Haroon was born in a small house in Bedauli. His childhood was filled with struggles and poverty, but his father always taught him one thing-"There is no religion greater than hard work." His father was a farmer who toiled in the fields day and night, his hands rough from labor, his body weary, yet his spirit never broke.
Haroon loved studying, but the family's financial condition was so poor that even attending school felt like an impossible dream. Buying books was out of the question when even affording a meal was difficult. One day, Haroon saw other children with new books, while he had nothing. Unable to hold back his tears, he quietly sat in a corner and wept.
His father noticed and couldn't bear to see his son in pain. The next day, he made a heartbreaking decision-he sold his old bull, the most valuable possession of the house.
With that money, he bought books for Haroon.
When Haroon saw the bundle of books in his father's hands, he couldn't stop his tears. That moment etched itself into his heart forever. His father had sacrificed the very thing that supported their family, just
so Haroon could study.
But amidst this realization, another thought crept into his mind.
"Who named my father Danish? What does his name mean?"
He had heard that his grandmother had given him that name, but why? And then, an even deeper question emerged.
"Where is my mother?"
Haroon realized something unsettling-he had never seen his mother. There were no memories of her, no stories, no photographs. His father had never spoken about her.
Is she alive? If she is, where is she? And if she wasn't... what had happened to her?
These thoughts consumed him, growing louder and louder until he could no longer ignore them. He had to ask his father. He had to know the truth.
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