Author's POV

Gasping for air, she lifted her head and saw her little sister standing there, gesturing for her to run.

"Isha aapi, run! Amma is here!" her little sister Najma yelled, and then Isha saw her stepmother coming into view. She slapped her daughter and then looked down toward Isha.

"Khabardaar jo ek kadam bhi badhaya Isha! Jaan le lungi main teri!" (If you take a single step, I swear I will kill you!) her mother screamed.

"No! Isha aapi, aapko meri kasam hai jaayein is jahannum se!" (Sister Isha, I swear to you, please leave this hell!) Najma screamed, and Isha turned around and continued to run. She couldn’t let this opportunity slip away. Her little sister Najma had done everything to help her escape this house. Even though Najma was her stepsister, she always loved Isha more than her own mother. Isha too loved Najma deeply.

Isha was never ready to run away because she knew that if she did, Najma would have to endure their mother’s wrath. Najma convinced her that their mother loved her and, even if she punished her, she would never do anything that Najma couldn’t endure. Still, Isha wasn’t ready—until the day of her destruction came closer. She couldn’t take it anymore and finally ran away.

She could hear her stepmother yelling, but she didn’t stop.

She heard the screeching of several cars and increased her speed. Isha knew her mother would never give up so easily. She would rather kill her than let her go. After all, she had already decided to sell Isha to the richest man in the village—a fifty-eight-year-old man.

"Ya Allah! Rehem farma mujh par!" (Oh Allah! Please have mercy on me!) Isha cried, looking up at the sky in desperation. She heard a car engine nearby, glanced to her left, and once again increased her speed. She didn’t realize she had entered the forest. Holding her bag tightly, she hid behind a tree.

Sitting on the ground, she looked at the bag. Najma had given it to her, packed with their late mother’s jewelry and Isha’s clothes. The sun began to set, and soon darkness fell.

Resting her back against the tree, she closed her eyes as tears streamed down her face. She missed her father—he had loved and cared for her, but after him, no one was there. Najma was only fourteen, too afraid of their mother to raise her voice. That was why Isha had endured everything alone. She had become a maid in her own house. But as time passed and Najma watched her aapi suffer her mother’s cruelty, her love for her sister grew stronger. When she learned that her mother planned to marry her seventeen-year-old sister off to a fifty-eight-year-old man, Najma decided she would not let her aapi’s life be destroyed. She persuaded Isha for a month until she finally agreed to run away. Najma convinced her that once she left this house, Allah would show her the right path and lead her to her destiny.

A cold drop of water fell on Isha’s face, followed by thunder that jolted her awake. Rain poured down, and the storm grew fiercer. She stood up and looked around but saw only darkness. She realized she was deep in the forest. At first, she was terrified, but then she thought it was still better than being caught.

Clutching her bag, Isha began to walk. She didn’t know where she was going, only praying silently as her legs carried her forward. Drenched to the bone, she didn’t stop. Her dupatta got entangled in a wild tree; when she untangled it, part of the fabric tore. She walked on, leaving behind the torn piece.

Isha didn’t know how long she had walked when her feet finally stopped at the sight of a small barnhouse. She moved closer, though she could barely see anything in the heavy rain. Still, she thought it better to spend the night there than remain outside.

Opening the cracked door, she stepped inside. Isha looked around, hoping for some sign of light, but it was pitch dark. Still, she thought it was safer that way—no one would find her here. She placed her bag in the corner of the barnhouse. Removing her soaked dupatta, she hung it on the window, then sat down beside her bag, shivering in the cold. All the clothes inside were drenched too.

Sighing, she leaned back, wrapping her arms around herself as tears fell silently. Her heart prayed for only one thing:

"Ya Allah! Meri hifazat kar. Kisi farishte ko bhej ke mujhe is daldal se nikaal." (Oh Allah! Protect me. Please send an angel who can take me away from this hell.)

---

"I know it’s going to rain, baby," I said through the phone while looking outside the house where I was staying.

"Yeah, yeah. Like you know everything," Sofia, my wife, replied in a mocking tone. I smiled before answering.

"Yes, I know everything. And baby, it’s called common sense—which means we should check the climate forecast from time to time," I said with a grin.

"You mean I don’t have common sense!" she yelled.

"I didn’t say anything like that," I chuckled.

"Arshad, you better be here at 7 p.m.," she said in an angry tone, and I realized she was really upset now.

"But baby, even if I leave now, I can’t reach before 8 p.m. It’s already 4," I tried to explain.

"You can. You can make a four-hour drive into three—I know Mr. Racer," she retorted, and she was right. I had won every racing competition back in college.

"Okay. But what if it rains?"

"I don’t know! I want you here before 7, Arshad!" she yelled, and with that, Sofia cut the call.

I sighed, wondering what to do.

It was our third wedding anniversary today, and Sofia had organized a grand party. We didn’t live here—we lived in Dubai because both our businesses were there. But we had come last month to visit our hometown, where our families lived. My mother had also been asking me for the last two years to sell her village house, so I had come here to do that. I was about to leave after finishing, but then I learned that heavy rain was expected, and all the roads would be blocked for the night. I decided not to leave, as I didn’t want to get stuck somewhere. But when I called Sofia, she started yelling before even listening to me.

