Why does it happen? When something you love comes to you, and you push it away? Is it guilt? Maybe. But I think it’s deeper than that. It’s the fear that once you have it, you might lose its value.
Sanvi was only a few inches away, and I let her go. I made her cry. I am the one who destroys everything. I’m the sinner. Oh, God, what have I done?
I don’t know what took me into that deep sleep, but when I woke up, it felt like I hadn’t slept at all. My head was heavy, my eyes swollen, and my hair a mess. I assumed I had been fighting with myself the entire night.
I mustered the courage to get up and head for the restroom. The shower was supposed to refresh me, but I stood under it for at least thirty minutes, lost in my thoughts. I only snapped out of it when I heard a knock at the door. I peered through the peephole—Talha.
“Talha! I’m in the shower. Go on ahead. I’ll be out in a minute,” I called.
I quickly finished washing, dressed, grabbed my diary, and left for Xavier Hall without even eating breakfast.
Saira was already sitting there. I greeted her with a "Good morning," but she didn’t respond. It felt like I was the cause of all the tension in the room. I made my way to my seat, feeling like I was drowning in regret.
Soon, the hall started to fill with people, and then I saw her.
A purple shirt, black pants, pink tie, long brown coat, black pocket square, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, and that same, elegant smile. As always, she was a picture of grace.
She glanced at me. No regrets, no tears, no complaints. It was as if nothing had happened. But I could feel myself fading away—drowning, suffocating, dying inside.
She gave her closing remarks with that same smile, distributed certificates of participation. When it was my turn to receive mine, I expected her to ask someone else to hand it to me. But no. She stood there, still smiling, and handed me the certificate herself. Her eyes didn’t betray any emotion—just the same blank smile, as if I no longer existed to her. Perhaps, she had exhausted all her feelings for me the night before.
Feeling utterly defeated, I returned to my seat. She shook hands with everyone and left without a word. As the rest of us filed out, I stayed behind, staring at the door where she had just exited.
We were supposed to stay one more night for a common dinner at PC, but then news broke out. A Hindu family had been accused of blasphemy in Lahore, and a religious leader had called for a protest the next day. Everyone had to leave immediately. Tickets were rescheduled, and we were all crammed into a coach—including her. The government had planned to reroute all international passengers to Karachi, as Islamabad and Punjab were on the hit list.
The coach set off, and for a while, it seemed like we might make it out safely. But when we reached Bara Kaho, the situation changed. Rocks, thorns, and tree branches were scattered across the road. A group of ten men stood in front of the coach, signaling us to stop.
When the coach finally halted, two of them climbed aboard. “We have a report that a Hindu family is on this coach,” one of them said. My heart sank. I feared for Sanvi.
Having dealt with secret service operations before, I stepped forward to negotiate.
“Listen,” I said, “you must have received bad information. There’s no Hindu family on this bus. We’re all Muslims here.”
Before I could say more, a voice from behind interrupted, making my blood run cold.
“I’m Hindu.”
Sanvi. She had spoken.
Before anyone could rush toward her, I acted on instinct. I punched one man hard in the face and kicked the other out of the coach. “Drive!” I shouted at the driver.
The bus lurched forward, and rocks began hitting the windows, cracking the front screen. The driver accelerated, thankfully, and we sped away. It wasn’t until later, when we were safely away from the checkpoint, that I realized the government had shut down signals. Otherwise, the attackers would have been able to alert their allies.
By the time we reached Peshawar Mor, things had escalated even further. A mob was checking vehicles. I told the driver to stop, but I could already sense that things were going south.
“Come with me,” I said, reaching out to Sanvi.
“No,” she replied flatly.
“Listen,” I said, grabbing her hand, “there’s a checkpoint ahead. We could be in real danger if they stop us. Come on, just trust me.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, her voice cold.
I pulled her by the hand, and though she resisted for a few moments, she eventually stopped fighting me. We both got off the bus, and I asked the driver to move on without us.
We took cover in the bushes for a few minutes before trying to make our way to the airport on foot, avoiding the roads. Her hand was firmly in mine, and we ran. For hours, we ran, neither of us speaking, just focusing on the destination.
After three long hours, we finally saw the airport in the distance. But Sanvi was exhausted, thirsty, and her feet were bleeding. I told her to keep going. We were so close now.
We barely managed to make it another kilometer when we encountered two men standing in our path. They looked rough—untidy, impolite, and rude.
“What are you two doing out here, alone?” one of them sneered. “Sweets should be shared. You should’ve come prepared.”
“Listen,” I said, trying to keep my cool, “We’re trying to get to the airport. We’ve been walking for hours. Is it really necessary to act this way?”
“Guests should bring gifts for the hosts,” one of them said, his grin widening. “And we’re the hosts.”
My blood boiled. I wasn’t in a position to fight, but I wasn’t going to let these men touch her.
I was about to step forward when Sanvi stopped me.
“I’ll serve their interests,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion.
Her words were like a punch to my gut. I wasn’t expecting this. I wasn’t ready for it. I stepped in front of her.
“You don’t have to do this. Please, don’t…” I pleaded.
But she wouldn’t listen. She walked toward the bushes with one of the men, leaving the other one to stand in front of me.
My anger reached its peak, and before I could stop myself, I threw a punch at the man, hitting him in the neck. He fell, gasping for air, as he reached for his phone.
The other man rushed toward me, but before he could reach me, Sanvi appeared from behind the bushes and hit him with a rock, knocking him out cold.
It was a trap, and now they were both down.
We ran the last stretch toward the airport, barely making it. Sanvi’s feet were bleeding, but we were finally there.