Chapter 2: The Walk That Changed Everything
This is the story of a young man born into privilege — not just wealth, but responsibility. His family owned a long-established business, and though still in his twenties, Imran Ahmed Waqas had already taken on the role of its young boss. He wasn't loud or flashy like others his age. Quiet, deeply religious, and gentle by nature, Imran led not with authority, but with kindness. He treated his employees not as subordinates, but as trusted friends.
He was the quiet light of his household — reserved, polite, and almost too soft-hearted for the cutthroat world of business.
But even a calm life can be shaken by something as small as pain.
From childhood, Imran had suffered from a nagging physical weakness — frequent stomach pains that came and went like bad dreams. In his youth, the pain became unbearable. Doctors prescribed countless treatments, but nothing worked. Finally, a close friend, also a doctor, suggested something simple yet unconventional:
"Walk," he said. "Just walk. A lot."
Imran liked the advice. It felt natural, almost spiritual. Maybe the rhythm of walking would soothe his body. Maybe the steady beat of footsteps could chase the illness away.
Without a second thought, he gave his motorcycle to his youngest brother. From then on, he would walk to the office.
But the body remembers its comforts.
That first day, after four kilometers under a blazing sun, Imran's feet throbbed with pain. By morning, they were so swollen he could hardly put on his shoes. The very thought of walking again made sweat bead on his forehead. Still, he couldn't bring himself to ask for the bike back — it would feel like failure.
So he waited.
"I'll give it a week," he thought, "then find an excuse to get the motorcycle back."
But something unexpected happened.
By the end of that week, the pain in his stomach had dulled. He felt lighter. His legs still ached, yes — but there was peace in the movement. He began to look forward to his walks, the rhythm, the stillness, the strange joy of being alone on the road.
He kept walking.
Chapter 2:
In the morning, something changed.
As I mentioned earlier, Imran was a shy man — the kind who avoided entering even a friend's home without an invitation. Yet that day, as he passed through a lonely part of town lined with half-built houses and skeletal structures, he felt a strange pull. A half-finished house stood just ahead, its frame naked, windows like hollow eyes. Without thinking, without reason, Imran stepped inside.
The moment he crossed the threshold, guilt crashed down on him like a wave.
What have I done? he thought, startled by his own actions.
Before he could turn back, he saw him — an old man, sitting silently on a charpoy. He wore a white vest, a weathered turban, and an expression carved from stone. His eyes fixed on Imran with a gaze that burned straight through him.
Imran froze.
He tried to speak — maybe to explain, to apologize — but before he could form the words, the old man spoke. His voice was calm, powerful, like a ripple through still water:
"Come closer."
There was something irresistible in his tone. Imran's feet moved on their own. He walked forward and stood awkwardly, head low.
"Sir," he said, almost in a whisper, "I... I don't know how I entered your house like this. I swear it wasn't intentional. I'm ashamed of what I've done — please forgive me."
The old man studied him in silence, then finally smiled — a slow, unsettling smile.
"Mistakes happen," he said. "And you will face the consequences of yours."
Imran blinked, confused and afraid. "I accept any punishment, sir," he said earnestly. "But I swear, it was not on purpose. Still… whatever punishment you feel is right — I'm ready."
Silence fell again, heavy and unnatural.
The house — if it could be called that — was lifeless. No voices, no movement, no furniture, no noise. It was as quiet as a grave.
Imran stood there, waiting, feeling like the world itself was holding its breath.
The old man began to mumble what Imran thought was gibberish. Working himself into a frenzy, spewing nonsense Imran could only make out one clear sentence, "Demons and Jinns test me in many ways"