5

Noor

When the guard let me in and I stepped into the premises, my eyes widened at the luxury.

Even the walls screamed wealth, even under the moonlight.

I pressed the bell, and when Dilan Malik welcomed me, she didn’t seem anything like the bold woman I met in the cabin—the one who saved me from that monster I once mistook for a muhafiz.

But then my eyes landed on two men sitting on the floor, too focused on something.

I quickly averted my gaze, but it fell again on one of them—slightly giant and more good-looking than the one with brown hair.

His black eyes trembled with something I couldn’t understand… until I did.

He wasn’t a man, but a child caged in a man’s body, made to face this cruel world.

By the end of our conversation, I finally understood what kind of job she was talking about—and I took it. Because do I really have any other option?

Even after denying again and again, she still gave me a ride home.

Dilan Malik is such a sweet girl—I'd say that, if I hadn’t witnessed her dominant behavior.

It felt so awkward, riding through the narrow streets of my area with her—

The owner of the hospital I still work at.

I carefully placed the sketch in my bag, and unintentionally, my lips stretched into a smile.

That’s when Dilan’s voice made me feel stupid.

“Kya soch kar hass rahi ho, Snow White?” she asked, eyes focused on the road.

Her nephew was supposed to drop me, but sensing my hesitation, she took charge herself.

Of course, I was the victim of an assault today… and here I was, sitting in a car worth more than my entire neighborhood.

“Nothing…” I muttered, shuddering.

What was I supposed to say? That I’m smiling like an idiot because of the sketch her nephew gave me?

“Ghabra kyun rahi ho, kaunsi tumhari jaaydad maang li maine, Snow White,” she laughed, tapping the steering wheel.

“Mere paas hai bhi nahi,” I mumbled.

But she heard me. Because she laughed even louder.

“Oh Snow White, why are you so innocent?” she asked, making me feel even more embarrassed.

I so badly wanted to ask—why did she choose me?

I’m a stranger to her.

Why is she trusting me with him?

They have money. They could afford the best.

So I asked, gathering my courage—

Because I didn’t want her to change her mind because of my hesitation.

I needed money. I needed this job.

“Why did you choose me?” I asked, looking at her face.

She was truly beautiful, like she stopped aging after her twenties.

I took a deep breath. “Look at me…”

“Because you need money,” she said.

But that didn’t satisfy me.

“So you’ll approach anyone who needs money to care for Dawood?” I asked.

She clicked her tongue.

“We don’t need to approach anyone. They come to us, Snow White,” she paused, looking at me.

“You don’t need to know everything. Just be a good friend to my baby. He’s been through a lot,” she said, then asked, “Where do I turn? Left or right?”

Turning left into the tight road of my area, everyone was staring at the car in awe.

Children even started chasing it.

Then she stopped near my house, and I said quietly,

“I don’t want to leave my hospital job.”

“We’ll look after it, Snow White.”

Nodding, I bid her goodbye and stepped out of the car.

As soon as she left, I stepped into my house with a thudding heart.

It was too late.

My aunt was going to kill me.

As soon as I entered the hall, my eyes filled with fear seeing my aunt and her daughters sitting on the sofa, both radiating rage.

Gulping the lump in my throat, I said salam and was about to go to my room when she stopped me by grabbing my forearm with such force that I could feel her nails cutting through my sleeve and scratching my skin.

I hissed, trying to control my tears.

“Phupho...” I whimpered, feeling unbearable pain—my skin already sensitive from the way I had rubbed it earlier.

“So now you've started doing this kind of work too? Coming home late, that too in a luxury car?” she said, digging her nails deeper, making my tears fall.

One of her daughters watched with enjoyment, while Layla only pretended to enjoy it—unable to show her concern in front of her mother and elder sister.

“Aap galat samajh rahi hain... Phupho,” I cried, feeling my muscles tear under the pressure of her nails.

“Main galat samajh rahi hoon? Kis se poochh kar gayi thi tu raat mein bahar?” she shouted, slapping me hard across the face.

Oh Saleh, where are you? I cried, tasting blood in my mouth—her ring had split my lip.

I tried to compose myself and turned my face toward her, but she struck me again—harder this time.

“You’ve already trapped the men of this mohalla, and now you're warming the beds of rich men too?” she spat with venomous hatred.

“No... Phupho, she was my friend from the hospital,” I tried to explain, but she grabbed my hair, forcing me to look at her.

“Hospital friend? Her? Do you think I'm an idiot? A bloody nurse can never own such a big car! And who the hell gave you permission to leave after 6 p.m.?” she screamed into my face.

“What will my daughters learn after seeing all this? What will the mohalla think about us?” she shrieked, now hitting me with her slipper.

I remained silent, bearing everything—because I knew she wouldn’t believe anything I said.

“You don’t have to cook tonight,” strike.

“You can’t whore around while living in my house!” another painful strike.

“You think God made men to wrap around your finger?” she struck again.

“Today, I will ruin this face of yours,” she said, pausing for a moment before returning with a red-hot knife. My breath hitched.

“Bahut shauk hai na is chehre se faida uthane ka?” she asked, bringing the burning knife just inches from my face.

“Phupho, please...” I begged. But before I could feel the burning sensation, I heard Layla’s voice.

“Ammi... bas kar dein. Iska chehra kharab ho gaya to kaun karega isse shaadi? Zindagi bhar aapki chaukhat par padi rahegi...”

I cried at my fate—she couldn't even take a stand for me without humiliating me in front of her mother and sister.