She was always like this—short-tempered and arrogant—but I loved her more than anything. We fought, we loved, we cared for each other, and my life felt complete with her. Sometimes her behavior frustrated me, but my love always won over.

I tried calling Sofia again and again, but she didn’t pick up. Sighing, I decided to go anyway. Grabbing my bag, I sat in the car.

I hoped I would reach my destination before it was too late. With that thought, I started driving.

After half an hour, I stopped the car because, as expected, the road was blocked.

"God! What the hell!" I yelled, hitting the steering wheel in frustration. I stepped out of the car and asked an officer to let me through, but he refused and told me to go back. I sighed and kicked the car in anger.

"Kya hua beta?" (What happened, son?)

I turned and saw an old man looking at me. I told him that I needed to leave because my wife was waiting for me. He smiled and pointed toward the forest. I saw a small path and looked back at him.

"Wo rasta chuno! Waqt se pehle tum apni manzil par pahonch jaoge." (Choose that path! You’ll reach your destination before time.) He said with a smile. I smiled back.

"Shukriya baba ji. Mera waqt par pahonchna bahut zaroori hai." (Thank you, sir. It’s very important for me to reach on time.) I said gratefully.

"Sab us Khuda ki marzi hai. Hum to sirf uske ghulaam hai." (Everything is God’s will. We are only His servants.) he said, and I felt a little awkward. Still, I thanked him once more and got back into my car.

I followed his advice and drove in the direction he had shown. When I glanced in the mirror, I saw that old man still standing there, smiling at me.

---

"Are you kidding me!" I screamed, slamming my hand against the steering wheel. That old man had tricked me. I had been driving for over an hour and a half, yet I hadn’t seen a single human being, nor could I find my way out of the forest. Darkness fell, making everything worse.

Struggling, I turned my car back and started driving toward the point I had entered from.

"I will never trust a stranger again. I never thought old men liked to prank too."

I kept driving, feeling frustrated. But luck was not on my side today. Heavy rain began to pour, and with this stormy night plus the downpour, I knew I couldn’t keep driving. I stopped the car and took out my phone to call my wife, but as expected, she didn’t answer.

I sat there thinking what to do. It was only 8 p.m.—I couldn’t sit here all night. Thinking this, I stepped out of the car, looking around for shelter. I remembered how in movies there was always a barnhouse when someone was lost in the forest. Thinking about it, I started running into the woods, searching.

I knew it was childish, but oh boy—I was more than childish.

Finally, after searching, I found a barnhouse. Feeling relieved, I ran toward it and opened the door. Peeking inside, I entered. But who was I kidding? It was pitch dark—I couldn’t see a thing. I took out my phone to turn on the flashlight, but as I said before, luck wasn’t on my side today.

Sighing, I took off my shirt and found a window where faint skylight was seeping through. Hanging my shirt there, I walked to a corner of the house, sat behind a wooden pillar, and closed my eyes.

"Sorry baby, I couldn’t come," I muttered before dozing off, feeling terrible for my wife who had organized our third wedding anniversary party with so much happiness.

*************

Author's POV

The sun’s rays hit Isha’s eyes, making her stir in her sleep. After some time, she slowly opened her eyes and looked around. Realizing that she had eloped from her house and no one had managed to find her yet, she felt a wave of relief. She got up, ran her fingers through her hair, and brushed the dust from her dress.

Isha suddenly heard voices near the house. She froze, fear crawling over her skin and making her shiver. If they find me, then they will definitely make me marry that man—or worse, they will kill me, she thought. But when no one entered the house after a few minutes, she cautiously walked toward the window where she had hung her dupatta, to check if anyone was there or if it was just her imagination.

But she froze in place when she saw someone standing right in front of the window—shirtless. He was holding her dupatta while glancing around. As he turned toward Isha, she stumbled back, falling onto the ground with a thud, a scream escaping her lips.

Arshad had been sleeping when noises woke him up. He stood and walked toward the window where he had hung his shirt last night. Peering outside, he saw a few men, but he didn’t pay them much attention. Just as he was about to grab his shirt, he noticed a dupatta beside it—something he hadn’t seen last night. Picking it up curiously, he looked around. But as he turned back, a sudden scream startled him. Shocked, he saw a very young girl in the barnhouse.

Her face was pale with fear, her wide eyes locked on him as if he were some kind of alien.

"Hey… who are you?" he asked.

Isha only stared at him, frightened and speechless. She suddenly stood up but winced as a sharp pain shot through her foot.

"Are you okay?" he asked quickly, reaching out to steady her. Isha hadn’t even realized when his hand caught her arm to keep her from falling. He was holding her with one hand and her dupatta in the other—shirtless, inches away from her—when suddenly the door burst open.

Standing there was Isha’s stepmother, her uncle (her stepmother’s brother), and a few more men.

Isha looked at him, terrified, her heart sinking as she realized—she was doomed.

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