"Crosshairs of Fate"

Rain poured over the war-torn city like a curtain of sorrow. From the top of a crumbling high-rise, sniper Rehaan Khalid adjusted his scope. His breathing was steady, calm — even as thunder cracked the sky like an omen.

Through his scope, the crosshairs followed a man stepping out of a black vehicle near the embassy building. The target: General Yusef Noor, the butcher of Zaran Province — a war criminal. Rehaan had waited three days for this moment, hidden among rats, mold, and broken glass.

But the past wasn't so easy to silence.


---

Ten years ago, Rehaan was just a quiet village boy who loved sketching trees and rivers. His older brother, Hamza, joined the army to protect their land — but never came back. Rehaan’s peaceful sketches turned into targets and blueprints for revenge.

The military trained him to be precise, patient, and merciless. He became their ghost — the eye no enemy could escape.


---

Now, as Rehaan tracked General Noor’s every step through the rain, his finger rested on the trigger.

"Wind: steady... target: 390 meters... angle: clean," he whispered into his comm. The voice in his earpiece confirmed, "You are green to fire."

He inhaled deeply.

But then... something moved in the scope.

A little girl — no older than 7 — dashed toward the General, holding a red balloon. She didn’t know she was walking into death. A security guard tried to stop her, but the General bent down, smiled, and handed her a chocolate bar.

Rehaan’s breath caught.

Noor — the man who ordered the burning of villages — was smiling? Laughing?

The crosshairs trembled.


---

Suddenly, his vision blurred — not from the rain, but from memory. A memory buried deep.

Hamza’s last letter:
"Don’t let hatred blind you, Rehaan. Even monsters cry for their daughters."

He had ignored that line. Thought it was weakness. But now, it echoed louder than thunder.

The radio crackled.
“Rehaan! You have 10 seconds. Take the shot. Do not fail.”

His heartbeat pulsed louder than the rain. 10 seconds to erase evil… or 10 seconds to disobey everything he was trained for.

The girl turned, looked up — and her eyes met Rehaan’s scope.

She couldn’t see him, but somehow, he felt seen. As if fate was watching through her.


---

9… 8…

Rehaan’s finger pressed lightly.

7… 6…

General Noor stood, unaware.

5… 4…

His breathing slowed.

3…

He moved the scope off the General. A few inches.

2…

The crosshairs now rested on the car’s fuel tank.

1…

Boom.
Rehaan fired.


---

The car exploded behind the General, sending guards scrambling. Noor dove for cover, the girl pulled to safety by a shocked officer. Chaos rained below.

Mission failed.

But Rehaan didn’t care.

He slid his rifle into its case, his face soaked — rain or tears, he couldn’t tell. For the first time in years, he felt... human.


---

Back at the safehouse, his commander screamed in the headset.

"Why didn’t you kill him? You were trained for this!"

Rehaan replied calmly, "I was trained to eliminate targets, sir. Not to murder innocence."

The line went silent.


---

Days later, Rehaan disappeared off the grid. No one knew where he went.

Some say he moved to a remote town and teaches orphan children how to draw. Some say he still watches from afar, saving lives instead of taking them — rewriting destinies with each breath, each decision.

But one thing is certain.

Rehaan didn’t miss the shot.
He just chose a different target —
One that couldn't be seen through a scope.


---

🌧️ Moral:

Even in the coldest crosshairs, the warmth of humanity can still choose mercy over revenge.