The Sound Of Broken Leg/ The End part

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A car stopped in front of a park gate. Sahel said: “Here we are! A glorious place awaits the most beautiful lady in town, the lady whose eyes sparkle, whose hair’s scent, and whose sweet smile melts the hardest of hearts.”

I smiled and said, “Don’t you think that’s a bit exaggerated?” We both laughed, and I went inside. That day, away from the worries of life, was wonderful. I managed to smile after a long time, and the reason for that smile was Sahel. I was madly in love with her, and now that I knew she loved me too, my love had doubled. Deep inside, I felt at peace. The next day, Sabour left again. I was very upset that he was away from me again. I went to my room and texted Sahel. We chatted for a few minutes, and in the end, she asked me to accompany her somewhere the next day. No matter how much I insisted, she wouldn’t say where. Eventually, I agreed, and we said goodbye. Afterwards, I went to help my mother and Bahar with house chores. Taher was working so hard to cover all the expenses. Nothing was the same as before; we were all tired and exhausted from the never-ending problems. The next day, after university, Sahel called and said, “Wait for me, I’ll be there in five minutes.” I went to a corner, sat down, and waited for her. When she arrived, I asked, “Sahel, please tell me where we’re going.” She said, “Humaira, don’t you trust me?” I said, “I do, but please tell me where we’re going.” She laughed and said, “Just give me two minutes.” I didn’t like that she always wanted to keep me guessing, but overall, she was no less in love with me than I was with her. We went to a jewelry store. I was stunned. She wanted to buy me an engagement ring. I wanted to throw myself into her arms and scream how much I loved her. That day, she bought me a ring, placed it on my finger, and said: “From now on, you’re mine. No matter where I go, or for how long, you must wait for me. Never take this ring off.” Her words made me a little worried, and I asked, “Are you planning on going somewhere?” She said, “No, not necessarily. But just in case, you have to wait for me.” I said, “Alright, Mr. Future Planner.” I was in my room studying when my mother came and asked who had given me the ring. I looked at her with surprise. She nodded and said, “I saw it when you were washing dishes in the kitchen.” I looked down at the ring on my finger, played with it for a moment, and thought: If Sahel and I are going to be together, it’s better that my mother knows. I said, “Her name is Sahel. She’s studying at the university too, and we’re in the same class. We love each other, so she got me the ring.” She said, “I want to meet her.” I said, “No problem. I’ll talk to her and see what she says.” I called Sahel to tell her what my mother had said, but she didn’t answer. I waited a few minutes and called again, but her phone was off. I got curious because she never ignored my calls. Why hadn’t she answered, and why was her phone off? That night, I stayed up late, calling her over and over, hoping she’d turn her phone on. But she didn’t. I was so worried. I thought something must have happened to her, otherwise, why would she turn her phone off and ignore me like that? She would never leave me hanging like this. I kept calling, but her phone remained off. I started to lose patience and get tired of her sudden disappearance. I threw myself on my bed, thinking about the good days we’d had, but deep down, I felt turmoil. I got up, opened my window, leaned out, and closed my eyes, taking a few deep breaths. Tears streamed down my face. I didn’t know what to do. How could she leave me so heartlessly? I just prayed nothing had happened to her. That night, I stayed up until morning and sent her a message: “Hi, my love. You know how much I love you and how life has no meaning without you. Please always stay by my side and give me a reason to love life. Ever since you turned your phone off, it’s been hard to breathe. I can’t find a moment’s peace. Please don’t torture me any longer. I just hope nothing bad has happened to you, and that tomorrow, the first person I see at university is you. I love you more than all the stars.” I put down my phone, did my ablutions, and went to pray. After my prayer, I rested my head on the prayer mat, and my tears finally burst out. “Humaira! Sweetheart, wake up, you’ll be late for university.” I woke up startled and asked, “What time is it, Mother?” She said, “It’s seven. Get up or you’ll be late.” Still exhausted, I got up, got ready, and left for university without breakfast. When I got there, I searched the whole place, but I couldn’t find Sahel. It felt like the world was collapsing around me. Where had she gone? Two days passed, and still no news of Sahel. I decided to ask her friends, hoping they’d know something. The next day at university, I rushed to talk to them, but they all said they didn’t know. I was at my wit’s end. I thought, “Did she vanish into thin air? Is it even possible for a person to disappear just like that?” Exhausted and weak, I went home, straight to my room, and locked the door. A few minutes later, there was a knock. My mother said, “Humaira, why is the door locked? Open up, I need to talk to you.” When I opened the door, she looked at me and said, “What happened? Why do you look so pale and weak? Are you sick?” She felt my forehead and said, “You don’t have a fever. What’s wrong?” Swallowing my tears, I said, “Nothing, it’s just the stress from studying.” She said, “Don’t lie. You’re not the kind of girl who’d fall apart over studies.” I couldn’t hold back any longer. When I looked into her eyes, my tears burst out. I said, “Mom, Sahel has been missing since the day I told you about her. I haven’t heard anything from her. I don’t know where she is or what she’s doing.” She frowned and said, “How can someone just disappear like that? She’s probably just busy with something.” I said, “No, Mom. No matter how busy she was, she’d never go two days without talking to me.”

