Huma Qureshi was a typical college student with a correspondence course on statistics. Her life was simple, so was her family. Her family had her old mother, her younger sister and a brother. She lived in a small hut located in the slum area between streets which political leaders only visited during election times to beg for votes. Yet, the slum area remained the same. Nothing changed, except the faces and symbols of the ruling government, term after term.

Nothing changed.

She worked as an attender at school; Cleaning, sweeping and wiping was her everyday chore, be it in her hut or workplace. She was plain and simple, nothing much attractive about her. Physically, she was medium in height, a slim figure and unlike models, it wasn't because of any special diet but because of lack of food - neither healthy nor junk. Her eyes were dark brown matching the complexion of her skin. Her dark black hair would be tied in a bun which she covered with a veil and also wrapped on her face to avoid sunburn.

She crossed roads and ignored the whistles of the teenage smoking boys who probably knew nothing of hardship. They were mere boys lacking knowledge about the problematic issues in the world, she thought. She never glanced at them although some of them followed her till the end of the street where the slum area begun.

This was the glimpse of her routine.

But one tragic incident was all it took to damage her for life.

A bottle of beer.

One human, precisely a beast.

A bag.

Few moments.

And a bottle of fuming acid.

-

The sky darkened and the wind blew mercilessly, shaking the strongest of trees. It seemed to be a sign of a hurricane. Branches broke and streets emptied as people rushed home to stay safe.

So was she.

Huma rushed through her regular route as she secured her veil tighter around her. Her long skirt blew as she clutched her bag protectively to her chest. It contained her salary and she was happy to tell her mother of the bonus she had received for overtime.

As she walked through the street, she was relieved to find no trace of any male species. With a final glance, she took a step when something caused her to jerk backwards. She rubbed her forehead and looked up to be met with a man. She cringed at the smell of alcohol erupting from him. She moved to the side but he blocked her. She skimmed the road to find nobody.

He moved towards her with his gaze fixed on her bag while she gripped it tighter. She suddenly moved to the side only to be obstructed by him. Her heart hammered against her rib cage and her mind went blank. She wanted to shout for help but her voice was lost. There was no sign of anybody or anything that she could use.

She was stuck.

Maybe those were her last moments.

"Give me that bag!"

The man yelled and she shivered. Her hands shook and her hold on her bag tightened. Despite all the fear, she shook her head. He looked around cautiously making sure nobody caught him in the act. Taking an advantage of the situation, she turned backwards and stepped ahead but was caught by a stone on the road. Her foot slipped and she fell face first with a thud. Her face collided with the muddy road and blood oozed out of her arm.

He smirked as he neared his target. She could feel his presence above as he towered on her. She was too tired to get up, her body felt heavy as if gravity was acting at its fullest and escape was nowhere near her. Fresh tears ran down her cheeks at her own helplessness. She was terrified and wished to reach her place safely. Her bag slipped as he snatched it away but with one swift move, she held onto his leg. He tried to run but she held his leg and bit it hard in an attempt to avoid his flee.

The bag had all her money. Her bonus wasn't something free, she worked hard for it. She couldn't become feeble at that stage and watch all of it vanish with a con.

"You sick woman!"

He growled as he gripped her hair and she yelped in pain. It hurt but she still had the courage to hold on, unknown to its origin. The more he struggled, the tighter she held and the stronger became his grip. Nobody held witness to the event but God.

And that was the final stroke.

Unable to handle the pain, the man searched his pockets to find something. He wouldn't care of his actions. He panicked and needed to escape. He was drunk but his sub-conscience was alert. All he could find was a bottle in his pants and within a second, the content inside it was poured on her face.

Huma hadn't expected that. Not only her, but anybody in her shoes!

Her hands uncovered his foot as she covered her face which was burning. It pained to a limitless extent and she screamed on top of her lungs. The man escaped, but his actions couldn't. Tears made their way down her cheeks which doubled the pain, yet she remained oblivious to the stolen bag, her lost money and the attacker. All that mattered was her face which was gone.

Never to be normal again.

Minutes passed when there was finally an ambulance on that street after being reported by few men at the slums. She was admitted to a government hospital which treated people with poor facilities and free of cost.

Nearly two months passed. There was no sign of the girl. Many assumed her to be dead but she wasn't. She was alive with no soul. Her heart functioned, so did her lungs, yet no movement. Her veil which used to cover her face from sunburn, now covered her half spoilt face.

There was everyday struggle. Everyday prayers.

She prayed every night to not wake up the next morning. She wished to leave the world or go deaf to people's whisper and her mother's taunts. The initial days when people empathized were gone replacing it with new ones who backbit.

Unsurprisingly, she was found dead the next day. Her body was found to be surrounded by a pool of blood.

"Suicide by cutting the radial artery of the wrist," was stated in the medical report. Depression remained the hidden criminal.

This was tragedy.

-

Who do you think is the main villain of the story?

Huma, who was a victim to holding onto her bag? Maybe if she let it go, she would not be in that current situation of hers, right?

Or the con, who wanted to get a quick grab of money in no time? Maybe he wouldn't spill the acid on her face if she offered him money?

Or the alcohol that reacted within his body?

Or the society, which empathizes initially and then comes back to its original form of blames?

No doubt every person is not the same. There are two faces of a coin, good and bad people do exist. If there is bad, there is good too.

And if society is to be blamed, we are to be blamed. Because we are society.

So, let's better ourselves in life ahead, with God's will. Instead of going with bettering others or preaching others on how bad they're and what improvement they need (unless necessary), let's focus on self-character. Even with a single person's efforts, there can be a change.

And if there is nothing that we can do, we always have the weapon of prayer.

-

According to Google, there are 3662 people or more who have survived an acid attack.

The victim is someone's daughter, sister, friend, wife or a mother.

There are not much precautionary measures to avoid an acid attack.
Make sure you have no grudges against any person which may lead to violence of any kind. Be sure to taste your words before you spit them.

Insecurities can be created easily. If encouraging words cannot be spoken, silence is the best. And for all the insecure people out there, you're not the only one suffering.

Think of the consequences before you take an action.

*

Thank you for reading!