chapter 18
1931 Words
The night was unusually quiet, yet inside Zulfishan’s heart, a storm raged. After Aabi left, she sat on her bed, holding the USB tightly. Every word of her father’s message echoed in her mind — “You are the key.”
How could she be the answer to something so dangerous? A program that could control people’s minds — it sounded like something from a movie, but this was real. Too real.
She looked at herself in the mirror. Gone was the scared girl who had lived in the shadow of grief and fear. Something inside her had changed. She didn’t fully understand Project Echo yet, but she was determined to shut it down — for her father, for herself, and for everyone Azfar had hurt.
A knock interrupted her thoughts. It was Mawra again, this time with worry in her eyes.
“Zulfi… Salman just called. He wants to meet.”
Zulfishan’s eyes narrowed. “Now?”
Mawra nodded. “He said it’s urgent. He has something to give you.”
Zulfishan grabbed her dupatta and stood up. “Let’s go.”
---
They met Salman in a quiet park near the city’s edge. The streetlights flickered, and the air felt heavier than usual.
Salman stood near a bench, his posture tense. When he saw Zulfishan and Mawra approach, he offered a weak smile.
“I’m glad you came.”
Zulfishan folded her arms. “This better be worth it.”
He took out a black file from his backpack. “These are copies of the original blueprints of Project Echo… your father’s real designs. Before Azfar twisted them.”
Zulfishan’s hands shook slightly as she opened the file. “How did you get these?”
“I was part of the data team, remember? I made backups… I never knew Azfar would go so far. I just thought it was a voice-recognition AI for medical patients. But then… things got dark.”
Mawra sighed. “We were all used.”
Salman stepped closer to Zulfishan, gently. “But Zulfi… you can fix this. You have your father’s heart. And now, the final code. Please, let me help you.”
Zulfishan took a step back. “I don’t know if I can trust you, Salman.”
His eyes softened. “I don’t blame you. But I’ll wait… even if I never earn back your trust, I’ll still protect you.”
Zulfishan looked at him for a long moment. “This isn’t about feelings anymore. This is about right and wrong.”
She turned and walked away, file in hand.
Mawra gave Salman a sympathetic glance before following her sister.
---
Back at home, their stepmother waited near the kitchen, a forced smile on her lips.
“You were out late,” she said softly.
Zulfishan didn’t respond.
But her stepmother moved closer. “You know, your father used to hide things even from me. You think he trusted you more? You were just a child.”
Zulfishan looked her dead in the eyes. “Maybe. But I’m not a child anymore.”
There was a flicker of coldness in the woman’s eyes — just for a second — then gone.
“You should rest,” she said, walking away.
Zulfishan didn’t relax. Not for a second. There was still more to uncover — and she couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.
---
The next morning, Aabi picked her up from home. His car stopped in front of the old warehouse — the same place where Azfar had held her hostage.
“Why here?” she asked, stepping out slowly.
He looked at her seriously. “There’s something inside. A hidden chamber in the floor. I saw it last time when I was under Azfar’s control. I didn’t know what it was back then, but now I think… it’s the secondary server.”
Zulfishan’s heart skipped. “You think the second phase of Project Echo is here?”
Aabi nodded. “Let’s find out.”
They moved inside carefully, flashlights in hand. The broken furniture and cracked walls whispered memories of fear. But this time, they weren’t victims.
Near the center of the warehouse, Aabi pulled up a broken rug and kicked aside a few tiles. Underneath was a steel hatch.
Zulfishan helped him pry it open. A small staircase led down to a cold underground room. The silence was suffocating.
Inside, an old server system hummed faintly, still active.
She walked toward it, USB in hand.
A voice prompt appeared on the main screen.
> “Phase Two Access Required: Confirm Identity.”
She closed her eyes. “Zulfishan Shah. Daughter of Arsalan Shah. Accessing for termination.”
The screen blinked.
> “Voice verified. Termination protocol initializing…”
Suddenly, a countdown started.
60… 59… 58…
Zulfishan’s heart raced. “It’s happening.”
Aabi stood beside her, protective. “You did it, Zulfi.”
She nodded, tears in her eyes. “My father… he didn’t die for nothing.”
The moment was heavy — but filled with peace.
Then suddenly — the server room door slammed shut behind them.
They turned.
Their stepmother stood there — gun in hand.
“I told Azfar this was a bad idea,” she hissed. “But he believed in your father’s design more than anyone.”
Zulfishan froze. “You were helping him?”
She smiled darkly. “I helped raise you. That should’ve been enough warning.”
But before she could raise the weapon — BANG!
The gun flew from her hand.
Salman stood behind her, breathing hard, holding his own pistol.
“Not this time,” he growled.
Aabi rushed forward, tackled the woman, and cuffed her using the same zip-ties Azfar once used.
Zulfishan stared at the ticking countdown, now at 05… 04… 03…
The system shut down.
Screen black.
Project Echo — gone.
