Credit: With reverence to Allama Iqbal, whose words now reach not just the broken — but those trying to understand them.
Note:This Poetry is Author's Pov (part4)
The rain falls harder now.
Inside, Qasim stands still — surrounded by shadows of a girl he lost.
But outside, just beyond the gate…
Mehmal stands soaked in silence.
She hadn't meant to stay.
But something in the air… in his eyes… in the rain — wouldn't let her leave.
Her dupatta clings to her shoulders. Hair stuck to her cheeks. She doesn't wipe it away.
She doesn't cry.
She doesn't move.
She just feels.
And suddenly —
Poetry arrives.
Not something she read.
Not something she memorized.
Just something that fits.
"Khudi ko kar buland itna ke har taqdeer se pehle,
Khuda bande se khud pooche — bata teri raza kya hai."
She whispers it without knowing why.
And then… another:
"Kabhi ai haqeeqat-e-muntazir, nazar aa libās-e-majaz mein…
Ke hazāroñ sajde tadhap rahe hain meri jabeen-e-niyāz mein…"
She doesn't understand the full meaning.
But the ache in those words — she knows it.
She wipes her cheek. Doesn't know if it's rain or not.
And then softly, to herself:
"He's not just quiet.
He's carrying something he's never said."
She turns back toward the door.
She wants to leave.
But her feet don't.
Just like Qasim's silence is louder than speech…
Her stillness begins to speak.
And though they are in different rooms…
the same rain is touching them both.
Soaking two hearts that don't understand each other —
but are somehow… connected.
Scene fades.
Two soaked figures.
Two silent storms.
One past that neither of them has fully met yet.
But the rain?
It remembers everything.