Scene 1: The Interrogation Room, F-7 Police Station, Islamabad
The morning light barely filtered through the iron bars of the small interrogation chamber. A single ceiling fan groaned above, stirring the thick air heavy with sweat and tension. Two men sat across the metal table — Juginder Singh and Yashwant Teja — both handcuffed, their faces pale and tired.
Opposite them sat Inspector Haseeb, his notebook open, a pen poised like a blade ready to cut through lies. Another officer operated the laptop connected to the financial crimes database. The air reeked faintly of disinfectant and fear.
"Alright," Haseeb said calmly, flipping through his notes. "Let's start again. Account numbers, passwords — everything. Speak clearly."
Juginder swallowed hard. "We already told you, sahib… we don't know where the money went."
Haseeb leaned forward. "And I already told you — lies won't save you. We have one of you dead, one in hospital, and you both facing twenty years minimum. So make your last chance count."
Yashwant, weak and pale from his gunshot wound, lifted his head slowly. "Fine… I'll tell you," he rasped. "We used three accounts — two in Karachi, one in Lahore. From there, money moved to Dubai, then… Delhi."
The officer at the laptop immediately began typing, tracing the route.
"What are the numbers?" Haseeb demanded.
Juginder exhaled sharply, defeated. "Write down — 1015-921-7783, 1015-921-7794, and the Lahore one — 1009-338-5572. Passwords are… 'VShankar@01', 'JSingh007', and 'Teja888'."
Haseeb motioned for verification. Within minutes, the officer's face darkened.
"Sir," he said, turning the screen. "They're telling the truth. All accounts are empty. Transactions show full balance transfers to Indian bank accounts — dated three days ago. The total amount was ₹5.6 million."
Haseeb slammed his fist on the table, making both prisoners flinch. "So you handed our country's money to your masters before getting caught. Cowards!"
Juginder stared at the floor. "We had no choice," he whispered. "Orders came from across. Vijay handled the contact."
"Vijay's dead," Haseeb snapped. "And you two will rot here unless you name the insider who gave you the bank's route map."
Both men stayed silent.
Haseeb's glare sharpened. "You'll talk. Maybe not today, but you will. And when you do, remember — your silence protects no one."
He stood, signaling the guards. "Take them back to the lockup. No visitors, no calls."
As the prisoners were escorted out, Haseeb stared at the cold steel table. The pattern was clearer now — but the source inside Pakistan remained a ghost.
He muttered under his breath, "Haroon was right. There's still a snake among us."
---
Scene 2: Hospital Ward — Morning Light
The sun rose gently over the City General Hospital, painting the white walls of Haroon's room in gold. The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor created a strange comfort for everyone who had spent nights fearing silence.
Maryam sat beside Haroon's bed, still in the same clothes from yesterday, her eyes heavy with sleepless nights. Rimsha stood by the window, scrolling through her phone — partly to distract herself, partly to give privacy to the couple. Imran was in the corridor, checking some calls related to the superstore.
Haroon, his voice weak but calm, looked at Maryam lovingly.
"You haven't gone home in three days," he said. "You're going to fall sick before I recover."
Maryam smiled faintly. "I'm fine, Haroon. How can I rest when you're still in recovery?"
Rimsha hesitated, then turned toward them. "Bhabhi…" she began softly, "please don't mind me, but… I think Haroon bhai is right. You really need some rest. Even the doctor said you should relax a bit."
Maryam looked at her sister — tired but smiling. "You think I can rest while your brother-in-law lies here like this?"
Haroon interrupted gently, "Maryam, listen to her. I'll be okay. Rimsha's here, and Imran too. You've been my nurse, doctor, and lawyer for three days. I need you to be my wife again — with some sleep."
Maryam's eyes softened. "But…"
"No arguments," Haroon insisted. "Just a few hours. Go home, pray, rest, and come back after lunch. That's an order, Mrs. DSP."
Rimsha smiled. "See? Even when injured, he still gives orders."
Maryam laughed despite herself. "You two are impossible."
But after a few seconds of quiet reflection, she nodded. "Alright. Just for a few hours."
"Good," Haroon said with a content sigh. "Now I can sleep knowing my stubborn wife finally listened."
---
Scene 3: The Ride Home
Outside the hospital, Imran's car waited under the mild sun. Maryam stepped into the passenger seat, adjusting her dupatta. The city's noise — horns, traffic, life — felt strangely distant after days in the quiet hospital corridors.
