Warning: This story is purely fictional/ imaginary so brace yourself. Any resemblance to a real life incident is purely coincidental.

First they came for the Communists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Communist
Then they came for the Socialists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Socialist
Then they came for the trade unionists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a trade unionist
Then they came for the Jews
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Jew
Then they came for me
And there was no one left
To speak out for me

____

Abraar stormed out of the room, feeling an overwhelming mix of desire, guilt, and anger. He needed to clear his head, to find some sense of control over his emotions. The hallway of the mansion felt suffocating as he tried to distance himself from Miraal. He walked to the terrace and looked out at the moonlit night, seeking solace in the vast darkness. He closed his eyes and tried thinking of something else, something other than those dazzling brown eyes or those soft pink lips.

He tried to distract himself, by thinking about his father, the villagers and...

The memory of his mother's face flashed before his eyes. Her laughter, her warmth, the love she had for him – all of it came rushing back. He remembered the pain and emptiness he felt when she was taken away from him. It was the Mirs who were responsible for her death, and that hatred fueled his desire for revenge.

He needed to set up boundaries, and Abraar realised he couldn't hurt her. She was Saira, but he couldn't punish her for being the daughter of that man. They shared the same blood, their minds could be the same but what if she was different?

Can growing up in a good family, with values change the fact that she was the daughter of a monster?

His mind was messed up in many ways, Abraar acknowledged the fact that he sought pleasure in destroying the Mirs.

Miraal, the daughter of that monster had touched his heart in a way he never expected. He knew she was innocent, unaware of her father's actions, unaware of her actual father, but the conflict between his love for her and his need for vengeance tore at him.

He picked up his phone and dialled a number, "Pehla parcha bhejdo", he ordered.

In the room, Miraal was left feeling upset and embarrassed. She can't comprehend why he acted that way after sharing an intimate moment with her.

His rejection hurt...

The expression on his face triggered her, was the kiss that bad? She brought her fingers to her swollen lip, remembering how he had captured it twice.

She felt a mix of hurt and confusion, unsure of how to interpret his actions. Was he repulsed by her? Did he regret marrying her? These questions haunted her as she entered the bathroom to take a quick shower and collect herself.

She felt vulnerable and exposed, not knowing how to face Abraar after what happened. The water cascaded down her body, almost mirroring the tears that unconsciously streamed down her cheeks. She tried to wash away her feelings of hurt and embarrassment, hoping that the water will cleanse her soul as well.

Of unholy thoughts.

She loved the way his arms wrapped around her body, the way he captured her lips.

After changing into a long shirt and pants, her damp hair fell below her shoulders, reminding her of the intimacy they shared earlier. She tried to push those thoughts away, not wanting to confront the raw emotions swirling within her. Miraal opened the empty closet and found only a few of his clothes inside, she looked for a luggage so she could set his clothes as well but found none. She shrugged maybe they weren't going to share a room.

It felt as if all her dreams and expectations shattered in a moment he walked out. She didn't wanted to go full way, but maybe cuddle and talk like they usually did. But now she realised how little she knew about the Khan, had she forced her feelings on him?

She had witnessed the guilt in his eyes, was it because he hadn't fulfilled his father's last wish?

Did he even like her?

Miraal's mind was in chaos as she placed the wet towel on the chair, her hair was slightly wet. She glanced at the door, should she dry it or fall asleep before he returns?

As she was contemplating Abraar entered the room, she glanced at him, her eyes slightly red due to the long shower she just took and the crying.

"Baal nahi sukhaogi?" He asked as he sat down on the love seat in the room. She wanted to snap at him, to confront him but held her tongue. Instead she shrugged and responded in an uninterested and curt way, "Nahi"

She rolled her hair into a quick braid, letting it dry on its own as she walked towards the bed.

"Bimaar hojaogi", Abraar warned as he saw her rolling it casually, "mai sukhao?" he asked standing up and walking towards the chair to pick up the towel.

Miraal couldn't help but taunt, "Beech m bhaag toh nahi jaogey?"

He laughed and stepped closer to her and whispered in her ear in an intense tone. "Do you wanna pick off from where we left off?"

Miraal noticed the teasing look in his eyes and shook her head, "Nahi", she said glaring at him for being so non chalant about her feelings.

He grabbed her hand and made her sit before she could protest. He placed the towel on her head and gently massaged it on her head. Sectioning it as he rubbed it gently, his eyes were focused on her soft hair.

He could smell her shampoo, maybe his finger would smell the same at the end. He rolled the towel around her head, " Sukhne do", he said and went to what would be his side of bed.

In the middle of night Abraar's eyes opened , he found himself at the edge of bed. Miraal had taken the entire bed and he was about to fall. His eyes went to the loveseat and then to her, the seat was uncomfortable. So he wrapped his arms around her and moved to the centre of bed, Miraal snuggled closer in his chest, her head right about his heart. It was beating loudly, her arms caged him again and he gave in. Closing his eyes so sleep conquered him.

As she laid her head over his heart, she heard its loud thumping, she felt safe in his arms, and gradually, her grip around him tightens, her walls crumbling.

Finally feeling reassured, she gives in to her emotions, closing her eyes and allowing sleep to embrace her.

The next morning Abraar found her arms around him her hair was on his face, he lifted his hand that were wrapped around her and gently moved her hair away from his face. He stayed in the position staring at the ceiling, mocking himself.

