Nevertheless

Shadows of Warning - Sitara's POV

"What have you done, Saqib?" I glared at my brother, who sat in front of me, his face buried in his hands and his feet incessantly tapping against the smooth concrete floor. Despite being older than me, he seemed more naïve. Our father had fallen sick after retiring from his job at the forestry department, and our finances had suffered greatly. We were very young at the time, so our mother continued working as a seamstress, but even her health was deteriorating due to long hours at work. In that desperate situation, my brother did what he thought was best. He borrowed money from the wrong man to pay for our father's hospital bills and support our livelihood.

"You shouldn't have gone to him. Everyone knows he's a criminal," I told him. Even when our father was well, he had warned us about that man. Qais Sheheryaar was a powerful businessman, but his history was anything but clean. He had risen from poverty to become one of the wealthiest tycoons in Pakistan, with a vast empire spanning hotels, restaurants, real estate, agriculture, and tourism. He had more enemies than friends, and he only understood the language of power.

"I'll talk to him again." Saqib's voice was muffled. He finally removed his hands from his face, and I saw fear in his eyes. Saqib was only three years older than me, but in the past few years, taking on most of the responsibility for our family had made him look much more mature. The bags under his eyes, his thin figure, and the slightly overgrown beard gave him a striking resemblance to our father. He even started dressing like him, wearing a white kurta pajama and black leather sandals. In all my sheltered twenty-five years, he had never made me feel like a burden. My brother had taken me under his wing, becoming the main provider for our household. He had given up on college and worked part-time jobs so that I could complete my education, allowing my mother to rest and my father to afford his medications.

From the small courtyard, I looked at our modest two-story house. Our parents had built it together, but now many parts of the house were in need of repair. I closed my eyes for a moment, fighting back the tears welling up. There was a faint sound coming from the radio in our neighbor's house. Televisions were all the rage this season; everyone with money was getting one. I had only heard about it but had never seen one in real life. The newspaper only showed pictures of them. How quickly was life moving? Our cousins in Islamabad had recently bought a television. I learned about it when I received a letter from them last week. They didn't know about our struggles, and I never bothered sharing.

"You've tried talking to him, but nothing is working. You and I both know we can't repay him," I struggled to find the right words. There wasn't much left to do, except one thing.

"I'll go and speak..." I started.

"No," Saqib interrupted me without even hearing me out.

"Listen to me, maybe after listening to women, he might understand... We can offer him whatever we have and ask for more time," I tried to explain.

"What? Do you think he's a gentleman? He won't care that you're a woman. You're not going to him, I promise you, Sitara. I shouldn't have put everyone at risk. This is my fault, and I'll fix it. I've applied for jobs, and I'm sure I'll hear back soon," he tried to reassure me.

"We'll lose our home. Where will we go? You signed the papers, Saqib. I wish you had talked to me about it," I got up from the chair and went to my room.

As soon as I entered my room, the power went out. It was the usual time for a power outage. It was early summer, so the nights were still a bit cool. I lit the oil lamp, and gradually, the room was bathed in a soft, hazy yellow and orange glow. My parents were sleeping downstairs, and my brother was still in the courtyard. I took the lamp and went up to the terrace, overlooking the neighborhood.

Murree was known for its picturesque landscapes and scenic beauty. Nestled amidst lush green forests, rolling hills, and snow-capped peaks, the town offered breathtaking views of the surrounding mountains and valleys. It was a hill station, not as crowded as the nearby big cities of Rawalpindi and Islamabad, but it was slowly gaining attention. 

Ever since Sheheryaar Industries started investing there, tourism had been on the rise. One of the newspaper articles described Qais Sheheryaar as a dark horse. Growing up in one of the high-crime areas in Karachi, he had spent his childhood in the heart of Lyari, where gangsters intertwined with local politicians. He had spent his youth in London before finally returning to Pakistan about five years ago and taking the world in the palm of his hands. 

He had manipulated my brother into putting our house on the line to secure a loan, and now he was coming to claim his collateral. I was determined to stop him. I was going to meet him.