I think I have got a hang of this writing. Two chapters back to back in less than 12 hours! No, I don't pre plan and write a chapter. I know the ultimate ending and when I sit to write, the story just flows out of me. I seriously need to study now! I hope you enjoy the story.

Dedicated to Shreya_VA

The bathroom is shabby. The white wall tiles rising up to the middle of the green walls are mostly covered with tobacco stains and half-burnt cigarettes are littered on the floor. The stench inside makes me crinkle my nose in disgust. Three out of the four white basins, now with reddish stain are clogged with phlegm. Disgusting. During my year in the internship, babies often accidentally pooped on my hands, sometimes my dress and often I had to wipe the nose of elderly patients. In my line of work, one can't be choosy. So, this stench doesn't make me nauseous, but certainly disgusted.

I see three shower stalls lining up beside the basins. I check the first one to find the tap is broken. The locks are broken in the second one. Checking the locks and the shower on the third one, I drag my tired and bruised body in, shutting the door behind me. The hinges on the door are useless but the best out of the three. If someone wants to get in while I am showering, it won't be a problem.

My skin stings as I take off my battered uniform. A strange emotion grips me, as I see my pride and honor soaked in blood and dirt and torn into places. I open a tap throwing it under the running water and use the soap to scrub away the stains on it. Tears threaten the corners of my eyes as I see the red cross sign torn in half. As I try scrubbing the cloth, the stains don't go away. The material further tears with an agonizing scream just like me.

Only, I can't scream.

I can't let out my weakness.

My fingers lightly graze my name stitched in army green colour above the left side pocket before I leave the uniform on the floor dejectedly. Getting up to stand under the shower, the water drops mixing with my tears, I slightly shiver at the first kiss of cold droplets. I don't stop them this time. I let them flow until I gain my composure. I can't let a piece of cloth rule me.

Let go all the pain in this single moment. My mind says.

No one will see you cry.

Except for these mute walls.

Cry now. So that when you get out of this bathroom you won't drop a single tear.

I use the soap given by them on my hair to get the blood, grease and dirt out of it. The water pressure is at least good as it washes away the dried blood and dirt. I stand under the shower until the water running down is cool.

Oh, how I miss them now!

Without taking any more time, I come out of the shower, dress up in an olive green coloured salwar kameez. It fitting is loose on my body. The dress is old, the colour has mostly faded. I just hope whoever had worn this did not have a skin infection.

Out of all things, I am worried about a skin infection?

Really?

I should be worried about ending up as a sex slave or smuggled for my organs.

As I come out of the bathroom, before taking one last look at my uniform thrown on one side, a woman in navy blue salwar kameez greets me, "Assalamualaikum bahen."

Her face is round and chubby. A flower-shaped nose pin adorns her nose. She has the dupatta worn around her face in a hijab. Her plump lips are red from the tobacco she seems to be chewing. If the way her eyes crinkle or given the appearance of slight wrinkles on her face, she must be in her mid-30s.

Having, grown up in a country where both religions and cultures are respected, I knew the answer to this, "Mualaikumsalam."

"Come with me, Basheer Sahab has been waiting for you."

I look at her as if to ask her who Basheer is. She must have understood my question as she answers, "Basheer Sahab is the man you will be living with."

"Who are you?" I ask her.

"I am Farhan's wife, " supposedly understanding I don't know any Farhan, she adds, "the other one with lots of scars on his face."

"Where am I?" I ask her the question that I have been wondering about since I woke up.

Please say India. Better to held captive in India than anywhere else.

"Sahiwal, Pakistan." She answers. My mouth hangs open at how nonchalantly she discloses her location. I guess it doesn't matter given that we are in Pakistan, the enemy territory, the only thing I was afraid of being true. I haven't exactly gone through the map of Pakistan ever, but I know enough to understand I'm quite far away from my military camp Uri. I am not even in Pakistan Occupied Kashmir(POK). But, farther away from it, somewhere in mainland Pakistan.

I nod at her trying to decipher where I stand among these people. Am I a war prisoner here? But there was no war and why would they bring me here? I wonder if she is one of them.

"Where will I go with Basheer Sahab?" I ask her trying to satiate my curiosity. The more I know, the better plan I can devise.

"You will go with Basheer Sahab to his house," she answers. I already know that. I need to know who he is.

"Who is Basheer Sahab?" I ask, contemplating my question.

"Basheer Sahab is a Sheikh who supplies our camps with the medicines we need."

Supply?

I wonder, that word meaning more than its conventional meaning. Just medicines? Or other ammunitions in lieu of drugs? Was he responsible for the attack on my camp? What does he want of me? Thousands of thoughts whisk through my mind at that moment.

We come to stop beside a door.

"What is your name?" I ask her as I realise we might never see each other again.

"Fatima." She replies, her face slightly turning to look at me with a knowing smile, then knocks on the door thrice.

Some kind of code?

Maybe.

The door opens and the shorter man, Farhan comes out, his eyes zooming on my changed attire before calling him.

"Basheer janab, come see her." His words don't sit right with me. What concerns me most is what are they going to do with me.

Your showpiece is ready.

See me!

