WASHMA
Jalalabad ( Afghanistan )
Both of them stayed silent, waiting... feeling like characters in a horror movie, where any terrifying spirit or haunted force could take their lives in a single strike.
Suddenly, with a loud zooming thunderclap and the piercing screech of tires, a jeep braked right in front of them.
Their eyes, veiled by their shuttlecock burqas, caught sight of Mir Lala ... Their cousin brother-arriving in all his grandeur. Wearing a traditional Pathani dress and a turban on his head, his hulk-like body stepped out of the jeep like a commander.
At a time when everyone around, including the girls, was terrified of those bearded, merciless oppressors, Mir Lala stood tall in the middle of the road, fearless, and strode towards them with the confidence granted by his position as the heir of the Wazir tribe.
His power was a source of strength for both of them. Nazar Baba signaled the girls to get into the jeep. Without a second's hesitation, they climbed inside.
As Nazar Baba shut the door, they let out a deep sigh of relief. Peeking through the window, they saw Mir Lala talking with the leader. A few of the opressors nearby were even smiling, as if Mir Lala was cracking jokes.
"Those damned bloodsuckers... they nearly lost everything because of them."
After a few minutes of conversation ... which anyone could guess was friendly ... Mir Lala shook hands with the men one by one and took his leave.
His expression hardened again. Both girls trembled. Everyone was intimidated by Mir Lala, as he was the eldest among the younger generation.
Nazar Baba placed the luggage in the trunk and got in.
"Salaam, Lala,"
both girls greeted him one by one.
He only nodded in response.
They both felt relieved that he didn't seem angry at them.
"Khan Ji, you reached just in time. I was really scared for the girls," Nazar Baba said, voicing what they had been feeling.
"Don't worry. No one lays a hand on the women of the Wazir tribe. I had already sent a message to them. We know how to veil and protect our women," Mir Lala replied in his deep voice.
Nazar Baba smiled, clearly impressed by his answer.
"And the women who don't belong to the Wazir tribe are none of your concern," Washma thought bitterly.
She suddenly felt pressure on her hand .... it was her sister Rukhsar, pressing it gently, sensing her inner turmoil.
She stayed silent and cursed herself for being ungrateful... for not helping those left behind to live through the same terror they had just escaped.
They were citizens of a country called Afghanistan ... a land where people were not only fighting external enemies but also battling the oppressors
These Opressors enforced the rules of Shariah (Islamic law), not through preaching, but through brutal force.
The women considered themselves cursed ... cursed to be born under their regime and cursed even more for being women.
"Even while living beneath the shadow of death, they were among the fortunate few granted the right to education ... a right countless Afghan women are still denied."
They also sabotaged their right to education ... that's why there is no schooling for girls in Afghanistan.
This was only because the leader of their tribe had been a woman ... Afghani Bibi, their paternal grandmother.
Against objections from their own tribal leaders, including Mir Khan Wazir ( her grandson and heir of the tribe) , she had allowed them to pursue education.
Since there were no schools for girls, they prepared for their tenth grade at home in Astogana( their home ). The rest of their education continued in Peshawar, Pakistan ... where the language and traditions were the same, but with more moderation.
Rukhsaar was enrolled in the Engineering University in Peshawar, while Washma studied at Khyber Medical College.
Although Rukhsaar was two years younger, they were in the same academic year.
Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted when the jeep gave a sudden jerk and came to a stop.
------------------------------------
KIRT
Sunlight Talent Agency Bangkok ( Thailand )
It had been the third day that he was waiting outside the studio, waiting for his turn. He was smoking the last cigarette from the pack, squatting near the gate.
Its three months since it happened. The drunkard had been true to his word ... he really had called the cops.
The officer, being soft-hearted and considering his young age, let him go with a strict warning and the threat of heavy charges.
After that, he had promised himself he would never earn money through that path again. But unfortunately, he couldn't find any job that would support both his survival and his studies.
"Tch tch... At such a young age, and already smoking? I wonder if you'll even make it to thirty," a random man said as he passed by, beginning to lecture him.
Kirt tossed the nearly finished cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his foot. Exhaling the smoke from his lungs, he turned to the man and said,
"Okay, Uncle, I'll quit smoking… but can you adopt me? I'm just thirteen." His eyes flickered with something unreadable, lips twisting into a mocking smile.
"Please, Uncle… please."
He was pleading, begging like a con artist actor.
"Are you out of your mind? I just said it out of concern," the man said, now regretting talking to him.
" Why are you concerned? Are you my father, my uncle? Do we have any kind of relationship or connection? Did I buy cigerattes with your money??..Why should you care if I die before I turn twenty or thirty? If you adopt me, I'll listen to you. Otherwise, please don't waste your time on me."
He had been hungry for days. No one gave a damn. He had found that half-empty packet of cigarettes in a garbage bin while searching for discarded food. And now, even smoking in peace had become a problem.
"Why would I take trash like you into my home?" the man finally snapped, openly insulting him.
Kirt's gaze intensified. His anger was boiling up like lava. His breath turned hot, and his face twisted with fury. He reached into his pant pocket, searching for a small knife when he heard a voice ....
"Kirt! The supervisor is calling for you!"
His expression softened. His breathing slowed.
And just like that, he forgot the man ... he clung to his sanity.
Because this was what he had been waiting for ... his chance. His chance to get a job at this agency, even as lower staff, to survive... this time, through valid means.