: a phone call. I cannot run from it now. This is my first
time alone with a girl, let alone her. “Just act natural,” I preach myself.
It’s fifteen past five and I reach. I pay my fare, act as if I didn’t see the driver’s grin as
he took it, and stroll hurriedly under the shade of the restaurant’s entrance to avoid getting
wet. I can see my reflection in the window, fortunately. I straighten my collar, neatly tuck
my sleeves up, finger-comb my hair, and lick my lips to make them shine. “What have I be-
come, my sweetest friend?” Johnny Cash’s music never fails to define most of my moments.
Mustering up all the courage I can gather, I enter. A waiter quickly approaches to proba-
bly guide me to a chair but I let him know I have come to meet someone. As I divert my

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gaze from the waiter to the seating, I see her and our eyes meet. My heart explodes and I feel
it thudding against my ribcage. She quickly looks away and I do the same, acting as though I
haven’t noticed. It would look awkward if I keep standing here looking below, so I lift my
gaze and start walking towards her.
Everything is now in slow motion. A plethora of thoughts, feelings and emotions floods
my head. The table she has chosen is in the corner and a bit isolated from the rest. She is
wearing blue, my favorite color. She must have chosen the color deliberately, I wonder. Her
shirt is shiny and almost sleeveless. Its V-shaped neckline elegantly accommodates the pen-
dant of her necklace. She allows her dark hair with golden streaks to hang down and cover the
sides of her face as she continues to stare at the table. Never have I seen her like this before;
I’ve always known her as the casually dressed girl who doesn’t bother about how she looks.
But today, she looks so...womanly. Her feather white skin lights up the area.
As I move closer and get a clearer view of her face, I become awestruck by her beauty.
There is a very attractive aura about her. She is wearing very light makeup, making me curi-
ous whether her blush is real. Her controlled, shy smile is one to die for. She’s my girl, I
proudly say to myself. A strange new feeling runs through me. Is this love? It must be. We
met a year ago and my life changed for the better. She knows everything there is to know
about me, and I about her. So why am I so obsessed with making an impression? My heart
rate drops as the feelings of pressure and confusion are overcome by love. Her bright, shim-
mering, hazel colored eyes, with perfectly rolled eyelids and evenly spread mascara, turn to-
wards me, plunging me into a state of euphoria. She smiles with her wine red lips, contrasting
bewitchingly with the white, luminous teeth underneath.
I smile too, and coyly say, “Hi.”
Background painting by:
Maryum Gull, Final Year

3
Gone with the Wind
Nabiha Noor, Second Year
The room was silent and dark, just a flicker of sunlight through the drawn curtains and the
solemn beep of machines around him. He was a human machine… breathing through a ven-
tilator with numerous tubes attached to his limp being. I pushed aside the curtains and
opened the window. Instantly, the room was filled with the scent of morning and a feeling of
life but he wasn’t moved by it. I pulled a chair beside him and watched him sleep. The room
was filled with flowers, fragrances unsmelt, petals untouched and there I was, admiring his
flowers. I walked to the window and looked out. He couldn’t see the sky, how far birds flew
in it, so freely and the clouds that drifted slowly over lands and seas.
And the sun, that ball of fire, its rays warming the room gently, so very gently, but he
couldn’t live the experience. He just lay there, still, and life was moving as usual. The morn-
ings, nights, people, seasons, oceans and winds, all following their course. Time had not
stopped for him. I held his hands for a while, not knowing if it comforted him but I just held
on. See, we shared a bond, the commonality… of humanity… we shared one sky and one
earth. We led different lives, yet we were a part of the universe, part of the plan. We came
from another world upon a journey. Our paths were different, but our ultimate destination
was one. In essence we were the same… mortals, flesh, bone and spirit, travelers, explorers,
humans, a man and the other a woman, one dying and one living. A day would come when
we would be one with the earth.
His time amongst the mortals had almost ended. He had played the game of life, and life
had also played its own games. To most people it was the end of him. Little did they know
that it was just the beginning of something bigger, better and deeper. He was like the living
dead, and I? I could move my hands, to touch, to hold, to create, to wipe a tear and to com-
fort.
I could hear. I was breathing, and I could smell the flowers, the earth, the mornings and
the nights. I could see with the eye of the soul. Yes, I was alive and endless possibilities
awaited me. I felt strong.
I did not know the man’s name. We didn’t know each other and yet, when his monitor
stopped beeping, I felt sad. As I was leaving the room, I turned to have one last look at him.
We were two strangers… bonded but different people… reflections of One being… breath-
ing a common spirit… God… and so, nothing else mattered.
“He was a leaf, gone with the wind,” I murmured silently.

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Facades
Motsim Hashmi, Old Final Year
Sanity spoke when all emotions faltered.
Rationality invoked when all expectations haltered!
In the oblivion of a busy city night, he opens his eyes and is standing along the outskirts
of an amusement park, where the joyfulness and laughter of children is lost among the horns
and noise of automobiles on the road. From a distance, he looks just like an ordinary man,
neither tall nor dwarf, with prominent facial features. His muscular build hides in a dirty, rug
type cloth he is wearing. From a distant observer’s point of view, he looks just like an ordi-
nary, poor peasant from some laid back village, hitting the city for some bread crumbs to
spare and coins to earn. But his demeanor is lost among other beggars because as far as the
eye could see, there were people, well-dressed, chanting happily with no care in the world and
the less privileged like him, staring at them with great envy.
His trance is broken by a beggar woman carrying an infant wrapped in blankets to keep it
safe from the harsh breeze of December, motioning him to move away from her territory in a
gypsy like, yet somewhat, understandable dialect. He ignores the woman but stares at the
child for a bit, takes out a parchment made of animal hide and a quill pen, scribbles something
and moves on, until a noisy and heated argument attracts his attention! A man in a formal
dress is arguing with the petrol pump worker for not washing his windshields. He stares at
them and again scribbles something in his notebook, until a security guard comes and pushes
him away, barking at him that no beggars are allowed here. He keeps on walking till he reach-
es a quiet and peaceful residential block where he is stopped by three policemen; two studs
and one plump Inspector with his belly bulging out of his shirt like it could explode anytime.
The police officer starts asking about his identification and numerous other questions but he is
silent in reply, doesn’t even show any emotions. Frustrated, the police officer shouts, “Khan,
bring out the cuffs! This lowlife is begging to be treated by our hospitality in prison. The
wimp dares look down on me.” Khan, a young stud, comes near him and politely advises him
to give respect to his officer or he will be in trouble, yet fails to get any response from the
stranger. Khan, feeling tired, turns back to the station and tells his officer to let the man go as
he thinks he is insane, but suddenly stops in his tracks when he hears a thump and sees his of-
ficer out of consciousness. The stranger disappears into the abyss of the darkening night,
scribbling something in his notebook.

5
It’s been quite a while since evening ended and there is a typical cold nip of winter in the
air. The stranger, oblivious to the frosty weather, keeps on his vagrant walk but stops sud-
denly, near a house where a teacher is giving a lecture to young students and the students are
listening very intently. He stares at them for a while, takes out the diary, starts writing and
leaves. When he returns to the main road, he sees masses of people going in the north direc-
tion, some on foot, others on various modes of locomotion, chanting slogans of a political
party with harmony and zeal. He follows them into a rout and makes his way to a place
where he could see the entire field clearly. He sees people standing on an elevation, the
speakers in the corner giving speeches with full power and ferocity and the mob chanting
their slogans nonstop. When the campaign ends, he follows the mob out, scribbling as usual,
wanders around the periphery to a narrow alley and bumps into a tall, lean man, drunk, with
a half empty bottle in one hand and a flag in the other and various accessories of some politi-
cal party on his body. The bottle falls and shatters and the stranger jumps back from the
spilled alcohol like it will burn him. The man, enraged but not sober, starts shouting at him
with unintelligible loathing but the stranger, unfazed, shows no response; rather waits silent-
ly for the man to clear his way. Enraged, the man tries to tackle him but falls on the ground
bumping into a stone. The stranger, seeing this as an opportunity, tries to walk away from
him but is stopped when the drunkard latches onto him by his sandal. His husky voice seeps
into the early fog of the cold, merciless night.
“Do you have any idea who I am? I will get you kidnapped and killed without your
loved ones ever finding out what happened to you. I will skin you alive. I am the leader of
the political wing of my city. I’ll compensate my alcohol by killing you softly, you loath-
some beggar!” Drunk in the delirium of anger, he hisses at him.
“I…” the stranger tries to talk.
“You are not going anywhere, my dear chap, as you will be the victim of my sadistic tor-
ture tonight,” the drunkard gives out a maddening laugh of authority.
“I am…” the stranger tries to speak again.
“Speak up, you nameless sheep!” the drunkard commands. “I am sure you don’t know
who even your father or mother or ancestor is. I am the top dog here.”
Suddenly, with a jerk, the stranger frees himself from the drunkard’s grip and instantly, a
light illuminates every corner of the dark night. Time seems to stop and the drunkard finds
himself staring at an embodiment of beauty; light radiating from him so soft it doesn’t hurt
the eye, fragrance emanating from him so delicate the likes of which he had never smelled
before. The enigmatic beggar who was desperate to get away from him is now standing in a

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simple, yet elegant armor of purity, his eyes burning with ferocity but blood running from
them endlessly.
As the drunkard stares into the mysterious eyes, he is lost in a trance with the stranger,
numerous images flooding his mind.
A small army of Arabs with no food and water against an army with thousands of merce-
naries.
A man sleeping in a bed with armed people surrounding the house to kill him but he is
more concerned about returning the deposits of people, entrusted onto him.
A man commanding his army, sieging a fortress, breaks open the gates with his bare
hands and beheads a warlord who is many times bigger than him.
A man traveling in the silent night with food supplies for widows and orphans in his
hands.
A man receiving the oath of allegiance for his Caliphate.
“I AM...ALI!,” a voice resonates strongly.
“Nephew of the greatest being to have ever lived in this era of humanity, son of the brav-
est father who died protecting that greatest being, husband of the Princess of Heaven, a son of
Clan Hashim from the deserts of Arabia, turned into the greatest victor to have ever lived!
Bravest companion of the beloved Prophet Muhammad (P.B.U.H.).”
The drunkard had forgotten any recollection of being drunk. Instead, he was just
awestruck, failing to process what was happening.
“We are the specially chosen by the Almighty Allah to walk eternally on this land, watch-
ing and observing His people. We are the witnesses of the Muslim empire, seeing its rise, be-
holding its falls. This nation of Pakistan was a miracle of Allah! It was supposed to lead the
Muslim masses!! Their guardians, their protectors, upholding the spirit of ‘ammarr bilmaruf
wa nahi anilmunkar’. Yet all I see, is calamity everywhere.”
Suddenly, another series of images starts flashing in the formerly drunkard’s mind. A
beggar woman begging for medicine for her baby. A voice whispers, “But no one knows she
is carrying a dead child.”
“Façade”. She killed someone else’s child and is carrying him to beg for money and as
the child will begin to rot, she will simply kill another one.
The scenario changes to a petrol pump; two men are arguing and a voice commands,
“Watch, how as one man does injustice to another man, it looks like a mundane affair. But if

7
you look deeper, you will find the rich man is intoxicated by his status and money which he
makes by bribery and corruption. And the petrol guy? Well, he knows how to fill half the
paid amount of fuel but takes full money because of a cheating talent he learned.”
“Cannibalism”. The society eating each other wherever possible.
The scene changes suddenly to a police quarter where a fat policeman is telling his wife
that everything will be ok, he will do double shifts to buy medicines for his daughter. Out-
side at the checkpoint, a young Khan is smuggling narcotics to a group of teenagers and fill-
ing money in his pocket.
“Delusions”. In your society what matters is what the person is on the outside.
Again, the scene changes to a classroom. Knowledge, the greatest blessing granted to
man by Allah Almighty but this teacher rests and sleeps at school and teaches privately all
evening and night, charging people heavy fees for his services.
“Greed”. The profession of Prophets turned into a business.
“Stop! Stop,” the man cries, gasping for breath and choking. The voice continues, “You
made a system in the name of democracy to fulfill your pharaoh passions. You give them
money for votes, come into power and make much more than that by divesting others of
their rights. To you, they are like ants. You don’t care how many of them die when you walk
on them. You vandalize them in the name of national unity. You raise the slogans of ideolo-
gy, socialism, communism, Islamism, just to loot them and have a taste of power.
“You define what you see, chase what you seek. You are an embodiment of blinded
herds, judging with what your limited minds can see and like frail moths seeking what you
relish, never reaching towards the light and dying in the process.”
“Please, just destroy us. We don’t deserve to live! We are surely going to the lowest lev-
el of hell,” he cries.
“Allah gave you chances, more than he gave to Bani Israel. Rest assured, he won’t de-
stroy you while there are still good people among you upholding His teachings and I will
keep supporting my fellow brethren and do my God’s bidding whenever and wherever he
commands me to.”
Suddenly, the lights go out.
And the drunkard finds himself leaning on the ground, tears flowing from his eyes. His
vision is fading in the darkness of the night, watching a peasant man, walking and walking
till he fades.

8
She 'met' God
Ramsha Javed, Second year
She was chaos and beauty intertwined; a tornado of roses from the divine. Ayesha lived in
a world of her own. Delicate as a lily, she was friends with butterflies. But as it always hap-
pens: life. She knew she was tired, tired of just existing. She wanted to live, but circumstances
were throwing and twisting her into the abyss of nothingness. Naivety proved her wrong time
and again. The confidence she once had was now in vain. The dreams she had once imagined
coming true were now shattered. The smile that used to light up the skies had faded away.
The people she thought she could count on, left her alone amidst the darkest tracks.
With her shattered dreams, she now sat in the dark, playing with her nightmares, luring
her devils and feeding her fears. She closed her eyes and slipped into ecstasy. Her voice trem-
bled like a violin string and she cracked like the spine of a book. She stopped breathing and
lost herself in the chasm of serenity. She realized that the demons that haunted her, lived in-
side her; the monster is no one, but her.
Ayesha demanded a panacea for the tearing pain; she now wanted to strive for the unan-
swerable questions and then, only then, while searching for the light in the dark, she ‘met’
God. She met Him in the trenches of life, when she was in the midst of struggle. She had
learned about God as a young girl and had dedicated her life to Him, but to have an actual
‘encounter’ with God, it didn’t happen until God was all she had left. As a young mom trying
to make her way in the world, as a woman going into business to be able to provide more for
her family, as a woman whose heart was broken, as a woman who was trying to make a dif-
ference with poor results, as a broker trying to get her feet under her. She met God, in all of
those places but she came to know Him, face to face, truly, during those last six years of jour-
ney... when she actually gathered the courage to follow the call. When she had thought every-
thing would go easy breezy, she was in for a rude awakening. When she had thought she was
on God’s honour role list and no harm would ever come to her. When she had thought she al-
ready knew Him. When she had thought she had it all figured out, she met the One whom she
actually wanted to. She saw miracles happen. God showed her what she was made of. He
burned down what was not working. He allowed her to be shaped in the fiery furnace. He
trusted her to cross the desert. He gave Ayesha a new depth to herself. He showed her Him-
self and His way. She had thought she knew it. She had thought she had it, but it was not until
she faced the toughest trials of her life, not until she had lost her most precious things, not un-
til she stood on His word and His word alone, did she REALLY come FACE TO FACE
WITH GOD.

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I knew a girl once…
Syeda Saniya Hasan, Fourth year
“Do you know the feeling? When you’re in a room full of people who love you and
whom you love and you’re laughing at some silly thing and everyone is happy. Yet you’re
alone. There’s something missing. A part of you that’s just out of reach of the tips of your
fingers and the funny thing is, you don’t even know which part it is. Yet, you can feel the
hollowness it’s left behind in you. You’re one of them, their friend, their beloved. You be-
long there, yet you feel you don’t. And you get so angry because you don’t want to feel it.
You want to shout for the feeling to get the hell away from you. You call desperately to your
missing self. But it’s all in vain, because no one can hear you even if you scream your lungs
out. So you want to break everything within reach. You want to show someone, anyone,
what you’re going through. But no one can see. It’s like you’re standing in an endless space
with nothing and no one in sight. Where the sun is shining bright, almost blinding. But the
darkness is pressing in, taking your breath away. So as you’re laughing like crazy and ex-
changing hi-fives, you feel secluded, separated from everyone. You see their faces in a sort
of blur, like from behind a fogged glass. You want to call out to them, tell them you’re alone,
hold onto someone you love and cry. Cry your heart out, cry till you can’t anymore. And lose
yourself in the embrace. But you’re afraid they’ll see you for the fraud you are and you’ll be
left exposed in front of all, devoid of any secrets to behold. And more than that, you’re
scared witless that they’ll also be dragged into your darkness, your despair and then they
would be alone too, just like you, calling for something that will always elude them: a chance
at real happiness. So you laugh. The more you want to cry, the more you laugh, till tears
come to your eyes and your sides start aching. You see the people you love around you, hap-
py, and you envy them their joy. And as tears of mirth and sadness come to your eyes and
your heart feels like it can’t take any more of it, you thank God. Thank Him that they are
kept away from the darkness. You pray that they always remain happy, unaware of the bat-
tles that rage within one of their own.”
Silence, dense and loud, followed these words as the two girls sat with their legs crossed
on the single bed in the feminine room. It reflected the personality of its owner; clean and
simple but with the drapes drawn, blocking out the cheerful spring sunlight. Anne sat now,
with her green eyes bright, face flushed, raven hair flowing down the back, having vented out
all that was within her. She felt like she’d been talking for ages now but it had only been a
couple of minutes. And Emma, with warm brown eyes and hair escaping from her ponytail,
who had been listening to her dearest friend. She was the one to break the silence as finally,
she asked, “Why now? Why are you telling me all this now if you’ve had it in you for so
long?” “Because I’m tired,” Anne sighed. “Tired of pretending that I’m okay. That there’s
hope to survive. The world is a sneaky bastard. It doesn’t let anyone be happy. It finds out
little pieces of your joy and turns them on you as it tries to squeeze the life out of your
dreams. Can’t you see?” she asked as she took hold of her friend’s hands in her agitation.
“Look around you. There’s no hope for anyone. No one is really happy. People dying left,

10
right and center, bombs going off. That’s okay as long as you have someone. But everyone
comes into this world alone, yet thinking that they can surround themselves with family and
people and not feel that loneliness any more. It’s like this world is designed for people to lose
anything they hold dear, whether it’s joy, hope or even the innocence of childhood. The odds
are against us and anyone who keeps fighting a losing battle is a fool!”
They sat there again in silence and the only sound for a while was the whirring of the fan
above their heads and their thoughts which kept echoing loudly in their heads. They kept look-
ing into each other’s eyes till at last, Emma’s phone rang like a gunshot in the mountains, jerk-
ing them out of their musings.
“Yeah? Okay, I’m coming.” “I gotta go,” she said as she got up from her place on the bed
and took her purse from the chair by the door. “I’ll see you, then.” “’Kay…” was all the reply
she got. She waited for a moment expecting something more perhaps but her friend’s down
bent head as she picked at the sheets, was indication enough. Shaking her head, she turned to-
wards the door.
As she was turning around to head to the door, she paused for a moment and turned back.
“Hey!” Anne jerked up her head, coming out of the world she had gone off to. “I know you
love the sea. Maybe more than any other thing in the world. Tell me, why do you like it so
much?” “Uh…” Anne looked confused for a couple of breaths, as if not sure where the ques-
tion had come from and what it had to do with anything at that time. Then she looked around,
cleared her throat and said, “I don’t know. It’s just… never ending and constant. I guess. It
never stops. Even after it holds so much inside it, it’s still capable of holding yet more. It’s
just… untiring! Yeah, that’s the word.”
“Oh honey!” Anne saw her friend cradle her cheek in her hand, felt her soft, warm touch
on her face and stared at her smile. It somehow held too much. A load of affection, a touch of
pity, understanding, and insight, as if into her soul. It made her uncomfortable and it made her
want to cry. But as her eyes stung with unshed tears, before she could say anything, the hand
and the smile was gone and Emma was out the door. She stared at it, feeling the emptiness and
a feeling of betrayal left behind in the room. She kept sitting there for what seemed like a long
time, not really thinking anything.
Suddenly the door opened again and a brunette head popped in. “Oh hey! I forgot to tell
you something.” “What?” Emma’s expression changed to one of tenderness as she said in a
soft voice, “I knew a girl once who was filled with an incredible amount of darkness. The only
light she ever believed in was the way the sea never stopped dancing even when the world
around it kept crumbling to the ground.” Then her face was filled with her usual animation and
her eyes glittered as she announced, “So, I’m getting late, gotta go. See ya!” And just like that
the door was closing again. But there was something different in the room now in the wake of
the solitude. Something which hadn’t been there before. Hope. And a sudden uplifting of a
burden off a heart, which had been there for ages, it seemed. A strength of spirit. And a smile,
blooming on the lips of the girl who didn’t find herself alone and desolate anymore.
Background Painting by:
Rabia Shahid, Second Year

11
A Curvy Trance
Ashwa Malik, Fourth year
Living in the vile darkness of life, he had managed to comprehend the mysterious shack-
les of his age chain. He was continuously exploring new ways from the ups and downs of his
biographic curve. This is the story of a man named Abdullah who always tended to become
superior in every aspect of life by choosing the righteous path. He started to inquire all the
consequences of life and decided to propagate with some ruling conceptions of his mind. At
this time, his thoughts were circling very short radii of life issues. Being the only child of his
parents, every member of his family loved him. His father earned livelihood from his gar-
ments’ shop and was prosperous as compared to his uncles and grandfather. His mother was
a pious and thrifty housewife. On the whole, they were a happy family leading a content life
with a mixture of love and sorrows.
Advancing into modern ages of time, Abdullah’s innate habit had shaped his personality
beautifully. His mother teachings had blessed him with a true understanding of religion i.e.
Islam. He offered prayers five times a day, fasted throughout Ramadan and always helped
needy people. His body language and behavior earned him a good image among his friends
and relatives.
One day, his friend Ali planted in him an idea of doing business and asked him to invest
some money. He persuaded him with catchy manners by making a fake, idealized approach
to become a rich and respected person. Ali told him to invest in a computer company as a
freelancer. They would accept any investment, manipulate it into a profit and would give
your respective share in profit back to you. Abdullah regarded this opportunity as an only
chance to buy a ticket to his dream world. He became a victim of self-desires. Modernity
was visualized by him as a lush green oasis. He came home and passed every moment of his
time dreaming about a new and gorgeous world induced by the trickeries of that spur. He
forgot to offer prayers and other monotonies of daily work. His mother asked him the reason
for remaining idle all day long but he intervened by telling her about the great idea and the
outcomes after investing in it. She was a simple housewife and didn’t know much about
business. However, her heart didn’t accept the picture presented in front of her so she re-
frained him to move ahead without his father’s approval. Moreover, she made him aware of
the drudgery and the laborious attempts of his father to regulate the flow of their business,
that his father had drawn out his whole strength to earn for their household needs. All that
talk seemed like rubbish to him and gradually he kept sinking deeper into the mystical world
of temptations. Afterwards, the second meeting with his friend consolidated his mind into

12
taking the final decision. He asked his father to consider his plea. At this point of time, Abdul-
lah was being transformed into a man of extreme greed, irrespective of his initial moral val-
ues.
His father’s insight understood the trickeries behind that deception and he inquired about
the details. Abdullah pleaded, cajoled and tried to convince him with arguments and explana-
tions. After having a series of dialogues with his father, he finally got the money. He forgot
everything that night. To pray to Almighty Allah and be thankful for all the blessings that he
was thinking about. In a world of his own idealized desires, he was rejoicing and hatching
many plans. He daydreamed about having the best car money could buy and about trips to for-
eign countries. Life was looking like a bed of roses to him. His mind was in sheer disobedi-
ence of his own nature which was bringing a crisis in his personality. His father wrote him a
cheque of one lac rupees the next morning. Abdullah’s behavior changed towards every mem-
ber of his family as he started looking down on them due to his facade of pride and honor. He
was unaware of this tumultuous scrutiny of his conscience, which Allah had put upon him to
test his belief and flexibility of nature.
In this pitiable situation of daydreaming, he went to Ali for further formalities. Ali was a
deceptive and tricky man. He succeeded in trapping Abdullah with his dramatic way. Abdul-
lah instantly took the cheque out of his pocket and handed it to Ali with a smile on his face.
Ali gave him a quick response in his flattering style and kept boosting his daydreams. Those
fake words of encouragement refilled his mind with new illusions of the modern world. On
his way back home, an old man intersected him and asked for some money. He begged des-
perately, telling about his poverty, scarcity of food and shelter, but Abdullah was in airs and a
state of stupor at that time. Instead of assisting that needy person, he scolded him in a very
proudly and demeaning manner. He came home and went to his room without meeting his
parents. He was in complete hold of his material desires which were only dunes of sand.
Those days, his tone changed badly with his relatives due to his illusionary thoughts. He
was impatiently waiting for the end of the month to get the fruits of his dreams. He forgot his
duties as a Muslim, son, cousin, and every other relation. However, the days passed by and
Abdullah’s mind was kept wandering high, his ruthless behavior intensified day by day. He
disobeyed his father and objected to being assigned menial tasks fit for a servant only, as he
himself, had greater plans and things in store for his future. His father was really disappointed
and surprised. Abdullah was gradually being isolated from all the aspects of life which had
once made him a true man. His segregated ideas made him very alone inside his self without
him realizing.

13
After a month’s time, he went to Ali demanding his profit. At first, Ali made lame excus-
es that the money was being processed and soon it would be in his hands. Abdullah was now
feeling a hint of deception in Ali’s words. He inquired again and again about the reason for
his delayed payment but Ali switched off his phone and became non-responsive. Ali’s behav-
ior came as a great shock to Abdullah’s mind and all his dreams scattered like dust. After
failed efforts to reach Ali by phone, he finally went by his house. Ali refused to meet him,
making excuses of urgent business. The servant conveyed that the money had been lost due
to cancellation of the license of the company. Abdullah had now realized that he had been
forfeited for his deeds. He was in a state of fix, thereby losing himself in a sea of embarrass-
ment and dismay. At that moment, he lost consciousness and fell helplessly to the ground. He
fainted and opened his eyes in the hospital. His parents were looking into his eyes with the
utmost love which made him transfixed and he asked forgiveness for all his ill-mannered
acts. He hadn’t known of a parent’s love for their child. Fate and the world had taught him a
great lesson, leaving deep scars on his personality. He tentatively returned to his only Crea-
tor, Allah Almighty. After being discharged from the hospital, the first thing he did was pray,
and weep in prostration. He understood the true meaning of the equilibrium designed by that
Exalted One among all aspects of life. His urge and desire for worldly goods went steep
down but still, the pains and worries experienced by him through those hard times left unfor-
gettable, tragic signs on his memory. The moral of this story can be inferred that life is not an
epitome of perfection but a teacher, who teaches on curved paths and in spooky ways.

14
Mistaken Identity
Rabia Shahid, Second Year
“Could words ever justify the primitive nature of a human being?”
Stan was taken aback by the raw genius her words oozed; he was in awe. In awe of her
striking appearance and her strong mind. He was amazed at how she carried herself. This
woman who stood in front of him, wearing a grey suit with the perfect pair of stilettos. She
wasn’t making an effort to be the center of attention; with her mild make-up and hair tied up.
Yet she had caught his eye amongst everybody else. Stan was attracted to her. Or maybe, he
felt threatened by her persona. Maybe he was trying to satisfy his male ego by trying to
“decode” this wonder of a woman. Her voice, a little husky, sounded like the most appealing
and sensuous thing he had ever heard. She spoke clearly, strongly. She spoke carefully. Mak-
ing sure to put emphasis on the right word, pausing at all the right places; trying, almost a lit-
tle too hard. Yet she did it out of habit, it didn’t appear out of character. Her eyes, the average
brown. She was a regular brunette in her mid-twenties, young, ambitious (perhaps overly so),
prim and proper… who was she?
Stan’s thought process was interrupted harshly by her strong voice again… “and would
you possibly be able to justify your desires, your cravings, your ideas? With words? With a
set language containing only a limited amount of words that follow the set definition? With
words that have already been described? Appointed a depth?”
The brainstorming session of the class ended. He felt confused, bedazzled by this mysteri-
ous woman. Stan introduced himself to her politely, taming his emotions, covering up the rev-
erence he was in.
“I’m Stanley James. I’m afraid I was running a bit late so I couldn’t introduce myself be-
fore your session. I teach these little devils history and anthropology.” He grinned.
“It’s a pleasure meeting you, Mr. James, I suppose you missed out on my introduction.
Well, the name’s Iphigenia. I’ve recently started working as a motivational speaker. You
“might” see me coming here more often as your school’s student counselor. I’m basically a
psychologist, James, so you might see me playing a lot of mind games with you. Beware! Ha-
ha.”
She made a quick gesture that made her look less intimidating, more adorable. Stan was
still hooked onto her voice, her eyes. He was definitely attracted. “Iphigenia,” he thought to
himself, “how peculiar a name is that. I wonder if she’s Spanish, or maybe Italian? She
doesn’t look so ethnic. She has a smart mouth. And boy, she’s here for business! Why is she
so uptight?”
Stan was interrupted by the crazy sight of her chewing her lower lip as she re-tied her hair
in that perfect bun. It was so… Distracting. Her lips… painted with some classy shade of lip-
color. Stan wished he knew this stuff. He would’ve made that the official color of euphoria.
The color her lips oozed. The color that was enjoying her close proximity. Stan needed to
breathe. He was losing control. He was falling for this goddess of sensuality. And the fact that

15
she was so much under control had him on the verge of a breakdown. He wasn’t the kind of
guy to fall head over heels for someone. He wasn’t the love at first sight sort of teenager. He
was… a man. He had always been in charge of the situation. What happened now? Why was
he... Ugh! Why was he so attracted to her?
And who on Earth named her Iphigenia? Maybe the Greek myths were right? She was a
strong-born; child of a Greek god. He craved her intellect. Her touch. Her voice. Her mind…
Stan was craving… her. Iphigenia. Maybe he needed to re-read the Greek mythology. Maybe
he just needed to sleep. He had to shrug off these wild (hormone-driven?) thoughts. And re-
compose himself before they both officially started working together in the same degree
school.
Six on the clock. With the sunset at the climax, Rosaline entered her house, throwing the
stilettos at the doormat. “Boy! Do these hurt or what? Enough of Iphigenia for today.” Rosa-
line let her dark locks cascade over her shoulder as she took off her suit. She headed into the
hot shower she was in desperate need of. And as the steam danced through the air… her lay-
ers fell to the ground with every touch of her lathered hands. Iphigenia had long vanished, for
what stood in the shower was a twenty-six year old girl who needed to scream at the top of
her voice right now. What stood there, amongst that steam and the cloud of lost, forgotten
personas, was a girl immersed in self-doubt and self-hate. What stood in the shower wasn’t
the psychiatrist sitting behind that big wooden desk… it was the struggling girl who had sat
in front of that desk for a decade now.
“I’m not sure if this one is going to work either, Samuel! I… I don’t know what to do?
How many times do I need to take on a new identity to feel normal? Iphigenia’s strong! I get
it. But why do you—ugh… why do you keep forgetting I am NOT Iphigenia!! I’m the same
old Rosy you’ve been trying to keep sane. I’m that girl, Samuel. You’ve been my doctor for
how long now? Eight years? You know me! Ugh… yes. I know. I know we’ve been trying
various methods. Please, just let me take the medicines… I need them. I need… no, I get it…
yes! I know. Ugh… okay. Okay… I understand… one week. And if this doesn’t work, you’re
handing me those pills. Okay? I know. Yeah I will. Bye.”
Rosaline’s multiplicity of personas had led her to travel the world. She had been to seven
countries in ten years… changing environments, identities… faces. Nothing ever felt right. In
finding the name that fit, she had somewhere lost her true self. Who was she? Was she like
that silly Tina of California? Or Sophia, who was studying to be a vet in Australia? Was she
primitively the face of Angelina? Ugh… Iphigenia was someone she could never even imag-
ine being. Wasn’t she the exact opposite of herself? Iphigenia was strong, smart… she… was
controlling. She controlled how someone desired her. Rosaline had always wanted that. But
could she… possibly have the audacity to pull that off? Could… Rosaline ever be Iphigenia?
Even the thought felt like blasphemy!
“It’s just a disastrous week, Rosy, and then you get to pop some pills and be your inse-
cure petty self!” she thought to herself as she dozed off.
The next morning…Wearing a black suit, Iphigenia entered the hallway… a few gasps, a
few gossips, and so many turning heads. Iphigenia thrived on this awe people were constant-

16
ly in. She liked feeling how their helpless selves wondered about her, desired her… being Iph-
igenia, Rosaline felt free. She could experiment with her thoughts, and she was sure Iphige-
nia’s words would make them seem sensible. Iphigenia was an orator. And an impressive one
at that… someone Rosaline could never be.
Entering Stan’s office, Iphigenia looked straight in his eyes and inquired if he was up for
a cup of coffee. Rosaline could never have even thought about that. How bold was Iphigenia?
Or had this been in Rosy all along? Was she always this bold? No, never…
Iphigenia sounded smart, she sounded like she knew everything, from politics to philoso-
phy and literature to history… Iphigenia was seductive with her power of stating her perspec-
tive. Rosy couldn’t even present her idea for the annual science project. All of these… contra-
dictions in her character had her battling within herself. She enjoyed being Iphigenia as it
gave her some sort of twisted contentment. She actually felt confident, bold, smart… she felt
like she could manipulate her own self into believing Iphigenia existed, that she was real. Iph-
igenia continued to emerge as a goddess for Stan. He was falling in love with this wonderful,
wonderful goddess of knowledge and words. Her wisdom, her wit, her voice, her touch! Eve-
rything… everything seemed divine to him. It was divine.
Iphigenia and Rosaline both continued living their lives. Both battled. Iphigenia was over-
powering. She was smarter, bolder. She was… someone Rosy couldn’t possibly compete
with. But did she really exist? Among all this craze… did Iphigenia really ever exist? Or was
it all just a misty interplay of confidence with confusion? Being Iphigenia was challenging for
poor Rosy, yet she knew it all along. Weeks passed, and Iphigenia didn’t disappear. Was she
taking over Rosy’s personal time? Maybe, Rosy was starting to cave in… Iphigenia was the
goddess she always had been… did Rosy even stand a chance with her doubtful questions and
worried apprehensions?
Iphigenia had been seeing Stan for months now. And he never once felt odd. Iphigenia
had only intrigued her more and more. Stan’s craving had only increased many folds… Iphi-
genia was over-powering. She was… everywhere. She was with him. In him. She was his eu-
phoria and his guilty pleasure. She was his savior. She was the voice inside his head. She was
just so strong, he could never shrug off anything she said, desired… demanded.
Rosaline’s diminished personality even stopped retaliating for self-realization. Maybe she
had found herself in Iphigenia or she was just giving up. Days would pass without Rosaline
taking off Iphigenia’s persona. Was she… becoming her? Iphigenia’s aura was so over-
whelming it made Rosy weaker. Deep down somewhere, Rosy was happy. Finding Iphigenia
had taken years. Being her had taken up all the courage she could muster up. But she was hap-
py now. Iphigenia was there. Living her life, dominating the circle she was in… who cared for
Rosy, anyway? For someone who did not even care for herself?
Slipping under the satin sheets in the dark with Stan, she put the diamond ring on the side-
table. Snuggling next to him, she moaned… “I love you, Stanley James.” As he welcomed her
in his warm embrace with, “And I, am in awe of you… Iphigenia James.”
Rosaline had been asleep for months now…

17
Honor
Faisal Bin Saeed, Fourth Year
It was a small room of a small house, well furnished and decorated. She was sitting on
the couch uncomfortably, drenched in sweat, fighting tears. Her heart felt like a setting sun,
sad and forlorn, the light draining from within. Sorrow, like the gloom of the evening, en-
gulfed her. With trembling hands and stony, weeping eyes, she was constantly looking at
the door, waiting anxiously for someone’s arrival. After some time, she heard the sound of
the main iron gate opening. With a tissue, she tried to overcome the revolt of tears and
sweat. The wooden door of the small room opened with a slight sound and the person for
whom she had been waiting in throes of anxiety entered. A young, handsome man with an
enchanting personality, carrying a shopping bag in his hand. He put the bag on the table by
the door.
“Sara, are you all right?” he speaks in a high pitched voice having a good deal of
sprightliness. “Yes. Yes I’m all right Saim,” Sara says in a trembling voice.
Saim: What happened? You are not looking fine. Are you worried?
Saim speaks softly, gently taking her hands in his, sitting on the couch beside her.
Sara: Saim, the hammer of fear is striking my head constantly. A sense of guilt is en-
gulfing my heart. It will be a massive shock to my family when they come to know that I
have eloped.
Tears start rolling down her cheeks again.
Saim: Guilt…for what? We have done all of this for love. For your life, for mine. We
are not at fault. There is no sin. Everything is right in love and war, you know that.
Saim says gently, trying to morph his expression into a smile.
Sara: What… my father is already a heart patient. I will have ruined my father’s peace.
And mother… how will she face this shock? What will be their condition now?
Tears flow uninhibited from her eyes.
Saim: Your parents are your past. Forget them now. Look at me. Now, I’m everything
to you and you are everything to me.
Saim takes another tissue from the box and hands it to her.
Sara: That’s right, Saim, but people make heart cutting comments. How much insult is
my family going to face? They are going to be stamped shameless. Dishonor is going to be
imprinted upon their faces for their whole lives. Saim, please! Let’s go back. I want to go
back home. It has only been a day, it won’t matter.
She says anxiously, with fear and hope reflecting in her eyes.
Saim: Just forget about what the people say. You know it’s their habit to make fuss
about small things. We cannot sacrifice our happiness for such nonsense comments of peo-

18
ple. Just think about me, of our future together, full of happiness. Do you have any doubt on
my love?
Saim says with frustration, gazing into Sara’s eyes glittering with love, emotions and
belief.
Sara: Oh, Saim, more than my life I believe in you. But people will remember me just as
a girl who has left her family and put her parents through a hell of insults.
Saim: We have taken the right step. We are in the right for our future, for our joy. It is
not a wrong decision. We have to live our whole lives. When society is the enemy of one’s
happiness, then slap and snatch is the rule. Now take this tissue, wipe your tears and smile. I
have assigned Asad to call Molvi sahab today. We are going to get married. All your sor-
rows will be mine and all my joys will be yours.
The door of the room opens again after a knock and Asad enters carrying a kettle and
cups of tea.
Saim: What happened, Asad?
Asad: I have asked Molvi sahab. He will come today at four thirty in the evening. What
about you? Is there any problem?
Asad says, placing his load on the table in front of the couch, watching Sara having a
tissue in her hands and bloodshot, swollen eyes.
Saim: Yes, everything is fine. Sara is just a little bit worried about her family, respect,
home… you know, such stuff often happens but now she is all right.
Asad: I’ll go to her house after you’re married, bring news about her family and inform
them about Sara.
Suddenly, Saim’s phone starts ringing. He takes it out from his pocket and views the
screen.
Saim: Oh, Mother’s call. I am not going to attend it. Asad, receive the call and tell her
I’m not here.
Asad takes the phone and receives the call.
Asad: Assalam-o-Alaikum Aunty. Yes… no, Saim’s not here. If you want to give him a
message, I’ll forward it. Yes...what! No. This is not possible. How did it happen? Oh no!
Asad sits on the sofa, striking his fist against his forehead.
Saim: What happened Asad? Is everything all right?
Saim puts his hand on Asad’s shoulder.
Asad: Saim, your sister was getting married next month…
Saim: Yes. What happened?
Asad: Your mother told that…
Saim: Told what? Don’t talk in riddles.

19
Asad: She has run off with someone. Took all her jewelry with her.
Asad’s voice seems to be coming from a deep well.
Saim: What nonsense are you talking about!
Saim snatches the phone from Asad’s hand.
Saim: Mother. Yes… what? No! When did it happen? I’m coming. (Saim shouts) I’m
just coming. I’m going to kill her!
Saim cuts the call and in his anger, throws the phone at the front wall. It breaks into piec-
es.
Asad: Control yourself.
Saim: How can I? My sister! Oh, I’m feeling ashamed of calling her my sister. Every-
body is going to spit on my family’s face.
Asad: Be calm, Saim. Sit. Let’s think about this.
Asad puts his hands on Saim’s shoulder.
Saim: Think about what? She deceived and deluded the people who gave their soul to her
for twenty years. Who sacrificed their everything for her happiness. Tell me! How can we
face the society now? What will be the condition of my parents now?
Saim was shouting madly.
Sara: Calm down, Saim. Everything will be alright.
Sara puts her hand on Saim’s shoulder from behind.
Saim: What!? (He turns around, his tone bursting) Nothing is going to be alright. You
know, when a girl leaves her home, what is her value? Her family’s life becomes hell…
worse than hell. Everyone calls them shameless! But I am not shameless. I am not dishonora-
ble. I have honor, self esteem. I have shame. I am not going to spare her. I am going to kill
her!
Saim grabs the kettle from the table and throws it towards the wall in rage. He runs his
hands through his hair. Taking long, beastly steps, he exists the room. The gate crashes with a
horrible, striking sound.
Sara stands in shock, stunned, a body whose soul has been torn away. She can’t hear any-
thing, even her pounding heart and she has a single expression on her face: wonder. Then fear
and tears start competing. There is a suffocating unconsciousness as she falls down on the
sofa. Asad runs after Saim, calling his name over and over again. After a while, there is com-
plete silence, but for the thundering sound of a broken heart and shattered trust.
Meanwhile, a sparrow sitting on a tree outside the window of the room, said to another
one, “Why do the people peering into others’ houses forget that someone else may be doing
the same to them?” The other sparrow replied, smiling, “Situations look easy to compromise
when some other person is in them by himself. But bitter reality reveals itself when the Holo-
caust fire falls on themselves. And of course, life runs on the rule of tit for tat.”