These were the boundaries he established. It was almost laughable, she was in his arms snuggling as if they had been like this for decades.

He couldn't deny the fact that he liked this feeling, she was snoring softly, her eyelashes trembled as he touched her cheek. He called her name twice but she didn't wake up, he rolled over with her in his arm and pulled away. Tucking her in he left for work.

____

Another whisper spread in the village, conspiracies and truths. The MIE's real motive was to annihilate the minority, they were spreading hate in the the hearts of the people all across the country.

Muharram had begun and the violence in the country reached its peak. The peaceful village heard the whispers loud and clear. In the incident that took place years ago, only one tribe perished.

The Shias.

The villagers who tried to support them, were injured, one third population was Shia but because of Mir Mehmoud the number reduced and only a few remained.

"Maulvi Sadiq aaye they, ... They are asking for a separate mosque", Sultana whispered to another woman, Rano.

" We had prayed together for so many years, why built a mosque for four people?"

Bitterness was evident in her tone, as she glared at the wall. The trauma still remained, the fire had engulfed the entire village and in the end the Shias were blamed. These politicians, would use the minority, the innocents to achieve their sick propaganda. They needed the MEI's help to stake claim over the lands, in return they killed many but attacked mainly the minority.

"In Mir'on ke wajeh se aaj masjid alag ho rahi... Na jaaney aagey kya kya hoga", Sultana wondered she glanced at Rano and asked, "Tum toh kaafi saal waha kaam ki thi na... Bohot acchese jaanti hogi na usse?"

"Mir Mehmoud?" She chuckled her eyes distant as a memory resurfaced, "Jallat tha... Saira ka khayal rakhna meri zimmedaari thi. Ek baar uska dudh garam honey m der hogayi thi mujhse", she revealed the old burn mark near her elbow.

"Zalim... He burnt in the fire he started. I am glad that Saira is alive though..."

___

Amidst the sun-kissed hues of the evening, Miraal gazed at the broken watch on the table with a heavy heart. She had never meant for it to shatter into pieces, but her clumsiness got the better of her. Guilt washed over her like a tidal wave, and she knew she had to fix it before Abraar returned.

As she made her way to the watchmen, her steps were tinged with unease. However, they refused to let her leave the premises until Abraar granted his permission. Anger ignited within her like a raging inferno.

With her heart pounding, she discovered a small wall nearby, and a daring idea crossed her mind.

Tying her dupatta securely around herself, Miraal climbed the wall with agile grace. Her legs dangled as she peered to the other side, only to be startled by the sound of someone clearing their throat.

"Kaha jaarhi ho?" he asked, his voice both stern and curious. Abraar was leaning on the tea, as he watched her stutter in amusement.

"Bahir," she replied, trying to keep her composure. She maintained the angry look on her face as she replied, her eyes glaring at him.

Abraar had done this for her protection, "Miraal, mujhe ek call mila deti, woh gate khol dete".

"Aapki ijazzat ke bina main bahar bhi nahi jaa sakti ab?" she retorted, her frustration seeping into her words.

"NAHI," Abraar firmly stated.

"Aapne ijazzat puchi thi kya mujhse?" she questioned, her voice tinged with hurt.

"Kab?" he wondered.

"Aaj subha nikalne waqt," she reminded him, when she had woken up he was gone.

"Uthane ki koshish ki thi maine..." he tried to explain.

"I don't like this side of yours," she confessed, her eyes shimmering with vulnerability.

"You have to deal with it," he declared with a mix of concern and determination.

"No, you can't dictate where I go. Mai bacchi nahi hu," she retorted, refusing to back down.

"Theek hai, deewar se utro khud. Bina meri madad k," Abraar challenged, his lips curving up in a taunting smirk.

"Mai khud chad hi thi, khud utar jaongi," she responded, not one to back away from a challenge.

As she attempted to climb down, fear gripped her heart. But she didn't want to show weakness. "Waise, main idhar hi theek hu. Balki aapne mujhe interrupt kar diya tha, deewar ke uss par chalang lagana tha na," she said, trying to shift the focus away from her trembling legs.

"Miraal... stop this childishness. Tumhe chot lag jayegi," he warned, concern lacing his words.

"Toh lagne de, aur accha rehega. Logo ko pata toh chalega aap ki asliyat," she insisted, unyielding.

"Yaar, galti ho gayi. Agli baar gaadi tayyar rakhunga tumhare liye," he finally surrendered, realizing the depth of her determination.

"Waada?" she asked, her eyes searching for sincerity.

"Haan, tum neechey aajao," he relented.

"Theek hai, aari. Magar main girri toh aapki galti hogi"

With a slight misstep, Miraal lost her balance, falling into Abraar's arms. He held her close, his touch sending a thrill through her veins. Their eyes locked, and without a word, he gently placed her back on the ground, their unspoken emotions lingering in the air like a sweet fragrance of blossoming love. Miraal's frustration remained as she hid the broken watch from Abraar.

_____

Most of religious riots, caste riots take place during elections.

The ideologies you support might be represented by the leaders or a particular politician, and these politician try to spread hate by using our differences to strengthen their campaign. After the election period depending on the politician the hate continues. It's sad if we think about it, ministers or mayors are supposed to represent us, but they are the ones who divide us. This deep rooted hate, or beliefs had taken lives of many innocents.