“Hato, ye abhi khana banayegi, phir main iski class leti hoon. Aap pareshan mat ho,” Layla said, kneeling beside me and grabbing my arm roughly for show.

“Khana banayegi? Hum kya bhookhe baithe rehte hain maharani ke aane tak? Kha liya hai humne khana. Aur isse aaj khana dene ki zarurat nahi hai,” Gokce said, taking Phupho with her, leaving me alone with Layla.

Layla cleaned my wound while I sat on the mattress, wearing one of her strapless nightgowns.

"Mujhe bata kar toh ja sakti thi tum," she said while applying gel on my arm where she had dug her nails earlier.

"I thought I’d come back before you three," I said, crying from the burning pain of the wound.

After bandaging my forearm, she leaned closer, came face to face with my busted lips, and gently cleaned the dried blood.

"Kuch aisa hai jo tum chhupa rahi ho, Noor?" she asked softly.

Layla was not like her mother and elder sister. Earlier, she too treated me badly, but when we grew up and she started going to university, she changed.

"Dr. Fateh... he tried to—" I broke down crying in her arms, and she gently caressed my back.

"I knew it," she said, holding me. "That piggy face never gave me good vibes. You know, that old man even asked for your rishta once, but Ammi denied it—she wanted Gokce to marry first."

Layla wasn’t my friend nor my enemy. She was just someone who couldn’t bear injustice.

"Calm down, Noor. I’ll arrange something for you to eat," she said and was about to leave when I stopped her.

"No, Layla... she’ll beat me more."

But just then, Gokce’s voice echoed outside, and Layla shouted back,

"You stupid woman! Jab meri Ammi ne kaha ke khana nahi milega, toh nahi milega. Chup chaap so jao!"

And I couldn’t help but control a smile.

"Mera assignment kar dena... abhi laakar deti hoon," she said before leaving the room.

That night, I slept with an empty stomach and a sore body.

I wished that my decision to become a caretaker would solve all our problems.

Suddenly, I heard a knock on the door.

Saleh came in, his face full of rage.

"Aapi, kyun sehti ho aap yeh sab? Us moti ne phir se maara aapko?" he asked, checking my bruised arms and busted lips.

"Saleh, she’ll hear. Please lower your voice," I whispered, trying to calm him.

He began to cry.

"Aapi, hum kahin bhaag chalte hain. Agle mahine main bhi adult ho jaunga. Mujhe nahi rehna yahan!" he cried, clinging to me.

I held him despite my own pain.

"Shhh... khamosh ho jao. Mujhe ek job mili hai," I said, brushing his hair back and looking into his face.

He looked at me—his face and hands dirty with engine oil and grease.

That same child had given me a sketch when I told him I had a brother who would become the best doctor someday... but Saleh only looked at me, confused.

I showed him the sketch and said,

"I’ve accepted a job as a caretaker. They’re really rich, and they’re even ready to finance your education." I looked at him, my heart full of hope.

"Mazak kar rahi ho, Aapi?" he asked, blinking.

I shook my head.

"Na, mera bachha. Sach keh rahi hoon. Bharosa rakho apni Aapi par," I said, kissing his cheek.

"Aapi, main bada ho gaya hoon," he grumbled, wiping my kiss off—and we both laughed.

After serving him dinner,

I stood at the sink, my hands trembling under the cold stream of water. I stared at my reflection in the mirror — skin pale from exhaustion, eyes wide, clouded with questions, fear, and something else she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Guilt?

No. Longing.

I turned off the tap and gripped the edges of the sink tightly. The silence around me was unnerving after the emotionally charged evening. I could still see Dawood’s face — the way he flinched when i first entered. The hesitation in his body, like a bird unsure if the hand stretched toward him carried food or a knife.

And then…

That moment when he gave me his sketch.

A fragile peace offering.

I sat on the bathroom floor abruptly, knees to my chest. My breaths came faster now, stifled.

“Why me?” i whispered aloud, to no one. “Why would you choose me?”

My mind raced back to the , The vague offer. The urgency in her tone. She never even asked for details. The desperation in her own life was louder than logic.

A job with a villa, good salary, a place for my brother…

I had been so consumed with surviving the next day, i hadn’t asked why she was being offered something so kind.

I knew nothing,

I shut my eyes tightly.

Dawood wasn’t just a difficult child. He wasn’t just mentally delayed. He was hurting. He was broken in places people didn’t see — and he was brilliant in others people ignored.

And for some reason, he had looked at me like i mattered.

I clutched her scarf tighter around my shoulders.

“I don’t have any training,” muttered. “I’m not educated enough. I never worked with children like him. I don’t know the first thing about congitive or… trauma.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks now. “I’m not a saviour. I’m not even a good sister all the time. Sometimes I yell. Sometimes I want to run away. Sometimes I hate this life.”

A knock on the door startled her.

Then soft footsteps faded away.

I stood there for a long while.

When i finally returned to the room, i walked quietly toward my brother adjusted his blanket, then sat beside him on the bed.

I looked down at his palms, open and trembling.

“I don’t know why you need me, Dawood,” she whispered. “But… I’ll try. I’ll really try.”

My voice broke at the end — but this time, the tears came with a strange, unfamiliar feeling.

Hope.hope for a better life, hope for being around a man who doesn't want her body,

I returned to my room. My eyes fell on Dawood’s sketch.

I don’t know why he got so excited when he heard my brother would become a doctor.

I traced that sketc

h with my fingers... and smiled at his innocence.

I wish this sketch turns real one day—and I get to witness my brother as a doctor.