The hollow in his chest that reared its ugly head whenever he had taken a look at the bare walls of the room he called his, seemed to have intensified ever since the letter. The creaky loft with its gray blanket did nothing to ease Shameed's frustration. The house didn't feel like a home — it felt like an empty concrete shell that could be abandoned any moment.

And it wasn't like he hadn't asked; because he had. Not just asked, he had gone to extent of putting aside his pride to beg his father to be able to take his clothes out of the suitcase. All he wanted was to call the place his home. To be free of the worry of spinning a new web of lies once the neighbors realized they were shifting not a week after they'd moved in. To be able to talk, to make friends without the constant fear of his father looming over him.

Three loud knocks on the door of the living room pulled him out of his stupor and he just had enough time to register the look his father threw him before moving towards the door. 

Shameed let out a sigh. The look was absolutely unnecessary. He knew what he had to do once the 'guests' came over. Put Hussain to sleep and then, disappear himself. 

Tiptoeing his way towards the next room, Shameed let his thoughts wander to the girl in the letter. Did she realize how perfect her life actually seemed? Or did she curse every day of her existence, blissfully unaware of the boy on the other side of the world who felt himself go a little green on imagining a life as normal as hers?

"Oh, woh phir aagaye?" Shameed simply nodded as an answer to his question. Hussain knew the drill just as well as he did. 

"Sleep," he muttered, before walking out of the room.  He made his way down the hall and past the study he knew his father sat with the 'guest' in.

"Haan, toh Afjeed..." were the last words he could make out before he finally left the house. Curiosity was foreign to him and the thought of eavesdropping never crossed his mind. It hadn't for the last five years.

Only once he had left the house, did a wry smile cross his face. 

He knew he had lied in the letter. But then again, he also knew no one would want to befriend a person as messed up as him. And friendship was something he desperately needed in his less-than-fairytale like life.

A friendship built on lies was better than none at all.