The alley behind the Urdu Bazaar was damp with rain and secrets. It was the kind of place where information traded faster than currency, and people with good intentions rarely walked in twice.
Alishba pushed open the door to a small tattoo parlor tucked between a chai stall and a DVD shop that hadn’t updated its collection since 2008. Inside, the air reeked of ink, disinfectant, and old regret.
A man looked up from behind the counter — salt-and-pepper beard, eyes sharp like broken glass. He didn’t smile.
“I don’t do butterflies or initials,” he said.
“I’m not here for a tattoo,” she replied. “I’m here for your memory.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“I’m looking for this mark.” She pulled out a photo she’d taken from the footage — zoomed in on Daniyal’s arm. A small symbol on his wrist. A crescent wrapped in barbed wire.
The man flinched, ever so slightly.
He recognized it.
Alishba leaned in. “Tell me.”
He looked around, lowered his voice. “You know what that is?”
“I’m asking you.”
“That’s a mark they used on operatives. Psychological warfare units. Elite assets. Shadow-trained. They don’t tattoo soldiers like that anymore. Only people who volunteer for silence.”
“Volunteer?” Her voice cracked.
He nodded grimly. “You don’t get that mark unless you agree to be forgotten.”
Alishba’s fingers curled around the photo.
Daniyal wasn’t kidnapped. He signed himself away.
Everything in her shook.
The nights she cried for him.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDDEtzvgMZG
The birthdays she celebrated alone.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ61XJmeC7cd
The years spent blaming corrupt officials and dirty systems.
What if the enemy wasn’t them?
What if it was Daniyal himself?
She walked through the rain without an umbrella, letting it soak her shawl, her hair, her bones.
By the time she reached Reyan’s safehouse, her hands were trembling with questions she didn’t want to ask.
She pushed open the door.
He was there.
Sitting on the floor, back against the wall, loading bullets into a magazine.
He looked up.
But didn’t rise.
She dropped the photo onto his lap.
“You knew.”
He didn’t look at it. He didn’t have to.
“I suspected.”
“You should’ve told me.”
“I wanted to.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because hope was all you had left.”
She sat across from him, cold and wet, heart cracking like dry glass.
“I’ve been looking for a prisoner. A victim. A brother trying to come home.”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqQmmlCv2Mp
Her voice dropped. “And all this time… he left willingly?”
Reyan said nothing.
Because the truth was heavier than even he could carry.
She stared at him.
And whispered, “Tell me what he did.”
He met her eyes.
And for the first time… he didn’t hold back.
Two years ago.
Daniyal was brought to Base-17 under the name Razaq Delta.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡE8qqhwpF8w
He wasn’t chained. He walked. Spoke like a soldier. Demanded no special treatment. And wore that symbol on his skin.
Reyan had flown him once — low altitude, unregistered path, under a false cargo manifest.
“I asked him,” Reyan said. “‘Why this? Why disappear?’”
“And he said?” Alishba asked.
“He said: ‘Because I can do more damage in the shadows than light ever will.’”
Alishba stood up slowly, reeling.
Everything shifted now.
Every photo. Every night. Every hope.
A lie.
Or worse — a choice.
“So what now?” she asked, her voice barely above a breath. “Do I stop looking?”
Reyan stood as well.
“You’ve come too far.”
“I don’t know who he is anymore.”
“I don’t think he does either.”
Later that night, she sat alone on the rooftop, moonlight cutting her face in half. One side calm. One side breaking.
Reyan joined her in silence, hands in his pockets.
For a long while, neither spoke.
Then he said quietly, “Do you hate me?”
She looked at him.
“I don’t have the energy to hate you right now.”
He didn’t flinch.
She added, “But don’t confuse that for forgiveness.”
“I don’t.”
A pause.
Then he whispered, “He wasn’t supposed to be your brother in the file. I didn’t know until it was too late.”
She turned to him.
“And now?”
His gaze locked with hers.
“Now I’ll help you find him. Whatever it takes.”
She looked away again, bitter smile curling her lips.
“Enemies, for now… right?”
Reyan gave a dry laugh. “It’s the only language we both speak.”
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