Risen From the Ashes

*Episode 1: Memories of the Past* The cold night was making my body shiver with its chill. The gusts of cold wind were making my very soul feel frozen. Black clouds hovered in the sky. The silent night, the cold breeze, and the loneliness were bringing back... memories of the past. At this hour of the night, while the entire world was lost in the valley of sleep, enjoying the comfort of hibernation... there was one soul awake. One wounded heart. And only one sentence kept echoing on her tongue: _"Memories of the past is a punishment, O Lord."_ It neither lets you live, nor lets you die. Even death doesn’t take pity on such sensitive, broken-hearted people... That restless soul was struggling. A silence that devours you. A lonely night that pierces straight through to the soul and burns it. The restless soul tossed and turned until it got tired. But her eyes were like they had completely broken ties with sleep. When the restlessness crossed all limits, that wounded, restless soul got up from her bed. Because she knew there was only one way to find healing... Tashmera got up from her bed, performed wudu with warm water, and fell into prostration before God. When a person hands over their pain to God, the soul finds peace. Because true comfort comes only from the remembrance of God. Everything else is temporary. Everything will turn to dust. Everything will be left behind here. This money, this pride, this fame, this wealth... all of it is just one big deception. Every love has a decline. Except love for Allah. If a person understood this, they would run far away from worldly love. "O God, grant me strength. Grant me courage, my Master. You are the Most Merciful, You are the Most Generous, my Lord..." Tashmera was praying in tears. _"O my Lord, help me forget him. Give me strength, my Lord. O Allah, either let my memory be erased... my veins will burst, O Lord..."_ Tashmera said between hiccups. Crying, Tashmera’s face was soaked with tears. Her eyes were bearing witness to the peak of her sorrow. _"Have mercy on my condition, O my Most Generous Lord..."_ Crying, Tashmera drifted into the arms of sleep. Little did she know that even sleep was angry with her. For a broken-hearted person, even sleep becomes a torment. Memories flash by in another painful way. Just... sleep. The wounded soul was struggling before the Lord of all the worlds. How strange is man... God’s servant, crying before God... for someone else. Alas! _"Tashmera! Tashmera, daughter, where are you? Come quickly, I need to talk to you,"_ Mrs. Afia called out, heading toward Tashmera’s room. "Yes Mom, what is it? Is everything okay? What happened?" Tashmera came running and, in a single breath, asked a whole string of questions. "Oh daughter, the weather is getting really bad. Go to the rooftop quickly and take the clothes down before it starts raining," Mrs. Afia said with concern. "And yes, I’ve put kebabs to fry in the kitchen. Come back and fry them. Abeera doesn’t have time for any work. You’re the one who spoils your younger sister..." Mrs. Afia said while staring at Tashmera. "Looks like Mom's blood pressure is high today, Sis," Abeera said mischievously. "Shame on you, Abeera. She’s our mother. How can you talk like that?" Tashmera said to her gently, trying to make her understand. Both of them were on the rooftop taking the clothes down when a strong gust of wind came and snatched the clothes from Tashmera’s hands, flying them to the terrace of the house next door. "Ufff God," hand on her forehead, "Now what do we do, Abeera?" Tashmera said anxiously. "Oh no, Sis, I haven’t even finished my assignment. Tomorrow’s the last day to submit it..." Abeera said. Saying this, Abeera ran downstairs. Tashmera stood there, distressed, wondering what to do. Going to Chacha's house was no less than a battlefield. Suddenly, she made a dangerous decision. And she set out to carry it out. In a hurry and without looking, climbing the stairs, she didn’t realize and collided with a person coming from the opposite direction. It wasn’t just a physical collision. It was a collision of souls. Her heart started beating erratically. Her tongue stumbled. Her mind went blank. Her body trembled. She remembered nothing. The only thing she remembered was one face — the face she didn’t know would become the disease of her entire life. That person held her hand firmly. One small mistake and Tashmera could have fallen down the stairs. Eyes met eyes. And the heart lost its rhythm. That familiar person whispered close to her ear: _"Tashmera, you are my first and last love. What kind of life is life without you..."