“Freebies: The Price of a Love That Cost Everything”

Abbas Shah was the most capable boy in his class intelligent, disciplined, and deeply kind. As gifted as he was, he was also moral, loving, and generous. He would spend freely on his friends and relatives. God had blessed him with both talent and wealth a successful business, a bungalow, and hundreds of acres of land. Yet, his heart was as generous as that of Hatim Tai and Sakhi Arsala Khan.

Despite his achievements, Abbas didn’t come from a rich family. Many girls in the class were attracted to him, but Shah Sahib was so modest that he would never even glance their way. When inspiration struck, he would quietly withdraw from the crowd, sit on his couch, and write. He composed poetry in both Urdu and Pashto, though his heart favored Urdu. His professors often praised him as a brilliant poet and an outstanding medical student a rare combination.

But behind his charming poetry, there was a secret one known to very few.

When Abbas returned to his village, he often spent his evenings with friends in Jindi Khoor’s cave. They would gather there one playing the rabab, another lighting cigarettes while Abbas recited his poetry. Though he didn’t smoke or drink, he tolerated his friends’ habits out of affection.

One evening, one of them asked about the secret behind his poetry. At first, Abbas refused to answer. But after their insistence, he smiled faintly and said,

“Friends, if I don’t share this with you, who else will I share it with?”

After a long silence, he finally confessed, “There is a girl — Nazia, the daughter of Mishal Kaka. She has captured my dreams.”

The group fell silent. After a pause, one asked, “Shah Sahib, is Mishal Kaka’s family really yours?”

Abbas laughed a laugh full of sorrow. “Yes,” he replied softly. “But will Khan Ji ever accept it?”

He then grew quiet, smiled sadly, and said, “It’s been a year since I’ve carried this secret. A year of sleepless nights.”

We were stunned. Abbas, usually so strong, was a man wounded by love. Before we left that night, he said,

“Don’t worry, my friends. I told my mother yesterday. Whatever happens next, I’ll bear it alone.”

Days passed. Abbas disappeared. His phone was off, and no one had seen him. We visited his home but learned only that his father had scolded him harshly after hearing about Nazia, and Abbas had left for the hostel in anger.

Weeks later, Fazal and I decided to visit him at the university. When we entered his room, we were shocked. There was a foul smell of hashish in the air. Empty cigarette packs lay scattered, and a half-empty bottle of wine sat on the table.

This was the same Abbas who once avoided even snuff.

He looked at us and smiled faintly. “Sit down, my friends,” he said. “This… is all I have left now.”

Fazal picked up his diary, and on one of the pages, a single line was written in Urdu:

"Abbas, take me, Nazia — and remember, secrets are heavier than love."

His eyes were empty. We sat with him till evening, trying to bring back the old Abbas, but it was too late.

Months later, we heard that Nazia had been married against her will to her cousin. Abbas drowned his pain in alcohol and loneliness. His father tried to reconcile, but Nazia’s memories had consumed him completely.

Meanwhile, Nazia’s life turned tragic. Her husband’s house became a place of violence and grief. She endured beatings and loss, including the death of her father.

One day, as Fazal and I sat with Abbas near Gul Kaka’s shop, Nazia passed by with her mother. She looked at Abbas her eyes filled with tears. Abbas smiled faintly, turned his face away, and whispered,

“We’ve wasted a lifetime in your love.

How happy must those be who got you for free.”