The final letter that Samira wrote.

A young woman named Samira resided in the dusty fringes of a little village called Miranpur, tucked away between abandoned hills and meandering dirt roads. In Miranpur, the sun always appeared harsher, but Samira felt that the world she had to bear on her frail shoulders was the true burden of existence.

Samira had experienced adversity before. She had experienced sorrow, loss, and hunger at an early age because she was born into a low-income family. She couldn't have been prepared for the tempest that would invade her life when she fell in love with Yaseen, though, by any of those early hardships.

Yaseen was a well-known local driver who was quiet, diligent, and kind. They first crossed paths when Yaseen would give Samira transportation to the sewing center where she worked on foot, with no expectation of payment. His generosity eventually flowered into love, and Samira, who had been deprived of love and company, allowed herself to dream for the first time.

But in society's view, their love was never supposed to flourish. Samira's parents had to deal with strict customs, expectations, and the community's constant scrutiny. They were angry, treacherous, and vicious when they learned about Samira and Yaseen. The prospect of his daughter adoring a guy beneath their presumed station was too much for her father, Iftikhar, who had been formed by years of hardship and frustration.

As though her emotions were a crime, he declared, "She has shamed us." "She has tarnished this house's honor."

Samira attempted to reason and to plead, but the torrent of patriarchal wrath that raged through her home drowned out her voice. Sakeena, her mother, who had long given in to custom, stood with her face turned away and in silence. Samira was more heartbroken by that stillness than by her father's rage.

Samira's world reduced to four walls and unending tears as she was tortured and humiliated while imprisoned in her room. She was informed that she will be married off to a man twice her age in a nearby community when her phone was stolen. Desperation was all that was left after her dreams were torn away like petals from a flower.

Nevertheless, Samira was able to extract a note, which she concealed in the scarf's seam and gave covertly to a neighbor who had once been kind to her. Yaseen was the intended recipient. She wrote not only words but also her broken spirit's final breaths in it..

Yaseen, my dearest,

Be aware that this letter might be the last part of me you ever grasp. Not because I did anything wrong, but because I dared to love, they have imprisoned me like a criminal. You are the man who made me smile, who gave me hope, who made me think that even someone like me might be loved.

Yaseen, my dearest,

They refer to it as honor. I refer to it as tradition-wrapped brutality. My father claims that I have tarnished our reputation, but how can quiet, pure love be filth? Yaseen, I yelled. I sobbed. I informed them that you were the only person I wanted. However, they used shame, threats, and agony to silence me.

You mentioned that you wanted we could simply disappear and create a life where no one would notice on that day by the lake, do you recall? At the time, I thought it was a fantasy and laughed. I wish we had run now. If it meant being free with you, I would have ventured into the mountains barefoot.

Yaseen, I'm afraid. My marriage has been planned by them. I'll be sent to a man I've never met in three days. They claim he's rich and will make our family proud. What about my soul, though? I've already buried my heart with you.

Maybe we'll cross paths again in an other existence, free from the bonds that broke us apart in this one, if there is any justice or God watching. Don't blame yourself, please. The only happiness I've ever experienced came from you.

My dear, good-bye.

—Samira"\*\*

---

That letter never reached Yaseen in time. It was already too late when he learned of Samira's forced marriage. Her nuptials were over. She was no longer in Miranpur.

According to rumors, she was brought to a secluded village where she knew no one. Others claimed that she had attempted to flee and had suffered severe consequences. Nobody was certain. However, Yaseen's entire universe collapsed.

He looked, inquired, and pleaded. However, nobody dared to assist. They were afraid of Iftikhar's family's anger. The stigma of affiliation was something they feared. Her abduction served as a message to others in a society where a girl's love was viewed as rebellion.

Years went by. Yaseen never had a spouse. Like him, he drove the same old car, which was now quieter and older. His heart skipped a beat whenever he spotted a girl wearing a scarf, hoping to catch a glimpse of Samira. However, she never showed up.

His door was knocked on one wet morning. There was an elderly man with a small package in his hand.

His voice was tremulous as he replied, "I was asked to give you this… long ago." "But I felt scared."

Yaseen's hands were shaking as she opened the gift. The worn letter, smeared with age and dried tears, was within.

Every word was read by him. He then sobbed, not in a manly manner but rather like a child who had lost everything. The years of suffering, waiting, and quiet spilled forth like a river at that instant.

From that day on, he carried the letter dear to his heart, folded in his wallet.

---

Years later, a single grave surfaced in a peaceful cemetery close to Miranpur. Unfamiliar was the name on the stone: "Zahra Bint Iftikhar." Yaseen, however, was aware. He recognized her.

He came once a week. sat next to her. When she was living, read her the poems he had always wished to share. Thinking she could still hear him, he whispered to the wind.

And before he died, he left instructions: “Bury me beside Zahra. Not for the world to see, but for our souls to find peace together.”

Even the flowers that grow close to those two graves are said to grow differently—one wild, one wilted—as though the earth itself is lamenting a love that the world was too cruel to allow to blossom.

---

Samira was forgotten by Miranpur.

However, Yaseen recalled. We shall also do so via his memory.

**Love is eternal. All it does is wait—in silence.