---
CHAPTER 1 — The Dark Room
From the pen of Hifza Sheikh
"TORN Life"
---
"Is… is anyone there?
Please… please… someone help me…"
Her trembling voice echoed into the darkness.
Nothing answered — only the heavy silence pressing against her ears.
She stretched a hand out into the void.
Cold walls.
Empty air.
No light.
No hope.
Just a room swallowed by endless blackness.
---
— Click.
The door creaked open.
Footsteps entered… slow… steady… almost amused.
A deep voice drifted through the dark.
"Why so scared?"
He chuckled.
"Look what I brought for you… darling."
A shadow stepped forward, finally catching the faintest hint of light.
A man dressed entirely in black — sleeves rolled, collar open — his expression sharp, unreadable.
But his eyes…
His eyes held something dangerous.
She flinched instantly.
"N-no… please don't come near me… they'll see… they'll hurt you… just stay away…"
He stopped — and then laughed.
A wild, echoing laugh that bounced across the empty room.
"Oh? Someone will hurt me?"
He tilted his head, amused.
"How adorable."
---
She curled into herself, trembling.
Her soft baby-pink frock was dusty.
Her long black hair fell like a curtain around her tear-stained cheeks.
She looked fragile — scared — lost.
Too young for this kind of fear.
Too soft for this kind of world.
He studied her quietly.
"Why are you crying now?" he asked, voice low.
"I haven't even done anything."
Then suddenly —
"Speak."
She jumped at his tone.
"Y-you hit me…
and… and someone stepped on glass…
my feet hurt…
and my hands too…"
"I didn't do any of that," he replied calmly.
Her lips trembled.
"But they were… your men…"
He raised a brow.
"And?"
She inhaled shakily.
"M-my father must be waiting… please… please let me go…"
The word father changed something in him.
Like a switch flipping.
"You want to go home?"
His voice went quieter.
"Y-yes," she whispered.
"Then call him."
Her head snapped up.
"You… you'll let me talk to him?"
"Yes."
He placed a phone in her trembling hands.
"I'll be outside. Call him."
He stepped out, closing the door behind him.
She stared at the phone —
then quickly dialed, hands shaking
---
The call rang.
Her heartbeat thudded painfully.
"Papa… please pick up…"
"Hello?"
Her eyes filled instantly.
"P-Papa… it's me… Hoor…"
"Who is this?"
His voice was cold — unfamiliar.
Her breath broke.
"Papa… it's me… your daughter… please… take me home… it's dark here… I'm scared…"
"I don't know any Hoor," he snapped.
"My only daughter is Hina."
Her world froze.
Her tears fell faster, heavier.
"Papa… please… I'll do anything…
I'll never go outside again…
I'll help Hina with everything…
Just… please take me home…"
On the other side, his voice turned harsh.
Cruel.
Old bitterness rising again.
"Don't call me that! Your mother disgraced us — and you're just like her!"
Her sob caught in her throat.
That same accusation…
The same wound…
Since childhood.
Her mother — falsely accused.
Her father — cold, unforgiving.
Her life — punished for a sin she never committed.
"Papa… I'll die here…" she whispered.
"If you survive, don't come home."
And the line disconnected.
---
She stared at the phone.
Then she broke — crying helplessly into the quiet room.
Outside, watching through the CCTV screen, stood Azmeer Alam Shah.
His jaw tightened.
His eyes darkened dangerously.
Something inside him shifted
as he watched the girl break for the father who refused to claim her.
Something sharp.
Something angry.
Something unstoppable.
This was the moment everything changed.
For her.
For him.
For their shattered destinies.
---