At Brigadier Imran's dining table, silence reigned like a thick mist. The only sound was the soft clinking of cutlery against porcelain — faint echoes in a room heavy with tension. Everyone was lost in their own thoughts.
Zuhra sat beside her mother, but her heart was far from her body. She held her cup as if its warmth could absorb the storm inside her. Her eyes were downcast, but her mind drifted somewhere high above.
On the side, John and Usman stood like guards — stationed as if waiting for a command or an ambush. Their faces were blank, yet their eyes scanned the room like motion sensors.
Beneath the table, Zuhra's phone sat hidden in her palm. She tapped the screen — a message from the unknown number appeared:
"I hope you got home safely. I just want to hear your voice, even if it's only once. – K."
Zuhra stared at the message. Her heart skipped. She still didn't have Kamal's number saved, but her thoughts had settled on him. She had seen him only twice — yet each encounter left something etched in her memory. Something bitter… yet strangely sweet.
She placed a hand on her chest and exhaled a heavy breath. She didn't reply. She didn't delete it. She remained there — caught between fear and longing.
Suddenly, Brigadier Imran dropped his spoon with force. It echoed like a war trumpet.
Brigadier (sharply):
"John. Usman."
They raised their heads instantly, standing at attention.
Brigadier:
"From today — any boy who comes near Zuhra, stop him. Whether it's a question or a conversation. Stop him. No exceptions. That's an order."
John:
"Yes, sir."
Usman:
"Understood, sir."
Zuhra slowly closed her eyes. If hearts could fall, hers would've already collapsed. But she said nothing — like someone saving her voice for another day.
Brigadier (resuming his meal as if guiltless):
"I won't sit back and watch my daughter become someone's amusement. Zuhra is not a joke. I raised her with discipline, and that's how it will remain."
Her mother gently placed a hand over Zuhra's. She didn't speak. Her eyes brimmed with tears, her heart torn between fear and sorrow.
Zuhra (in her heart):
"If the world takes away my voice… then let them know, music never needs permission."