Episode 5:
"Yes, there were people there. What's so surprising about that?" Haider said, watching the man who stared at him in disbelief.
"Did they talk to you? I mean, did they speak?" the man asked nervously.
Haider nodded. "Of course. Why wouldn't they? People talk."
The man's expression shifted to panic. "What were you doing there? Are you out of your mind? No one's lived in that village for the past fifty years! That settlement dates back to the British era. The Sikhs abandoned it during the Partition, and no one has returned since. We farmers sometimes hear voices coming from there at night. People say they've seen shadows moving through the ruins."
Haider froze. If no one lives there… then who were those people? The old woman? The others? Were they jinns? Was it some kind of magic?
He recalled what he'd read about two types of magic in the Quran. The first, like that used by the magicians against Prophet Musa (Moses), where illusions are cast upon the eyes—making people see what isn't real. The second, the darker kind—used to harm, control, and separate hearts, like the black magic practiced in ancient Babylon.
> "They followed what the devils recited during Solomon's reign… But Solomon did not disbelieve; it was the devils who disbelieved, teaching people magic…" (Surah Al-Baqarah: 102)
"What happened to me? Was it magic? Or were they jinn?" Haider thought, overwhelmed.
He looked around to speak again—only to realize the farmer was gone. Completely vanished.
---
Meanwhile, Rabaab stood on the rooftop, watching the sea of lights in the distance. From afar, the city looked like a wave of glowing stars. But she knew... behind all that light, many hearts were drowning in darkness. People smiling outside, hiding thousands of shards of pain within.
Suddenly, she felt someone behind her.
"Thinking about something serious, Miss Philosopher?" It was Jawad.
Startled, she turned. He was smiling.
"Just lost in the lights," she replied with a soft smile.
"You? A loner? That's new. You were a firecracker as a kid." Jawad teased.
"Well, every age brings its own nature," she quipped.
He grinned. "Are you in love or something?"
She laughed, "Love? What's that?"
"Love…" Jawad began, "is when someone's voice becomes your favorite sound. Their anger, their silence, their laugh—it all matters. When they smile, the world feels lighter. When they're hurt, it feels like the whole world is breaking."
Rabaab went silent.
Why did Haider's pale face flash in her mind? Why had his pain felt like her own?
> No… What am I thinking?
Jawad stared at her, entranced by her moonlit face. He reached out gently and tapped her shoulder.
"Hey, where'd you go?"
She blinked. "Nowhere. Just thinking. So, how was Dubai?"
They bantered for a bit. She playfully demanded a gift. Jawad promised to take her shopping the next day.
---
Elsewhere…
Haider returned home and placed the mysterious briefcase on his bed. After a shower, he sat down and tried to open it—but it was locked.
Then he remembered: "8".
He set the lock to 8-8-8… and it clicked open.
Stacks of currency notes. Fifteen lakh rupees in total.
Haider had never seen so much money in his life.
But instead of joy, his heart filled with dread. He shut the briefcase.
> "I'll return this to Kali Das tomorrow. I don't want anything to do with this cursed life."
He shoved it under the bed and tried to sleep—but sleep wouldn't come.
---
In another home...
Jahan Ara and Shahmeer were preparing for bed when Meherin knocked. She entered nervously.
"I just wanted to say something before we leave tomorrow…"
"Yes, go ahead," Shahmeer said.
Meherin took a deep breath. "I want to ask for Rabaab's hand for my son, Jawad."
Both parents were stunned. Their daughter—so young in their eyes—was now being proposed to.
"We'll need time to think about it… and Rabaab's consent too," Jahan Ara said gently.
"Of course. I understand," Meherin smiled, then left.
---
Morning...
Haider barely slept. Strange sounds haunted him. It felt like unseen eyes watched him all night.
As he got ready for college, memories of his mother flashed through his mind. The simple life. The peace. Her warm send-offs.
Now, he left alone. No breakfast. No blessings.
He took the briefcase with him.
At the cremation grounds, a foul smell hit his nose. Covering his face, he followed the scent—and found a body burning. A Hindu cremation.
But he swore... as he approached, shadows seemed to scatter from the flames.
Suddenly, something attacked him from behind as he opened the old hut.
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