Chapter 11 - Welcome to Karachi
1608 Words
Welcome to Karachi
The visa approval changed everything.
For months, Karachi had existed only inside photographs, voice notes, video calls, and dreams.
Now it existed inside a confirmed flight ticket.
Burhan looked at that ticket countless times.
Sometimes during lunch.
Sometimes before sleeping.
Sometimes while pretending to work.
Each time the feeling remained the same.
Disbelief.
After years of conversations, prayers, waiting, and uncertainty, he was finally going to meet Zehra.
Not on a screen.
Not through a phone call.
Not through a photograph.
In real life.
The thought alone was enough to make him smile.
Without wasting any time, Burhan immediately applied for leave.
His manager called him into the office.
"You are taking leave for Pakistan?"
"Yes, sir."
The manager looked surprised.
"Pakistan?"
"Yes."
A short silence followed.
Then curiosity won.
"Why Karachi?"
Burhan smiled.
For a moment he considered giving a simple answer.
Instead, he decided to tell the truth.
"There is a girl."
His manager looked up immediately.
"A girl?"
Burhan nodded.
"I love her."
The manager leaned back in his chair.
For several seconds he simply stared at Burhan.
Then laughed.
"So that is the secret."
Burhan laughed too.
"I am going to meet her and her family."
The manager shook his head.
"Be careful."
"I will."
And for the first time, Burhan said it openly.
Not hiding.
Not pretending.
Not avoiding questions.
There was a strange freedom in that.
Back at Lasalas Club, the news created even greater shock.
One evening after dinner, Burhan finally gathered everyone together.
Fakhri Bhai.
Abdul Husain Bhai.
Aziz.
And the rest of the club.
"I need to tell you something."
Everyone looked at him.
"I am going to Pakistan next month."
The room became silent.
Then Abdul Husain Bhai asked,
"Why?"
Burhan smiled.
"I love someone."
For several seconds nobody spoke.
Then came the questions.
A lot of questions.
Finally Fakhri Bhai sighed.
"Love is beautiful, Burhan."
"But reality is difficult."
Abdul Husain Bhai nodded.
"Life is not a movie."
"Marriage is responsibility."
"Different countries make things harder."
Burhan listened respectfully.
Because he knew they were speaking from experience.
Not negativity.
Experience.
When they finished, he smiled softly.
"I know."
"Maybe everything will become difficult."
"Maybe it won't."
"But I have already made my commitment."
The room remained quiet.
Burhan continued.
"And whenever I make a commitment..."
A smile appeared on his face.
"I fulfill it."
No matter what happens.
For the first time, nobody argued.
Because everyone knew he meant it.
The days before departure became some of the happiest days of Burhan's life.
For the first time ever, he was shopping for someone he loved.
A strange and beautiful feeling.
He visited a jewellery shop and spent nearly an hour looking at rings.
The salesman probably thought he was buying a diamond palace.
Burhan inspected every design.
Every detail.
Every tiny stone.
Eventually he chose a simple gold ring.
Elegant.
Beautiful.
Just like Zehra.
Then came chocolates.
A handbag.
Perfumes.
Small gifts.
Thoughtful gifts.
Things that made him think of her.
Every purchase made the trip feel more real.
At night he would place everything neatly on his bed and stare at it.
Then smile.
Like a child waiting for Eid.
Meanwhile, Zehra was counting days too.
Neither admitted how excited they truly were.
But both knew.
The day finally arrived.
Burhan reached the airport carrying one suitcase and a heart full of nervous excitement.
The flight felt unusually long.
Sometimes he watched movies.
Sometimes he stared outside.
Sometimes he imagined the arrival.
Would he recognize her immediately?
Would she look exactly like her photographs?
Would they know what to say?
Or would both become silent?
As the airplane began its descent, Burhan pressed his forehead gently against the window.
Below him stretched thousands of lights.
Endless lights.
Karachi.
For the first time in his life, he was entering Pakistan.
A country he had heard about his entire life.
A country connected to so many stories.
So many opinions.
So many assumptions.
His heart began beating faster.
Not from fear.
From realization.
After all these years...
he was finally here.
As the aircraft touched the runway, Burhan closed his eyes briefly.
Memories flooded his mind.
The first message.
The first conversation.
The engagement.
The heartbreak.
The prayers.
The late-night calls.
His mother's fears.
His father's faith.
Zehra's patience.
The visa application.
The waiting.
The approval.
Every chapter of the journey had somehow led to this runway.
In a few minutes, the girl who had lived inside his phone for years would be standing in front of him.
The thought felt almost impossible.
Meanwhile, inside Karachi Airport, Zehra was already waiting.
Beside her stood Burhani Ismail and her uncle.
Every few minutes she checked the arrival screen.
