There was a girl… sitting alone in a small, dark room.
Her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, her head resting on them as she cried silently.
Her shoulders shook with every breath, every sob.
Her eyes were red, her body trembling.
She looked terrified. Broken.
But from her lips, only one thing kept escaping—
"Allah is with me… He sees me… He will fix everything."
She whispered it again and again, like a forgotten prayer.
Just then, a sliver of light pierced through the darkness.
The door — no, a small door within the door — creaked open.
And with a loud metallic clang, a steel plate of food was shoved inside.
A sharp voice snapped her out of her whispering:
> "Here. Eat this quickly before it's time for your bath."
It was Sadhvi, the woman in charge. She slammed the flap shut and walked away.
The girl slowly looked at the food —
A dry roti from the morning and a little vegetable.
Food that even an animal might refuse.
But… time teaches people to survive, doesn't it?
She picked up the plate with trembling hands — and smiled.
Because even that was a blessing.
Where people outside starved for a bite, she had this.
She was grateful.
She softly whispered "Bismillah", and put the first bite in her mouth.
Her body still trembled.
Her eyes still burned.
Her clothes were stained with dirt and silence.
Her delicate hands were bruised and blistered.
Her feet, cracked and wounded.
But none of it mattered.
Because she held on to one thing…
Faith in her Rab
She took another bite slowly, chewing without any taste.
Her throat was dry. She was thirsty.
But in that dark, suffocating room, no one gave her water.
No one even cared to ask.
She was treated differently.
Like she was a threat.
Like she wasn't human.
Like she didn't belong.
The other girls in the room —
They always sat away from her.
Afraid. Uncomfortable.
She could feel their eyes, their silence.
But Aayat never tried to explain.
She didn't want to scare anyone.
She didn't want to cry in front of them.
Because deep inside, she knew she was innocent.
She hadn't done anything wrong.
She had only tried to protect herself.
Just then, the girl sitting beside her finally spoke.
> "What's your name?" she asked quietly.
Aayat turned her head slowly. Her eyes were tired, but she met the girl's gaze.
Only one word left her mouth:
> "Aayat."
The girl softly repeated it, as if tasting it with her voice.
> "Aayat… That's a beautiful name. Who gave it to you?"
Aayat whispered,
> "My uncle… My Mama."
The girl frowned slightly.
> "Not your parents?"
Aayat looked away. Her voice was low, almost a breath.
> "No. They didn't choose it. My uncle did.
They chose something else… but I didn't like it.
So my uncle gave me this name.
He said it suits me."
The girl smiled and leaned closer.
> "He was right. Aayat… it does suit you.
You're beautiful."
Then after a pause, she hesitated.
"If you don't mind… can I ask you something?"
Aayat nodded silently.
The girl looked at her, gently, almost afraid of her own words.
> "What did you do?
What… kind of sin did you commit…
that they brought you here?"
Aayat looked at the girl for a moment.
Her eyes didn't blink, her face didn't move.
But instead of answering,
she turned her face back toward her food —
and continued eating silently.
The girl noticed her silence, gave a faint smile, and softly shook her head.
> "My name is Jasmine," she said gently.
"It's been three months since I came to this jail."
Aayat didn't look up.
But her voice came quietly, like she had already known.
> "I know."
Jasmine paused, watching her for a second.
Then she spoke again.
> "I didn't commit a very big crime.
I just… I stole something."
Her voice trembled slightly.
"Because I had to.
For my brother."
> "My parents… they died when I was 12.
My brother was only three."
Aayat's hand stopped midair.
But she didn't lift her eyes.
Jasmine continued, her tone no longer ashamed — just… tired.
> "He got sick, you know.
And there was no one else.
No food, no money… nothing.
So I stole."
> "I stole so my brother could live."
Aayat finally looked up at Jasmine.
She had finished her food, the empty plate resting in her lap.
She wiped her hands on the edge of her dupatta and softly asked,
> "Then why did you steal?
Couldn't you have taken a job instead?"
Jasmine gave her a tired smile.
Her eyes didn't look angry — just exhausted.
> "Like I said… I was twelve when my parents died.
And after that, no one cared enough to help me study or survive.
My relatives?
They all left me.
I had no one. No support. No place to go."
She paused for a second.
> "What could I do, Aayat?
I didn't even know what I was supposed to do.
But yes… I did try."
> "I found a small job at a clothing shop.
It was simple — selling clothes.
The owner was okay, not too harsh…
But his wife?"
She gave a bitter laugh.
"She hated me.
I don't even know why.
She always shouted at me, always found reasons to insult me.
But you know what they say…
Sometimes you don't have a choice.
You just… have to endure."
> "I did. For my brother."
Her voice softened now.
> "He was only three.
So small.
So fragile."
> "I worked there for five years.
We survived somehow.
Then one day, I thought… maybe it's time.
Maybe I can do something better now.
I opened a small tea stall.
Just me, and my brother beside me."
She smiled faintly at the memory. Then that smile disappeared.
> "It ran fine for a while.
But then… Covid came."
> "And like everything else in my life…
It shut down too."
> "My brother fell sick. Very sick.
The kind of illness you can't ignore."
> "I spent everything I had saved on his treatment…
and still, he didn't get better."
> "In the end, I had only one option left.
Steal.
And I did."
Her voice cracked.
> "And the same day I got caught…
my brother died."
> "He was just a child.
So delicate.
How much could he bear?"