Chapter 2: Khizar Ajmal

By the time I grew up, I wasn't the same kid anymore.

I had changed a lot.

As a matter of fact, I had managed to make plenty of friends, the kind of people who laughed at my jokes and sat with me during lunch. 

But there was one thing I could still never do—I couldn't invite any of them home.

The thought alone made my stomach churn. I was scared—no, I was absolutely terrified. 

What if they came over and saw the way we lived? The cracked walls with peeling paint, the old, squeaky ceiling fan that barely worked, or the mismatched furniture that looked like it had been salvaged from the roadside?

I could already imagine their faces, the smirks, the whispers. I just knew they'd laugh at me, mock me, and the bullying would start all over again, just like it used to. It was safer to keep them at a distance, to let them think everything was fine. Pretending was easier than risking the truth.

One afternoon, I came home feeling particularly alone. My parents were out, and the house was as quiet as ever. I sat down on the floor in our tiny living room and opened the old wooden trunk where I kept my childhood things.

There it was—the big action man doll Sara had given me on my birthday all those years ago. It still looked shiny and new, even though I'd played with it so much when I was younger. The details on it were perfect—the strong jawline, the neatly painted eyes, the clean, polished boots.

I picked it up carefully, almost like it was fragile, and held it close. "Sara," I whispered, running my fingers over its smooth surface.

"Sara," I said again, this time a little louder, as if saying the name would somehow bring her back. 

A smile spread across my jaw.

It didn't matter to me that it was a boy's toy. To me, it was her. The shiny, perfect part of my life that I clung to, the only thing that made me feel like she hadn't completely disappeared.

It was just like her—bright, perfect, and completely out of place in our little home.

I closed my eyes and imagined she was sitting next to me, her bright smile lighting up the room. I could almost hear her laugh, soft and cheerful, as she leaned in closer.

"What did you do today?" I whispered, pretending to ask her, my fingers brushing the edges of the doll.

I pictured her telling me about all the exciting places she'd been—grand mansions, bustling markets, and fancy restaurants. "You should've seen the lights in the city," I imagined her saying with eyes filled with wonder.

I nodded as if she were really there, responding to her stories. "One day, I'll see it too," I murmured, gripping the doll a little tighter.

I reached out to the empty space beside me, pretending to touch her hand. "And then you can show me everything," I said tenderly.

The silent room felt a little less lonely with her there, even if it was only make-believe.

I talked to the doll about my day, my struggles, and the friends I couldn't bring home. It was silly, I knew that, but it made me feel a little less isolated.

Then onwards, whenever I came home to my Sara, everything felt different. All the worries, frustrations, and bad memories I carried throughout the day seemed to disappear the moment I imagined her there, smiling at me. That same bright smile she had at my birthday party—it was like she truly wanted to know everything about me, like I actually mattered to someone.

She made me forget the worst moments of my life.

All of them.

Even the time I was chased home by bullies after school just because I smelled too bad to sit near in class. 

I even recounted the days the bullies knocked my lunch tray to the floor, as if I wasn't already struggling with having barely enough to eat.

And then there were the physical education classes.

That was the worst. All of them would spray me with the water hose at full force, drenching me until I looked like I had wet myself. That was when the girls would join in, laughing at me and throwing their insults like knives. 

None of them saw me as a person, let alone a boy.

They just saw someone to ridicule, something to humiliate.

What made it all so ironic was that those same girls were always trying to copy Sara. I figured that when I saw them wearing the same sparkly bracelets, the same shimmering clips in their hair, and the same polished shoes. But no matter how hard they tried, they could never be as beautiful as her.

Sara was different. In my mind, she stood apart from everything ugly and cruel in the world. She was the only thing that made me feel safe, like I could forget all the bad and just be me, even if only for a little while.

Weeks turned into months, and months turned into years, and I hadn't seen Sara again. 

But honestly, I wasn't surprised. 

What angel would want to come back to this dump?

But my toy Sara was always with me. It didn't matter if it was raining or sunny, if I was having a good day or one of my worst. That toy stayed by my side.

You know, the first moment I saw her on my birthday, I had made a promise to myself: I was going to work harder in school, do whatever it took to leave this place behind. I wanted to escape this poor, suffocating life without looking back—just like my uncle had. He'd made something of himself, even though he came from the same struggling family as us. If he could do it, why couldn't I?

But deep down, I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe I'd done something wrong. There had to be a reason she never came back. 

It had to be because of where I lived, right? Because of the cracked walls, the broken fan, or the way I dressed? 

Maybe she thought I was rude or ungrateful. I had been bullied so much, and I had spent so many years being lonely, that I could barely speak properly around people and I knew that about myself. I mean, I had tried to thank her for her presents. I even ran after her the day of the party, but she had already gone.

Maybe Sara was angry at me. Maybe she thought I was just like everyone else who only wanted things from her. But that wasn't true. I didn't want her for her money or her gifts. I wanted her. How could I tell her?

I wanted to be around her, to live the kind of life she wanted to live. I wanted to be part of her world, her family, to feel like I belonged to her, somewhere.

Since I couldn't stop thinking about her, I had even started asking around. Quietly, carefully, I would eavesdrop on conversations when my parents mentioned my uncle or Sara's family. Once, I overheard a relative talking about the fancy neighbourhood where my uncle had moved. That was all I needed.

I began wandering the streets of that area, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. I'd walk past grand houses with tall gates, peering through the cracks to see if I could spot her face. My heart would race every time I saw a girl with curls like hers or heard the sound of children laughing from behind those walls.

One day, I saw a car with tinted windows parked outside a house. It looked expensive, the kind of car she might step out of. I stood there for what felt like hours, waiting, imagining her opening the door and smiling at me like she did at the party. 

But she never came.

I couldn't stop myself. I started finding excuses to visit places where I thought she might go. Markets, parks, even the mall once—I'd sit quietly in the corner, scanning every face that passed by, hoping it would be hers.

All I ever wanted was for her to come back, to walk into my life again and make everything feel okay. But deep down, I didn't think she ever would. It was like chasing a shadow, something just out of reach, but I couldn't stop myself. She was all I had.