---
Later, as the police took her stepmother away, Zulfishan sat on the steps of the warehouse, exhausted.
Aabi sat beside her. “It’s over.”
She nodded. “Almost.”
He looked at her gently. “You know I meant what I said, right?”
She smiled faintly. “I know. And maybe… after all this… I’m ready to stop being afraid.”
Their hands touched.
And this time, she didn’t let go.
---
The morning breeze carried a strange peace — one that Zulfishan had long forgotten. For the first time in months, she didn’t wake up to fear or confusion. Her room looked brighter, not because the sun was stronger, but because the weight in her chest had finally lifted.
Project Echo was over.
Her father’s voice no longer echoed in her dreams with unfinished warnings.
Her stepmother, the silent betrayer, had been arrested.
Azfar was gone.
Now… life was trying to feel normal again.
She sat by the window with a notebook in her lap, sketching random designs. They weren’t very good — lines messy, curves uncertain. But they were hers. And for now, that was enough.
“Not bad,” Aabi’s voice came from behind, light and teasing.
Zulfishan smiled and turned. He stood in her doorway, holding two cups of coffee. He looked more relaxed than she had seen him in days — clean-shaven, hair slightly tousled, dressed in a simple white shirt that made him look softer.
She raised an eyebrow. “You spying on me now?”
“Not spying,” he said, walking in and handing her a cup. “Just checking if the future creative head of my company is wasting paper.”
She laughed, sipping the coffee. “Creative head? That’s a bold title.”
“You deserve bold things now,” he said, his tone suddenly deeper.
Their eyes met for a second. It lingered — longer than usual. There was no fear between them anymore. No secrets. Just the slow, rising awareness of something more.
Before either could speak again, a knock broke the moment.
It was Mawra.
“Sorry,” she said, stepping in with her usual energy. “Zulfi, we have to go shopping. I need a dress for that upcoming charity event. And you’re helping me pick.”
Zulfishan blinked. “Me? Why?”
“Because you have a taste. And because Salman might be there.”
Aabi grinned. “So that’s the real reason.”
Mawra rolled her eyes dramatically. “Whatever. I’m going. Come if you want to watch me make a fool of myself.”
She disappeared, humming to herself.
Aabi chuckled. “She’s been acting differently since all this ended.”
“Like she’s actually… hopeful,” Zulfishan said softly.
“Maybe she’s finally seeing the real Salman.”
Zulfishan paused. “And what about you, Aabi? Now that everything’s settled… where’s your focus?”
He leaned back slightly. “Back to business. I reopened the design floor yesterday. Orders are already coming in. My mother wants me to start full-time again.”
“And marriage?” she asked teasingly, raising her brow.
He looked at her, smile fading into something more serious. “That… is on my list too.”
Zulfishan’s heart skipped.
He didn’t push. He didn’t need to. His silence said more than words.
---
At the boutique later, Mawra picked dress after dress, modeling them awkwardly while Zulfishan laughed. Salman entered halfway, clearly uncomfortable in a shop full of women’s clothing.
“You look like a lost puppy,” Mawra teased, twirling in a maroon gown.
Salman cleared his throat. “I just came to check… if you needed help.”
“Help picking shoes?” she asked, stepping closer, lips curving in a soft smile. “That’s very brave of you.”
He looked away, slightly flustered. “You look… fine.”
“Just fine?” she nudged.
“Okay. Beautiful,” he admitted, voice low.
Mawra blushed.
Zulfishan watched quietly from the side, hiding her smile. For once, the people around her were moving toward healing. Maybe love, too.
Maybe she deserved the same.
---
That evening, she returned home to find her room lit softly with fairy lights.
A small box sat on her desk — pale pink with a ribbon.
Inside was a hand-drawn card.
> “To the girl who survived everything.
From the boy who never stopped watching.”
No name.
No signature.
Just those words.
Zulfishan’s brows knitted. It wasn’t Aabi’s style. He would’ve said something bold, direct. This was different… familiar. Soft. Nostalgic.
She searched the envelope. No clue.
She held it tighter, heart suddenly confused.
Could it be…?
Her thoughts swirled.
Just then, Aabi called her from outside. “Zulfi? You free tonight?”
She slipped the card into her drawer, deciding to keep it secret — for now.
---
That night, she met Aabi at the rooftop.
The stars were clearer than usual.
He had set up a small table with tea and soft music playing from his phone. Nothing fancy. Just warm.
“I wanted to celebrate,” he said.
“What for?”
“For surviving.”
She smiled. “Then we both deserve cake.”
They laughed.
He looked at her, serious now. “Zulfi… I know things are calmer now. But I also know life doesn’t stay calm for long. So before anything new begins… I need to ask something.”
She blinked. “Ask?”
He opened his mouth — but stopped.
Then smiled.
“Not tonight. You’re too beautiful. I might forget my speech.”
Zulfishan flushed, looking away.
But her heart knew — the question was coming.
And maybe… her answer was already written.
---
- Writer