_ The moment he said it, a blush spread across Tashmera’s face. She pulled her hand away and ran — only to crash straight into Rabia Aunty. And now she knew what was about to happen. She had run into a bomb. The declaration of war was pending. The wait was over. Yes, but it would be a one-sided war. "Oh, are you riding on the wind or what, crazy girl? Don’t you have any manners? When an elder is coming, you stop and show respect. You and your sister have no manners at all..." Mrs. Rabia widened her eyes and said in a threatening tone. And Mrs. Rabia didn’t stop there. She raised her voice toward Tashmera’s house, as if she wanted Mrs. Afia to hear: _"Afia should have taught her daughters something other than degrees. Getting a degree means nothing..."_ _"And listen carefully. Stay away from my son. Know your status. Where are you, and where is my prince of a son..."_ Mrs. Rabia said angrily. These weren’t just words. They were strikes on Tashmera’s soul, delivered slowly, one after another. The house next to Tashmera’s belonged to her Chacha and Chachi. Same blood, but no empathy. A relationship in name only. Chacha had one son, Ozaan Shah, and two daughters, Samia Shah and Faria Shah. Extremely arrogant and proud girls. The son wanted fame. Father, Zubair Shah, had no time beyond his textile business. What business? A small clothes shop. And a small superstore beside it. And the mother, Mrs. Rabia — a woman of extremely harsh temperament. She blamed Tashmera’s family for all her own deprivations. Suddenly, a gust of wind knocked a glass off the table and shattered the deadly silence of the room. The chain of memories broke. Tashmera came back to the present. _"If it’s Memories of Past, then there must be awareness of time too... You’re something else, Namrood..."_ Tashmera was so lost in her Lord that she didn’t even realize it was already 9 AM. With exhausted steps she got up and left the room. Came down the stairs and went straight into the room downstairs. Complete darkness. A terrifying silence. A pain-filled quiet. Tashmera turned on the lights. On the bed lay Mrs. Afia. Age 50. White streaks in her hair. Sunken cheeks. A weak body, a lifeless body. Her eyes staring at some invisible point. A living corpse. "Mom, my dear Mom, look, I’m fine now, Alhamdulillah. Talk to me. How long will you keep grieving like this?" Tashmera said sadly. "You have to be strong, right? For us. For this house. Abeera and I need you so much, Mom. I’ll lose all courage without you, Mom..." Tashmera’s pain-filled voice and sobs broke the silence of the room. --- *Shah Mansion - 9 AM* In Ozaan Mansion, all the servants were busy with their work. Samia came rushing down the stairs and bumped into a servant. A glass of cold juice spilled all over her branded clothes. "Are you blind? Can’t you walk properly? Do you even have eyes, or just buttons? What an ignorant person!" Samia roared angrily, in a sharp commanding voice. The servant flinched. "What happened, Samia? Why are you shouting so early in the morning?" Mrs. Rabia came over to Samia and said. "Ugh Mom, look what this i***t did to my expensive clothes. He doesn’t do anything properly. I’ll talk to Bhai and get him fired..." Samia said angrily. Fuming, Samia stormed off to her room. Since early morning, the basement of Shah Mansion was echoing with soft music. The only heir of Shah Mansion, Ozaan Shah, was in his personal gym, completely unaware of the world and the mafia, busy building his six-pack and muscles. A beautifully furnished room. Right across from the door, an elegant bed. Intricate carvings that were proof of a master craftsman’s skill. As you entered the room, a large portrait on the wall — a handsome boy with western-style hair falling over half his face. His face testified to his beauty, pride, and arrogance. High-end brand curtains hanging on the windows were proof of the elegance and refinement of Shah Mansion. The sound of water from the shower in the bathroom indicated that someone was under its embrace. _Tringggg... Tringggg... Tringggg..._ The mobile had been ringing for a while. Ozaan glanced at the screen and a victorious smile spread across his face. He whispered softly, _"Maleeha..."_ And a cunning laugh echoed. Ozaan Shah was standing in his bedroom putting on his wristwatch when suddenly the door banged open. And he just stood there, staring... ---