By: Syed Majid Gilani
It was the stillness of night, that lonely hour when the world lay quietly asleep under a heavy blanket of darkness. But Yasir’s heart, heavy with grief, could not rest. His soul tossed restlessly, as if something invisible, yet crushing, pressed against his chest.
And then, without warning, he woke up. Thick, hot tears streamed down his face, soaking his pillow. His heart pounded, his breath shallow, as if it had raced miles through his sleep. He had seen a dream, no, not a dream, but a heart-breaking vision that ripped apart what little peace remained within him.
In that dream, he saw them. His three little children. His light, his happiness, his reason to breathe. They came running towards him, their little arms stretched wide, their innocent voices calling out, “Papa! Papa!”
He dropped to his knees, gathering them into his trembling arms. He pressed countless kisses on their tender faces, felt their soft little hands clutching his fingers tightly, as if never to let him go again. For a brief, beautiful moment, his broken world felt whole once more. And just as he held them close, pressing kisses onto their tear-streaked faces, he woke up.
His eyes opened abruptly. His pillow was soaked. His face drenched in thick, hot tears. His chest heaved as if it had run miles in his sleep. The embrace of that dream still lingered in his trembling arms, but his children were gone. It had been a dream. A cruel, heart-wrenching dream. The pain of their absence cut through him like a sharp, cold blade. This wasn’t mere separation. It was cruelty, calculated, deliberate, and heartless. A wall of distance, built by the one who once promised to be his life partner, Fariyah.
Sleep abandoned him. He sat up on the bed, his trembling hands reaching for the framed pictures of his little ones. Every smile, every word, every laugh echoed in his ears. The room was still, but inside him, a storm howled. And in that silent hour of grief, Yasir decided. He would go to see them, even if from afar, even if just for a fleeting moment, even if it meant standing alone in the rain, like a beggar of love.
As morning dawned, he quietly left his home. His heart knew only one path, towards his children. He reached their school as soft raindrops fell from a grey, mournful sky. He stood there, drenched and trembling. One van after another arrived. Children rushed out, laughing, umbrellas in hand. But Yasir stayed rooted. He neither blinked nor took shelter. The rain soaked him, but he refused to miss even a heartbeat of this moment.
Some teachers noticed him, approached with concern, and gently asked him to step inside. But he shook his head. His eyes, red and swollen, never left the school gate. Then, the school Director, a kind-hearted man who knew Yasir’s story, spotted him. He walked over with an umbrella and softly said, “After you meet them, come to my office for a cup of tea.” Yasir could only nod, too drowned in grief to form words.
And then… it happened. A van stopped. His heart skipped a beat. There they were. His three little ones. The very beats of his heart, his lifeblood, standing before him. But what came next shattered him into pieces.
The moment their innocent eyes met his tearful gaze, they quickly looked away. As if carefully taught to pretend he did not exist. Their tiny faces wore a forced coldness, but their eyes betrayed the act. Oh, those beautiful, innocent eyes, they spoke an ocean of love, grief, and helplessness. Yasir rushed forward, calling out their names. He gathered them into his arms, kissed their wet faces, held them tightly, but they remained still. Silent. Motionless. Yet their eyes wept.
Their gaze poured out unspoken pain. Their tender hearts, muzzled by the cruel commands of their mother, Fariyah, couldn’t utter a word. But those eyes… those eyes confessed everything. They told tales of silent suffering, of forced distance, of innocent love chained by fear. The eldest son’s eyes pleaded for understanding. The middle child, his daughter’s glance held both love and the terror of being scolded or punished for showing affection. The youngest son’s, with teary eyes, stared up at Yasir, as if seeking permission to cry — to say, “Papa, Papa,” again. But invisible chains held their tiny voices captive.
The meeting lasted barely two minutes. Two precious minutes of stolen love. And then, as if burdened by the weight of unshed tears and unspoken words, they turned and walked towards their classrooms, never once looking back. Yasir stood in the rain, frozen in time. A father stripped of every joy, yet stubbornly clinging to the hope that one day, those small hands would again reach for his, and those tender lips would again call him, “Papa, Papa.”
He wasn’t betrayed by his children. No, never. He was betrayed by the one whose hands had once held his. It was Fariyah who poisoned their innocent hearts, building a cruel wall of lies between them. The rain fell harder, as though the sky itself wept for him. Thick, warm tears rolled down Yasir’s cheeks, mixing with the raindrops. His heart sighed with every drop.
The Director returned, placed a kind hand on his soaked shoulder, and quietly led him inside. He offered a cup of tea, but Yasir could neither taste it nor feel its warmth. He sat there in silence, his eyes clouded with memories, his heart carrying the unbearable weight of absence.
That day, Yasir made an unshakable promise to himself. No matter how many lies were spread, no matter how deeply Fariyah poisoned their hearts, no matter how long the silence lasted, he would live for his children. He would continue to pray for them, to fulfill every duty, and to love them with a devotion no cruelty could break. And he would wait for the day when their hearts would find their way back to him. Until then, every beat of his heart would whisper their names, every breath would carry a prayer for them, and every tear would cradle a silent, unbroken hope.
In orchestrating such cruel games, perhaps Fariyah had forgotten the eternal law of nature, that what one sows, one shall surely reap. And above all, there is Allah, the All-Seeing, the All-Knowing, the One whose justice never sleeps and whose mercy never forsakes the innocent.
(Syed Majid Gilani is a Government Officer and a writer who pens heartfelt stories about family bonds, human emotions, personal struggles, and deep experiences drawn from real life. He can be reached at [email protected])