I remembered how I whispered every single 'I love you', at the palm of your hand as you folded it deep within your heart. How we said it in dreams of growing old together. But I guess love had another plan for us.
And I'm still so sorry that I broke your heart.                                                             
For we saw ourselves as different constellations in the universe.
Since love is doing what is right; my hardest and greatest 'I love you' will be this goodbye.

- CONEE BERDERA

________________________________

Maaz;

Black clouds hurry across the sky, the people below reflecting their motion. They scurry to their destinations before the clouds burst and drench them. I pull my long black coat closer, glancing over my shoulder, anxiously. I am hyper aware to the people around, lest someone is following me.

I hide my face in the fur of my collar, a woolen cap covers my head, protecting me from the chilly wind and prying eyes. I look down at my phone at the address I am supposed to go.

The Mirage.

Street 42.

Four words and no more. I look down street 42 searching for, The Mirage. The gloomy darkness makes it harder to read the signs. Eventually, I spot it tucked away in a little alley down the street.

I push the door open revealing a small, dim place which strongly smells of tobacco. It has haphazardly arranged chairs, the corner booths have flimsy, transparent curtains to give the illusion of privacy. At the corner is a counter with the trademark barstools. Two men lean over, talking. They look up as I enter, I look away quickly before they see my face.

The instructions, after all, were quite simple. Do not get seen. Do not get followed.

I slide into the torn upholstery of a corner booth. I tap my fingers on the table, unsure. I do not know who I am waiting for. I sit and observe. Plenty of people have chosen this dingy place to take reprieve from the chill. Most are huddled in coats or jackets, the dim lights make it further difficult to see faces clearly. It works to my advantage.

A vibration makes me check my phone.

Private number: Second booth? You?

I cast a cautious glance around the place, no one is looking at me. A shiver passes through me. A moment's hesitation before her name comes to mind. Quickly I respond to the text. One word, one life-changing moment.

Yes.

I put my phone away. A man slides into the seat opposite mine. I hold my breath as I look up. I don't let the shock reveal itself on my face, schooling into a mask of indifference.

'You?'

Of all people, he was the least expected but of course he should have been the most obvious. Surprising, how the brain skips ahead of the obvious to more colorful explanations.

He leans over the table and whispers, 'Were you followed?'

I have the urge to laugh and ask him if this is some sort of joke. We could have met anywhere.

'No.'

Raucous laughter booms from the far side. The clang of glass and murmur of cheers resound. But the man in front of me is serious. I had never observed him closely. It always had hurt to look at him. More accurately to look at him with her.

His small eyes cast quick furtive looks around, I don't remember them being this lifeless before. Where was the passion, charm and youth that I had seen? He looks worn out, I lean closer across the table. A faded bruise marks his right eye, I notice a cut on his lip.

'I apologize that it is these circumstances that we meet under.' His voice stops me from my perusal. I have no clue what the circumstances are, I stay silent.

'There is a lot I have to tell you, and there isn't a lot of time.' He says.

I keep my questions to myself.

'I think we have met a couple of times before. So I assume you know who I am?' He continues.

'Numair, Zara's husband.' I try to sound nonchalant about it.

'Your nemesis.' A ghost of a smile flits across his face.

'Yes we have met at the launch parties and other events.' I respond, ignoring his remark.

'You are going to help me.' He states.

'Why would I?' I choose to go with why instead of asking what he needs my help with.

A man of few words, he replies in another monosyllable, 'Zara.'

I interlock my fingers, below the table shifting slightly at her name.

'Husbands tend to be more observant towards their wife's admirers.' He states. I gape at his admission. Here I thought I was doing a good job hiding my emotions where this guy read me like an open book.

'Your point?' I ask shrewdly.

'I come in peace.' He holds his hands up. 'I know you love her. Rest assured she has no clue.' He tells me as I wince at his words.

'Coming to the point, that means you would be willing to do anything for her. And I need someone who would prioritize her before the world.'

'And you cannot?'

'I am.' He says, cryptically. 'But I may not be able to for long.'

'Are you here to be cryptic?' His confusing answers are beginning to irritate me. 'I might as well leave.'

He stares at me until I begin to get uncomfortable. I am almost prepared to get up and leave. He signals the waiter and orders coffee for two.

'I am unsure how to begin. And don't make me regret my decision of trusting you.' He tells me.

'You trust me?' I arch an eyebrow.

'Yes, I am going to with the most valuable thing to me in this world.' His voice takes on a soft note and I catch a glimpse of the spark that used to be in his eyes.

I wait as he collects his thoughts again. His expression is pained as if it physically hurts to say the next words. 'Zara... I am going to entrust you with her. On the promise that you are going to keep her safe, no matter the situation.'

This time I can't keep the shock off my face. This guy has lost it.

'Can you do that?' He asks. I do not respond.

Of course I would but no sane person would admit that to her husband. He takes my silence as affirmation.

'I know you will. Which is why you are here.'