Basheer comes and stands before me, his eyes take in me lazily but the intensity is unmistakable. For the first time, I see his eyes. They are steely grey ones, burning with a ferocity hard to decipher. His sharp jaw is highlighted by the rugged stubble beard on his face.

"Khuda Hafiz." Basheer nods to Farhan.

"Khuda Hafiz."

They greet each other goodbye as Basheer comes closer to me. I look up at him daring him to come any more close.

Act meek!

But the little voice in my head has me immediately emit a gasping sound as I look downwards pretending to be afraid to meet his eyes. His right hand extends, as he takes me by my left arm dragging me along with him. It's hard to keep up with his long strides, taking in my injured condition.

As we exit the building, I notice it's almost evening as the sky is already purple and orange as the sun's last rays depart promising to return another day.

Like your life.

Just because darkness overcomes the light, the sun never fails to rise again bringing another new day.

I notice my surroundings as I see there are many small tents nearby, all erected in a circle around a central bare area. Men in black pathani suit with guns can be seen almost everywhere here. There are some army green colour uniformed officers here too with their badges hanging proudly adorning his uniform.

Pakistani army.

As we take the gravel road, we leave the camps behind moving into the civilisation, where brick houses line either side of the road. We stop briefly as he leaves my arm not before jerking me close so that his mouth is near my ear, " Don't try to run. Believe me, you won't make a step before you are shot. So use your brains and walk along." A mere whisper but never have I ever heard a more menacing threat. A shiver runs down my spine in fear and something more, something alien.

We take a right at the first turn, then at the second turn we take a left, walk straight for five minutes and then another turn to the left and. . .

Wait.

What was the previous turn? Left or right.

Sometimes I really hate myself for being direction blind.

I sigh before we take several other turns, finally stopping near a house that seems worn out.

Even if I escape his house, I can reach nowhere in particular, through this maze.

His house looks worn out and old from the chipped paint from some areas exposing the brownish red colour of bricks and the vines crawling up the walls. The wooden door, painted with sea green colour now subjected to the atrocities of weather makes a creaking sound as he pushes it open. The door opens to a reveal small room. There is a worn out leather sofa and three plastic chairs arranged around a wooden table with a single ashtray. Further, in the room, there is another door, hidden behind a long red colour curtain.

He walks up to there, with me trailing behind. He slides away the curtain to reveal a sliding door and a fingerprint sensor. My eyes bulge out at what I see, shocked to find such high tech thing in a house that looks about to fall off.

Is this some sci-fi movie?

So it's all equipped here. I surely cannot run from here. Even if I run, where will I go? If I try to cross the border, they won't understand my nationality, but shoot me at once. I will be dead in fucking 'No Man's Land'. There goes dying on my soil down the drain.

Ah, my poor patriotic soul!

He presses his thumb to the screen of the sensor as it slides open. Seeing me standing there without following him, he drags me inside while pressing on a button that closes the door behind. Then suddenly leaves me, causing me fall on the floor from the moment of inertia. I strike the floor, using my elbows to support myself, while my bruised back screams in pain. Maybe it's the sheer shock or pain that doesn't let me scream from pain in that moment.

While I use my arms to sit up, he says, "You will be staying here. You can never go outside without me taking you. This door will not open without my fingerprints. So you cannot escape,"

He crouches down to my level meeting my eyes before continuing, "If you try to unscrew a window, the alarm will go off. There are multiple cameras here except the bedrooms," he stops to smirk at the word 'bedroom' , "So don't even try doing something." It's true as the windows all have metal bars akin to a prison, and there's no way I can go undetected if I try to unscrew the window panel, if I at all get my hands on a screwdriver.

Grasping my chin between his thumb and index finger, "Even if you manage to escape you will be shot before you even realise." He almost whispers out the last part. His voice is just as what it felt like in that tiny chamber, warm and smooth like dark melted chocolate.

I can't stop the blush from spreading when his breath fans my lips. I am embarrassed at my peculiar reaction to his proximity, but I am glad my rather wheatish skin tone won't allow the blush to be seen. His steely grey unflinching eyes lock onto my brown irises. I feel my whole body tingling and my breath coming out in short spurts. I squirm under his abashful, shameless gaze.

Must be out of only fear.

His fingers feel course on my chin. And I can't help wondering how they would help gliding down my body. I wonder if can he hear the rapid thrum of my heart, currently trying to break free.

"You have grey eyes," I say, still transfixed.

He blinks back as if he realizes our proximity, but does not move back instead, he smirks.

"Tonight, you will see a lot more of me." He whispers.

_____________________________________

Translations:

Hijab- Head covering worn in public by some Muslim women.

Khuda Hafiz- May God be your guardian( Used to bid goodbye).

Assalamualaikum bahen- Peace be upon you, sister. ( Muslim way of greeting)

Mualaikumsalam- Peace be also upon you. ( Non-muslim way of replying back)

Facts:

Red Cross: A symbol of the red cross in white background is symbolic of protection. A white sash with the red cross is often worn by army doctors on their arms.

We are at the end of the chapter. So if you enjoyed press the like button and share with your friends. Your comments will be appreciated. They encourage me to keep on writing. Thank you.♡ Hope you have a good day. Stay Safe♡