Then the gate.
Then the screen again.
Then the gate.
Husaina had teased her before leaving home.
"He is not going to disappear."
Zehra had laughed.
Yet here she was checking every thirty seconds.
Her white rida was perfectly arranged.
Still, she adjusted it again.
And again.
Her father noticed.
Trying not to smile.
"Nervous?"
"A little."
"Only a little?"
This time everyone laughed.
But as minutes turned into more minutes, a new concern appeared.
Passengers were coming out.
Families were reuniting.
The crowd was thinning.
Yet there was still no sign of Burhan.
Burhani Ismail glanced toward the exit.
"Immigration."
His uncle nodded.
"Indian passport."
"Sometimes it takes longer."
Zehra said nothing.
But inside, her heart had begun making silent prayers.
Just bring him out safely.
That is all.
Inside the airport, Burhan was indeed delayed.
As an Indian visiting Pakistan for the first time, additional procedures were required.
Questions.
Verification.
Documentation.
Formalities.
Nothing unusual.
Yet everything felt slow.
Painfully slow.
Every minute felt longer than it actually was.
Eventually the final stamp arrived.
The officer returned his passport.
"Welcome."
Burhan thanked him politely.
Then picked up his luggage.
And walked toward the exit.
A few moments later, the glass doors opened.
Burhan stepped outside.
At first he saw only a crowd.
Faces.
Families.
Drivers.
Travellers.
Then suddenly he saw her.
A white rida.
Standing beside her father and uncle.
Zehra.
For a moment everything disappeared.
The crowd.
The noise.
The airport announcements.
The luggage trolleys.
All of it.
There she was.
Real.
Not a photograph.
Not a video call.
Not a voice note.
Real.
At the same moment Zehra saw him too.
A smile immediately appeared on her face.
She lifted her hand slightly and waved.
Burhan smiled back.
And in that instant, years of distance seemed to disappear.
Neither moved quickly.
Neither rushed.
Neither spoke.
They simply looked at each other.
Both trying to understand one simple fact.
This is real.
For years they had spoken every day.
Yet standing face to face, words suddenly felt unnecessary.
And somehow those few seconds felt longer than time itself.
Then reality gently returned.
Burhani Ismail stepped forward warmly.
"Assalamu Alaikum."
"Wa Alaikum Assalam."
A handshake followed.
Then another greeting from Zehra's uncle.
"How was the flight?"
"Good."
"Everything okay?"
"Yes."
The conversation continued normally.
Simple.
Polite.
Respectful.
Yet throughout it all, Burhan and Zehra kept stealing small glances at each other.
Both smiling.
Both shy.
Both completely aware of the moment.
Finally Burhan looked toward her.
Every prepared sentence vanished instantly.
Years of planning.
Gone.
All he managed was:
"Assalamu Alaikum."
Zehra smiled.
The same smile he knew so well.
Only warmer.
More beautiful.
More real.
"Wa Alaikum Assalam."
And somehow, after all the years, that was enough.
During the drive through Karachi, Burhan looked outside the window.
The streets were still alive despite the late hour.
Tea stalls remained open.
Families sat outside small restaurants.
The smell of food drifted through the air whenever the car stopped at a signal.
Somewhere in the distance, Burhan heard an azaan echo through the night.
The city felt strangely familiar.
Not because he had visited before.
Because it reminded him of home.
The language sounded familiar.
The food smelled familiar.
The people felt familiar.
Everywhere he looked, he saw ordinary families living ordinary lives.
People laughing.
Working.
Shopping.
Praying.
Helping one another.
And suddenly a thought entered his mind.
Everything he had heard throughout his life about Pakistan felt smaller than what he was seeing with his own eyes.
The people smiled the same way.
Spoke the same way.
Prayed the same way.
Loved their families the same way.
Worried about their children the same way.
If ordinary people were so similar...
why did the distance between them feel so large?
Why did borders feel heavier than hearts?
He never found an answer.
Perhaps some questions belong to history.
Or politics.
Or decisions made long before people like Burhan and Zehra were born.
But sitting inside that car, watching Karachi pass by outside the window, he knew one thing.
The people felt far more connected than divided.
That night, Burhan lay awake inside a city he had never visited before.
Yet somehow Karachi did not feel unfamiliar.
Because Zehra was there.
For years they had lived inside messages.
Inside photographs.
Inside prayers.
Inside hope.
Now they existed inside the same city.
The same sky.
The same tomorrow.
Thousands of kilometres had separated them.
Borders had separated them.
Time had separated them.
But destiny had quietly continued its work.
And at last, after all the waiting, it had brought them to the same place.
Not as strangers.
Not as friends.
“But as two souls who had spent years walking toward each other without ever taking a single step together.”
Until now.
- Writer
