Beneath the Scarf
The winter night was merciless.
A sharp, icy wind swept through the city streets, carrying with it a silence that felt strangely unsettling. The cold seemed to creep into every corner, forcing people to pull their coats tighter around themselves as they hurried home.
Most of the shops had already closed for the night. The few that remained open glowed warmly against the darkness, their bright lights standing in stark contrast to the freezing world outside.
The glass door of a small convenience store slid open.
A young woman stepped out.
She carried a thin plastic bag in one hand. Inside were only a loaf of bread and a cartoon of milk. It wasn't much, but it was enough for another day.
Keeping her head lowered, she adjusted the scarf wrapped around her face and began walking down the sidewalk.
The cold wind blew strands of her dark hair across her eyes, but she barely seemed to notice.
"Ma'am!"
A voice called out from behind.
She continued walking.
"Ma'am! Excuse me!"
The voice came again, louder this time.
Still, she didn't stop.
The cashier from the convenience store hurried out onto the pavement, waving her hand in the air.
"Ma'am! Please wait!"
The young woman finally paused.
For a moment, she simply stood there as the wind howled around her.
Then she slowly turned around.
The cashier reached her, slightly out of breath.
"Thank goodness," she said with a relieved smile. "I've been calling you for almost a minute."
The young woman remained silent.
The cashier held out a few notes and coins.
"You forgot your change."
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then the young woman reached for the money.
As she did, the scarf slipped slightly from her face.
The cashier's smile disappeared instantly.
A dark bruise marked the side of the woman's cheek.
There was a cut near her eyebrow, and another injury stretched beneath the edge of the scarf.
The wounds looked recent.
Painfully recent.
The cashier stared before she could stop herself.
The young woman's eyes widened.
Realising what had happened, she quickly pulled the scarf back into place.
Her movements were hurried, almost panicked.
Embarrassment flashed across her eyes.
Or perhaps it was fear.
The cashier immediately looked away.
"I'm sorry," she said softly.
The young woman didn't respond.
Instead, she grabbed the money from the cashier's hand.
"Thank you."
The words were barely above a whisper.
Before the cashier could ask if she was alright, the woman turned and walked away.
The icy wind swallowed her figure as she disappeared into the darkness.
The cashier remained standing outside the store.
She watched the lonely figure walk farther and farther away until she finally vanished from sight.
A strange feeling settled in her chest.
Whoever that woman was, she carried a sadness that seemed far heavier than the cold winter night.
And for some reason, the cashier couldn't shake the feeling that those injuries were only a small part of her story.
The icy wind continued to whistle through the streets as she walked away from the convenience store.
The plastic bag swung gently in her hand with every step. Bread and milk.
That was all she had bought.
She walked with her head lowered, avoiding the few people who passed by. It wasn't because of the cold. She simply didn't want anyone looking at her.
The city looked beautiful at night.
Rows of streetlights stretched into the distance, their golden glow reflecting off the damp roads. A few cafés were still open, filled with laughter and warm conversations. Couples walked hand in hand, while groups of friends joked with one another, completely unaware of the lonely figure passing them by.
She didn't belong in their world.
She had stopped believing that she ever would.
A sharp gust of wind made her pull her coat closer around herself.
The pedestrian signal ahead turned red.
She stopped at the crossing with several strangers waiting beside her.
For a brief moment, everything was still.
Then a massive digital billboard mounted on a nearby building flickered to life.
The bright screen illuminated the entire intersection.
An elegant grand piano appeared.
Soft instrumental music echoed through hidden speakers.
A pair of hands moved gracefully across the piano keys before the camera slowly revealed the face of the performer.
He looked calm.
Confident.
His eyes held the quiet assurance of someone who had spent years perfecting his craft.
Moments later, bold golden letters appeared across the screen.
REHAN MALIK
One Night. One Stage. One Unforgettable Performance.
Live Concert — Saturday, 7:00 PM
The moment she read his name...
Everything around her seemed to disappear.
The noise of the traffic.
The voices of the people.
Even the freezing wind.
Her heartbeat became the only sound she could hear.
Her eyes remained fixed on the screen.
"Rehan..."
His name escaped her lips so quietly that no one around her could hear it.
Her fingers tightened around the plastic bag until it crumpled in her hand.
A strange ache spread through her chest.
For the first time that night, the emptiness in her eyes was replaced by something else.
Pain.
Not the pain of bruises or scars.
The kind that came from a memory too heavy to forget.
A faint image flashed through her mind.
A piano.
Someone laughing.
A familiar voice calling her name.
Then—
The memory disappeared before she could hold onto it.
She closed her eyes for a second and took a slow breath.
"No..."
she whispered to herself.
"Not again."
The traffic light turned green.
People around her began crossing the road.
She lowered her head, adjusted the scarf over her face once more, and quietly walked with the crowd.
Within minutes, the brightly lit streets gave way to a narrow lane hidden behind old apartment buildings.
The cheerful sounds of the city faded into silence.
She had reached home.
She stopped outside a worn-out building with cracked walls and rusted railings.
Looking up at the dark windows, she let out a slow, tired breath before stepping inside.
Whatever memories had returned tonight...
She knew they wouldn't let her sleep.
The staircase groaned beneath her footsteps as she climbed to the second floor.
The building was old , its walls stained with years of rain and neglect. