GPO Road was overflowing with life, choked with traffic that moved at a snail’s pace. The taxi crawled forward, inch by inch, until impatience took over. I asked Talha if we should walk the rest of the way. He agreed without hesitation, and soon we were moving toward GPO Chowk on foot.
Talha spoke endlessly about the area. He had studied here once—from class six to matric—at the Ghora Galli Campus. Every turn stirred a memory for him. For me, none of it mattered. My mind was elsewhere, waiting for the moment I could say goodbye and head toward VivaPines.
When we reached GPO, the place felt oddly festive. People stood on the grand stairs, posing for photographs as if history itself framed their smiles. Nearby, vendors sold printondemand mugs, writing whatever words the customers wished to carry home. To the right, police stood behind Talha spoke endlessly about the area. He had studied here once—from class six to matric—at the Ghora Galli Campus. Every turn stirred a memory for him. For me, none of it mattered. My mind was elsewhere, waiting for the moment I could say goodbye and head toward VivaPines. When we reached GPO, the place felt oddly festive. People stood on the grand stairs, posing for photographs as if history itself framed their smiles. Nearby, vendors sold printondemand mugs, writing whatever words the customers wished to carry home. To the right, police stood behind barricades, halting traffic toward Punjab House. The scene felt busy yet detached, like a world moving without me.
On the left, a shawl shop caught my eye.
“I need to buy a shawl for my family,” I told Talha.
He nodded and said he would wait for me there.
Inside the shop, my eyes settled on a skincolored shawl. For some reason, I felt it would suit Sanvi perfectly. I bought it without second thoughts. When I returned, Talha and I shared a light meal—nothing memorable, just something to fill the pause between moments.
Afterward, I told him I had to leave.
He asked what I was planning next, but I avoided the question. Some things felt better left unsaid. We hugged like old buddies, and I walked away toward VivaPines. My watch read 6:24.
I couldn’t name the feeling inside me. I didn’t know what stirred in my chest, nor what waited ahead. Questions circled my mind without answers.
As VivaPines came into view, I muttered to myself, Not bad.
The building stood gracefully against the mountains, its structure elegant, its lights adding a quiet charm. It looked inviting—almost expectant.
I stepped inside and approached the checkin counter.
“I need a room,” I said.
“Certainly, sir,” the lady replied. “May I have your CNIC number?”
I handed it over.
She paused. “Sir… there is already a booking under your name.”
I froze.
Another shock followed quickly—how did Sanvi get my CNIC number?
I was lost in these thoughts when someone called my name, pulling me back to the present.
“Yes—yes?” I replied.
“Sir, your room is number 407, on the fourth floor.”
“All right,” I said, and headed toward the lift.
407. 407. 407.
The number echoed in my mind as the lift doors opened. I unlocked the door with the key card and stepped inside. Almost immediately, I sensed someone else’s presence—someone already in the room. The restroom light was on.
It had to be Sanvi.
But how? I had the original CNIC with me. Hotels usually demand it at checkin.
I sat on the chair, confused, yet quietly happy. Then, suddenly, the bathroom door opened.
The person standing in front of me made my heart lose its rhythm.
I was completely undone.