Imran started the engine. "You've been there nonstop, bhabhi. Rimsha was worried about you."
Maryam looked out the window. "I know. She's caring. Always was."
There was a pause, then she spoke again. "You both are managing everything so well. Haroon always trusted you, Imran."
Imran smiled faintly. "He's like a brother. Whatever happens, we're family first."
The car rolled through Islamabad's clean roads. Maryam watched the trees rush by, her mind still half in the hospital room — Haroon's pale face, his smile, his bravery.
After a few minutes, Imran said softly, "He'll recover soon, InshaAllah. I've seen men stronger than him fall, but he's got something they didn't — faith."
Maryam nodded slowly, whispering, "And prayers… from two little soldiers."
They both smiled at the thought of Ubaid and Irfan, probably drawing get-well cards back home.
---
Scene 4: Hospital — Afternoon Watch
Back in the hospital, Rimsha adjusted Haroon's pillow and checked the side table for his medicines. She was surprisingly good at taking care of him, blending efficiency with gentleness.
Haroon watched her, amused. "You've turned into a nurse in just three days."
Rimsha smiled. "I learned from the best — your wife."
Haroon chuckled, wincing slightly from the stitches. "True. She'll be back soon, probably with a dozen dishes and a lecture about resting properly."
They both laughed lightly.
At that moment, little Irfan entered the room holding a small box of biscuits, with Ubaid trailing behind him. "Mama said we should give this to papa before lunch!"
Haroon smiled widely. "My heroes!"
Ubaid grinned. "Papa, we prayed again last night. I asked Allah to make you strong like before."
Haroon ruffled his hair. "Then how can I stay weak after that?"
The boys sat at his bedside, chatting about school — the Independence Day celebration, the prizes they won, and how the principal praised them. Rimsha quietly stepped aside, watching them, her heart warm with affection for this little family who had faced so much yet smiled so easily.
A nurse entered and said politely, "Madam, it's almost medicine time. Please give him the tablets after lunch."
Rimsha nodded, taking the tray. "I'll handle it."
Haroon watched her thoughtfully. "You've been more like a sister to Maryam than anyone. She trusts you completely."
Rimsha looked down, slightly emotional. "She's been my guardian since… since I lost my parents. I owe her everything."
Haroon smiled gently. "You've repaid it a hundred times, Rimsha. You've given her peace when she needed it most."
Her eyes softened. "That's what family does."
---
Scene 5: The Homecoming
At home, Maryam entered the quiet living room. The clock ticked softly, echoing through the stillness. Ubaid's drawings of flags and stars hung on the refrigerator. For the first time in days, she could breathe in her own house again.
She removed her dupatta, set her purse aside, and walked toward Haroon's photo on the wall — the one taken on their anniversary.
"Alhamdulillah," she whispered. "You're safe."
After performing Zuhr prayer, she lay on the bed, exhaustion finally catching up to her. The faint hum of the ceiling fan lulled her into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Hours later, the doorbell rang — it was Imran, bringing groceries and some food from the nearby restaurant. He quietly left it on the table, not wanting to wake her.
---
Scene 6: Evening Reunion
By late afternoon, Maryam returned to the hospital. The boys rushed toward her as soon as she entered.
"Mama! Papa ate lunch!" Irfan announced proudly.
Maryam smiled, hugging both. "That's wonderful."
Haroon greeted her with mock seriousness. "The patient survived the nurse's absence, but only just."
She laughed softly. "I told you I'd be back."
Rimsha handed her the medicine tray. "He followed doctor's orders, mostly."
"Mostly?" Maryam arched a brow.
Rimsha grinned. "He was trying to sneak some tea before time."
Haroon chuckled. "You all treat me like a child now."
Maryam leaned close, touching his hand gently. "Because you're precious. And because Allah gave you back to us."
Haroon's eyes filled with quiet gratitude. "Then I'll make sure I deserve it."
As evening settled, the family sat together in the room — Rimsha pouring tea, Imran talking to Haroon about updates from the police station, the children playing quietly on the floor.
Outside, the call for Maghrib echoed across Islamabad, soft and serene. Inside, peace filled the air — the kind that only comes after storms.
Haroon looked around — at his wife, his children, his family — and whispered, "Alhamdulillah… for another sunrise with them."
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End of Chapter