The rain poured down relentlessly on the streets of INDIA. Amidst the chaos, a pregnant woman screamed in pain. Ibrahim, a taxi driver, stopped his cab and rushed her to the hospital. He stayed by her side till delivery.
A baby girl was born. But the woman vanished, leaving the baby behind.
"The mother left," the doctor said. "What about the baby?"
"We'll send her to an orphanage," she replied.
Ibrahim's eyes softened. "Give her to me. I'll take care of her."
The doctor nodded. Ibrahim named her Naaz.
Naaz became his world. He raised her with love, enrolled her in playschool. She made friends – Asad was one of them. Best friends.
Naaz grew up in a cozy little flat above Ibrahim's taxi garage in London. She'd wake up to the smell of chai and parathas. Ibrahim would teach her Urdu, cook her favorite curry, and they'd watch cartoon movies together.
Playtime was cricket in Hyde Park with Asad. They'd laugh, chase pigeons, and dream big.
Ibrahim always said, "You can do anything, Naaz."
One rainy day, Naaz asked, "Papa, where's mummy?"
Ibrahim hugged her tight. "Let me tell you a story."
Naaz, once upon a time, there was a little star. She lost her way in the night. But the moon found her and said, 'I'll guide you.' The star asked, 'What if you vanish?' The moon smiled, 'I'll be there, even in darkness.'"
Ibrahim would smile at Naaz. "That's why I'm always here, my love. Like the moon."
Naaz would ask, "Papa, what happened to the star?"
Ibrahim would hug her. "The star shone brighter, Naaz. Because it had the moon."
Naaz would smile, feeling safe.
Naaz started writing stories in her diary. She'd write about Ibrahim, Asad, and the moon. Her pen would dance with emotions.
One night, Naaz wrote: "If stars are dreams, I'm a dreamer. And Papa's the moon, guiding me."
Ibrahim's eyes misted as he closed the diary. 'This is my girl,' he whispered. 'She's got Aisha's fire, my stubbornness.' He remembered Aisha's smile, Naaz's birth, and the promises he'd made.
He looked at Naaz's picture, tucked in her diary. 'You'll shine brighter than any star, Naaz. I'll make sure of it.'
Ibrahim's chest ached. 'Not yet please. I'm not ready to leave her.'"
Ibrahim's world crumbled. He sat in his doctor's office, the words echoing: "Last stage... few months..."
He laughed, a cold laugh. Fate's cruel joke. Naaz, his unfinished story.
Ibrahim drove to the park, tears blurring his vision. " why?" he whispered.
He thought of Naaz's smile, her laughter. "I'll leave her soon. Who'll guide her?"
Ibrahim clenched his fists. "I'll make these months count. For Naaz."