Chapter 2 - Echos Of Guilt

The call to prayer echoed through the empty streets, its haunting melody drifting through the cold morning air. He stood at the edge of his balcony, his eyes locked onto the distant minaret, yet his heart felt distant—disconnected. The weight of his past pressed against his chest, suffocating, relentless. The silence in his apartment was deafening, but the echoes in his mind were even louder.He hadn't slept. Sleep was a luxury he could no longer afford—not when his nightmares had begun to resemble reality. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her.Trembling hands. A fragile silhouette. Eyes screaming for help but unable to find a voice.These weren't just memories; they were punishments—etched deep into his soul, refusing to fade.

His fingers tightened around the balcony railing, knuckles turning white. "How did it come to this?" The question lingered in the air, but the answer was buried beneath layers of arrogance, reckless choices, and a thirst for control that had consumed him whole.

A sudden knock at the door shattered his thoughts. He hesitated before moving toward it, his mind already recognizing the familiar rhythm of the knock.

A sudden knock at the door shattered his thoughts.For a moment, he stood still, hesitant. But the knock came again—firm, familiar. A specific rhythm.He already knew who it was.

Opening the door, he found himself face-to-face with a man in his early thirties—tall, well-built, with sharp features and deep, piercing eyes that held an unsettling intensity. His neatly trimmed beard framed a face that carried the weight of experience far beyond his years. There was a quiet authority in his presence, the kind that didn't need to be announced.

This man had seen darkness—understood it, perhaps even made peace with it—but unlike him, he hadn't let it consume him.

To him, this man was more than just a friend.

He was a mirror , reflecting truths he wished to ignore.

A guide , dragging him toward the light he wasn't ready to face.

A voice of reason , in the chaos of his mind.

Aryan

Aryan stepped inside, his sharp gaze scanning the dimly lit room, taking in the disarray.

You look like hell," he remarked, closing the door behind him.

He forced a smirk. "Didn't know hell looked this good."

Aryan didn't smile. He rarely did when their conversations carried the weight of unspoken truths. He placed a steaming cup of tea on the table and took a seat, his expression unreadable.

"You need to stop running from it," Aryan said, his voice calm but firm.

He scoffed. "Running? I'm right here."

"No, you're not. Aryan leaned forward, his gaze unflinching. You've locked yourself in a cage of your own mind. You keep replaying the past, but you never face it , you even never try to own it ."

Silence.

He looked away, his fingers tracing the rim of the cup, but the warmth didn't reach his bones. "And what if facing it destroys me?"

Aryan exhaled, his tone unwavering. "Then let it. Let it burn away the filth, the guilt, the lies. Because only then will you be able to see who you really are."

The words struck something deep within him. He wanted to argue, to resist, but he couldn't. Because deep down—no, completely—he knew Aryan was right.The past wasn't going anywhere. The only way out… was through.And for the first time, he wondered if he had the strength to walk that path.

The night had deepened, shadows stretching across the walls. Aryan had left, but his words lingered, reverberating in his mind."You have two choices, Haider. You can stay trapped in your past and let it destroy you… or you can face it and free yourself.""Haider."The name always made him pause when Aryan used it.Because the man from his past—the one who had destroyed, taken, and lost himself in arrogance and blind ambition.But Haider?Haider was something else. Someone else. Someone he still didn't fully understand.But could he truly change?Could he really escape his sins?Or would the past always pull him back into its darkness?