Two steaming hot cups of coffee are placed before us. Numair takes a sachet of sugar and stirs it in, deep in thought.

'I have looked you up, don't worry. Your past, your history with her, your family, everything. I had to do my research before I could trust you.'

'Glad I passed your test.' I respond with sarcasm. Numair has an air of domination, a surety that he knew what he is saying. Though what he said makes little sense to me there is something alluring about him that makes me stay.

'You took ethical hacking as a subject, am I right?' He inquires.

'Yes.' I confirm, wondering what Zara has to do with ethical hacking.

'Alright, here goes.' He pushes his coffee cup away and casts a look around the room, he observes each person closely. His eyes are quick yet thorough. He leans forward once satisfied.

'I assume you know I am a doctor. A few months ago I had a patient on my operating table. He was severely injured in an accident. Heavy loss of blood, internal bleeding. There was little we could do to save him.'

I nod at him.

'We tried frantically to save him. During his last few minutes, he clutched my sleeve tightly, shoved a chip into my hand and whispered, my daughter, my daughter.' He lifts the cup to take a sip.

'I leaned closer to him, he mumbled, 'save my daughter, she has an uncle, he will take care of her, please save her. My baby, my daughter, please.'' He whispers the words to me, his eyes do not stop their constant scan of the stream of people entering and leaving.

'He died after that leaving me to fulfill his dying wish. I realized that chip was a memory card. It took me a while to piece together his story from it. He divorced from his wife when she was pregnant. She later had a daughter who he did not get to see. He did not know what she looked like. He spent three years looking for her after he found out his wife had died. He believed his wife did not tell anyone about him, the father. So he assumed the child having no other relations on her mother's side was placed under foster care or an orphanage.'

'Doesn't she have a name?' I ask.

'Obviously, she does, but he didn't know. He traced all orphanages for her likes, girls which matched her age, shared similar looks with him or his wife. He investigated thoroughly, he had numerous files stored on each orphan home across the continent each containing carefully sorted out names, the number of children, their ages, date of births, history, parents if known, adopted or not, every minute detail including about staff members. The information was mind boggling.' He spreads his hands.

The very hands that held Zara. No. Stop. I chide myself.

'It's searching for a needle in a haystack.' I say quietly, not meeting his eyes.

'True, but he was a father. He could tear the world apart to find her.'

'Did you find her?'

'No but I found something else.'

'Wait, if you find her how would you know it is his daughter?' I ask.

'At the hospital before I left him, I obtained samples of his DNA and ran a few tests. All reports to establish paternity are safe with me when I find her.' Numair reasons.

'Oh.' He said when not if. He was assured about himself. His determination to reunite this unknown girl baffles me so I ask him, 'Why bother? Why you?'

A genuinely confused expression crosses his face as if he couldn't imagine any other option, 'Because it was me who witnessed his last wish, it was me he begged to find his daughter? Initially, I thought how hard would that be? Little did I realize then how wrong I was.' He pauses as a man passes beside our table.

'Coming back, what I found was several kids were missing, their information was present until a particular time after which it simply vanished. Initially, I thought it was a mistake but as I looked deeper I saw it was not a few cases but many cases spread over a wide range of orphanages.'

'Maybe they lost track of those kids.' I say reasonably.

'Yes, I wanted to believe the same, I began to look for the girl based on the information I had. A month later I had an uncanny sense of being shadowed. Every orphanage I visited I could sense a car tailing me. It began to unnerve me.' His dark eyes carefully rove over the small bar.

I begin to get uncomfortable. Listening to him narrate his tale to me seems absurd. It is bizarre and unusual, a crossroad I never imagined myself standing at.

'The hit and run case was closed by then for lack of evidence besides not having anyone to stand up for Ryland in court.' He continues.

'Hit and run?' I ask losing track.

'Yes that man, Ryland was his name was involved in a hit and run accident which cost him his life and take his dying breath in front of me. The driver was not found nor was the car.'

'I still don't see how it connects?' My eyes scrunch together focusing on his face.

'You don't? Ryland was being followed because of the information he had acquired. I know I do not have any evidence but I have a strong instinct which tells me he was murdered. And now I have the same chip and am being followed. I think it is more than mere coincidence.'

'I see.' I begin to see the story before me, a lost girl, a father searching for her, a device with information stored on it, Ryland dying then Numair selflessly taking up responsibility.

The world revolves around information, it makes sense that that would be the root cause for Ryland's death.

I want to hate Numair but it is not possible to find fault with him, it wasn't that he is perfect. It is that he is genuine and kind. He is an example which renews hope that humanity still exists. That people are willing to look beyond their comfort zones and selfish motives for no personal benefit.

'I admire your courage.' I tell him honestly.

A faint smile flickers across his face.

'Where do I come into this?' I ask.

'Same time. One week later.' He says signaling the waiter for the cheque. 'Leave fifteen minutes after me.' He orders before sliding out the booth. He pulls his hood over his head and walks out into the pouring rain.

***

A/N : Hey!
Do you realize whose emotions the quote at the start reveals?

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