Deep down, I felt something was wrong. I couldn’t find peace. Where had she gone?

This morning, as soon as I woke up—and even now, while I’m busy in my office—I feel something different; my heart is racing. It’s just like the day Sahil left me; since then—four years and two months ago—I’ve been enduring an unfamiliar pain in my heart. Today, that same pain, that same burning in my chest, flared up again, tormenting me. I closed the book I was holding, set my pen on the desk, and quietly rose. I walked to the window and gazed at the city and its people. Everyone seemed busy with tasks—why? I thought to myself: perhaps all the people in this city, like me, are trying to occupy themselves to ease their heartache. I gave myself a small, bitter smile and said inwardly, “Hamira, you’ve spent four years trying to free yourself from this whirlpool called love—but I guess it’s futile.” After he abandoned me and left, I’ve stayed true to my word, waiting for him. But I also know I’ll never have the chance to see him again. The path he chose will never end in me. I remembered our last conversation a year ago; he said, “Hamira, it’s true I loved you, but I could only go so far on our path together. Our ways have diverged now, and from here on I must walk alone.” He had gone to Pakistan to study, “to train,” as he said; after that day, he never contacted me again—he turned his back on everything and left. I wondered where Sahil might be now… whether he’s even alive, when a colleague knocked and entered, saying, “Ms. Mobin, may I come in?” I replied, “Yes, of course.” We discussed some work issues, and then Saboor called asking if we could go out to dinner. Saboor and Taher had established a new hospital, and I, working at a company, lacked nothing in life. After overcoming many hardships, we had finally reached success. Once work was done, I went to the hospital to meet Taher and Saboor. My mother and Bahar were joining with Parvaneh; Saboor had planned the evening ahead of time. That night, we had a wonderful time together—sharing stories late into the evening. The next morning, I planned to go to the office when Bahar said, “Hamira dear, could you pick up Parvaneh from the daycare on your way back from work? I have some errands; it might run late.” “Certainly, I’ll bring her,” I promised. That day I finished early, went out, and started toward the kindergarten. On the way, I bought a red, frilly-dressed doll for Parvaneh—ever since childhood, I’d loved those dolls. I picked Parvaneh up and we set off home. Near her girls' school, as the students were dispersing, we decided to get ice cream together. I kissed her cheek and said, “Sweetheart, stay here with your doll while I get our ice cream.” After buying it, I turned away—and suddenly my heart stopped. It was as if time froze; the bustle around vanished. I stood there stunned and murmured under my breath, “Sahil!” He looked very different—he’d gained weight; or maybe the clothes just made him appear so. His hair was notably long, and his skin was pale, as though he were unwell. I stared, overwhelmed, and with trembling legs moved toward Parvaneh, took her hand, and stepped toward him. My heart raced, my limbs shook—I kept telling myself, “Why is he here anymore? After so many years, to see him here in this crowd…” I came closer, prepared to call his name—but he turned around. Instantly, our eyes met. My whole body went weak; my heart collapsed under his gaze. We stared at each other—everyone and everything around us blurred out. We were locked in each other’s spell. Then, a voice pierced my ear: “It was that tall boy with long hair who caused all this bloodshed… somebody help—this woman with the child near him, she’s not well.” I clenched my eyelids shut. When I opened them again, Sahil had disappeared. The place was covered in blood—an excruciating pain engulfed me; my entire body felt like it was burning. I heard the city’s chaotic cries: “Oh God, my daughter!... They should’ve killed me instead of seeing you like this… Look at that poor woman; she’s in bad shape... Somebody do something or she'll die…” Then all the voices faded, everything went dark.

I could only hear the sound of *broken footsteps* running toward me—from a distance.

Perhaps it was my mother.