The Pouch That Burned Everything
1151 Words
Chapter Three: The Pouch That Burned Everything
It was supposed to be an ordinary day. Just one more paper, just one more break in a series of meaningless hours. But it became the day that would ruin everything.
Haya was chatting with a girl from class 9 during break, just casually talking about the paper they had just completed. The girl asked for Haya’s number, and she, without thinking twice, wrote it down and handed it to her. The girl slipped it into her pouch.
Then—like he always did—Abdullah appeared out of nowhere, with that smirk that meant trouble. He started teasing her again, hovering too close, invading her space. She tried to ignore him. But in the chaos, the girl dropped her pouch.
It landed near Abdullah’s feet.
Haya didn’t mean to throw it at him. She hadn’t even realized he’d pick it up.
But he did.
He caught it.
He opened it.
He found the paper.
Her number.
And before she could stop him, he had already seen it.
She thought he would toss it. Tear it. Ignore it.
He did tear it, actually.
But what she didn’t know was… he had already memorized it.
Who could remember a number after seeing it just once?
Apparently—he could.
That night, during the New Year holidays, she was at home when her phone buzzed with a message. She checked it.
Unknown number.
> “Hey, it’s Tania. The girl you were talking to today.”
Haya frowned. Tania? That didn’t feel right.
> “Where did you get my number?”
> “From Rabia,” the reply came.
But something felt off. A few messages later, he slipped. He asked her something he could have only known if he had been the one who got the number directly.
And then the truth came out.
> “It’s me. Abdullah.”
Her stomach sank.
She didn’t like him. Not even a little.
But still, that night, she continued texting him. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was because he gave her the attention she had never received. Or maybe… deep down, she just wanted to feel seen.
He flirted with her in his usual strange way.
> “Your eyes… they’re the second most beautiful in the world.”
> “Whose are first?” she asked.
> “Our teacher’s,” he said bluntly.
Was this all a joke to him? One-sided interest? An emotional prank?
A few days later, he messaged again.
> “I like you.”
> “I don’t.”
She told him the truth.
She didn’t love him. She didn’t even like him. But he kept coming back—more persistent, more intrusive.
And then—just before school reopened—he did the unthinkable.
He shared her number.
With everyone.
Everywhere.
Boys she didn’t even know started messaging her. Some creepy. Some curious. And among them… was Shahab Khan.
The same boy she once liked.
He messaged her and told her things—everything—about her private chats with Abdullah. Somehow, Shahab had seen their entire conversation.
She snapped.
She cursed him, blocked him, wanted to destroy her phone.
But it was too late.
Winter break ended.
And with it, ended the illusion of safety.
She went back to school, pretending not to care. But she knew something was coming. Something big. Something ugly.
She had sent screenshots to Rabia—proof that Shahab was harassing her, insulting her. But Rabia, her so-called friend, never replied. Never asked. Never even showed concern.
Then came January 7th, 2018.
He found her during break and spat venom.
> “I’ll show your messages to the principal. I’ll tell her you gave me your number.”
She wasn’t someone who scared easily.
But he was someone who loved using fear.
From that day, he began entering her classroom during class time. Sitting near her. Watching her. Whispering threats.
And the worst part?
The teachers said nothing.
In fact, they started looking at her differently—like she was the one causing trouble.
Her classmates began to turn their backs. Her respect… slowly disappeared.
Then came the blackmail.
> “I recorded your voice. Maybe even made a video. Maybe I’ll send it to everyone.”
She didn’t believe him. She had never sent him anything like that. But his words clung to her mind like poison.
She went home, shaken.
And then—another message.
Ibrar.
The same boy who once made a random comment in class. The one who was Abdullah’s friend. He messaged her.
At the time, Haya had become closer to Alsa, and they sometimes talked on f*******:. Alsa had even sent her pictures.
Ibrar messaged:
> “Hey, Aryan from our class likes Alsa. Can you talk to her for him?”
At first, Alsa refused.
But later… she agreed.
She was a Hafiza of Quran. A girl everyone respected. Even Haya trusted her.
To help, Haya created a small private group chat between herself, Alsa, and Ibrar.
She left the group after a while, not thinking much of it.
The weekend passed.
School reopened.
Then came the explosion.
During the second period, the principal’s office called for her.
She froze.
Her legs trembled as she walked to the office.
Had Abdullah done something again?
No.
It was worse.
Inside the office was Alsa’s father.
And the principal.
And both of them were looking at her like she was filth.
She sat down, shaking.
> “You’re too young to be getting boys and girls together,” the principal said coldly.
They accused her of creating group chats. Of encouraging relationships. Of being the bad influence.
And Alsa?
She blamed everything on Haya.
Threw her under the bus. To protect herself, she destroyed Haya’s reputation.
They asked for her parent’s number.
She gave them her sister’s. She didn’t have her father anymore.
He had left them after what happened to her sister in 2017.
After the r**e.
And just like that, Haya understood.
Everyone always leaves.
Even blood.
She went back to class.
Alsa sat calmly at her desk. A peaceful face. No guilt. No shame.
That van ride home… was the longest ride of her life.
Her heart raced. Her body trembled.
She knew the questions that were waiting at home.
She knew what they’d assume.
That she was just like her sister.
They’d say: Like sister, like sister.
But they’d forget the pain. The trauma. The truth.
That her father had blamed her sister too.
That none of it was their fault.
That the world just didn’t care.
Her mind spiraled as the van stopped in front of her house.
All she could think of was July 7th, 2017.
The day everything changed.
The day her world started breaking.
Her breathing quickened.
Her hands shook.
And just like that—
The panic attack hit.
- Writer