20
Castle of Sand
Maaz Qasim, Final Year
“There’s something important I need to say! Meet me tomorrow morning in the lobby!”
The message gets her heart pounding. Staring at her mobile phone, she drowns deep in
her thoughts about him. A friend, but more than just a friend. A popular, handsome and a so-
phisticated boy. His text gets her by surprise.
“What does he want to talk about?” she wonders, “He has been a bit too friendly, nice
and caring since the last few days.”
“I think he likes me! He’s been my friend for over a year! I know he likes me!!!” an ex-
cited, loud voice echoes in the room, alarming the other three girls lost in their books.
Leaving her preparation incomplete for tomorrow’s exam, she starts preparing for some-
thing more important to her. Opens her cupboard. A row of dresses hang in a row. Takes
them all out at once, tries them on, asking her fellows whether he would like it or not. Hurl-
ing away the dresses, picking them up and throwing them away again. Tangled in the dresses
to find the one he would praise.
A black dress, his favorite color, catches her eye. Putting it on, braiding her hair like a
fairy tale princess, applying that mascara to those long curls of eyelashes, rubbing that gloss
over those divine, delicate and velvety thin lips, making them glimmer like a star. Standing
in front of the mirror, all dressed up, in the middle of the night, looking more beautiful than
the full moon in the black sky, staring at her reflection in the mirror, trying to look at all that
beauty through his eyes. Rehearses the posture in which she would stand, the gestures she
would give, the way she would talk when the biggest moment of her life comes.
Looking at that bewitching beauty, taking a sigh of hope, takes off and hangs the dress.
Falls on her bed by the wall, stares at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Thinking about him, she
builds a castle of dreams. Never approached by anyone before. She keeps thinking what he
would say and what would be her reply to him. “Should I say yes at once? Or should I ask
for time to think? Should I smile? Or act shocked?” She knows she isn’t going to say any-
thing but yes! But the peak of excitement has scrambled her mind, averting her from think-
ing straight.
All the girls, studying throughout the night but this one, empress of her own castle,
thinking about her Emperor, didn’t even realize it was morning already. Getting dressed, she

21
brushes her long, silky brown hair, thinking whether he would like them braided or falling
free. All readied up, looking like a fairy in black, she comes to college, walking through the
lobby with her friends, slowing down, staying behind to meet him.
Looking around for him, trying to find the one in the crowd. Those brown eyes glow
when they see that face. The only face she can see vividly without her contacts. Coming to-
wards her, smiling politely, staring right on through. Taking her nervousness through the
roof. Between the lines of fear and shame, she begins to wonder why she came. Thinking
about running, she smiles confusingly back at him. Closes her eyes and takes a deep, calming
breath. She opens her eyes to find him standing in front of her. That smiling face, that light
aroma, those sparkly eyes, remind her that he’s the only one she can talk to comfortably. She
asks, in a shaky but beautiful and soothing voice.
“What did you want to say?”
Nervous like her, he looks into her eyes, gathers up the courage, and finally says hesitat-
ingly.
“You need to help me in the exam. I’m totally relying on you today!”

22
The Graduate
Maemoona Abdul Jabbar, Final Year
He stumbled on something sharp, recovering just in time to find a shard of glass lying
by his feet. “What a petty little thing!” he thought, while stooping down to grab it.
It was the same piece of glass that had once made the window of his room whole, he re-
membered. It must have slipped under the bed when he had cleared the wreckage after the
ball had struck the pane and now that he was clearing out his stuff, it had surfaced back.
“Was it just a co incidence that a while ago, he had been reminiscing about the day he had
played in Finals for his class team, for the very last time?” he mused. Either way, the timing
was impeccable. The tiny shard took him down the memory lane.
It was a hot, sunny day, he recalled. The passion among the spectators was fiery. There
was no pavilion or seating for the viewers because the event was underfunded, yet no one
seemed to care about the stinging heat or mind the conflagrant borders of the ground serving
as stands for spectators. Reflecting back, he couldn’t decide whether it was the support and
zeal of the crowd that he missed and loved more, or the rush of adrenaline to his body when
he played. It had been a wonderful game that day! He couldn’t win the trophy for his team
as he had hoped but after the score equaled between the two teams, the opponents had with-
drawn. Thus, awarding the trophy to his team in honor of their last year at the college. Could
he have gained such gratification by a simple win? Why! He knew he was going to miss the
camaraderie of his fellows!
He marveled that when he first came here, college had seemed just another simple expe-
rience along the path to his greater dreams. Little had he known back then, that it would be-
come the greatest adventure of his life. He used to loathe the fact that the campus was un-
derdeveloped and was not properly facilitated. But piecemeal, without him realizing, he cul-
tivated a sense of belonging to the same wretched building he had once wanted to flee from.
He now wanted to make it organized, prosperous and magnificent. He wanted the name of
his college dignified and glorified. Had he ever considered that he would find a family here?
His very own clan!
Never imagining that he would share his gadgets, shoes or shirts with someone else, he
had discovered here, his ability to banter for hours and to roar with laughter at pointless
jokes. He had found himself tirelessly working for weeks over college issues and then study-
ing throughout the nights for his at hand exams. He had organized protests for students’
rights, literacy events for the college and sports for entertainment. He had presumed that
college would teach him medicine, but he did not know that it was an institution destined to
teach him morals, rules of friendship, devotion and life.

23
The passion to indulge in every activity that could beautify his family’s image had
seeped into his blood; college no more seemed like a mere experience, it felt like the destina-
tion.
It felt like home.
He couldn’t believe that he had to leave his own den after five years. Or was it just a
flash of days?
The knock on the door brought him out of his abyss of thoughts. Putting aside the shard,
he opened the door. It was the driver of the lorry, awaiting him. So finally, it was time. While
loading his luggage in the truck, he passed a final glance over the empty room and saw the
piece of glass again.
That thing was a reminder of his most treasured memories and the experiences that had
made him independent and suave. His life through the past few years revolved before his
eyes; his peers, professors, juniors, the staff of the hostel, the guards and his friends. Sudden-
ly, the upcoming challenges of life didn’t hold much importance. The sentiment of leaving
home forever outweighed all other emotions. He secured the piece of glass in his pocket.
It was not a petty thing after all!

1

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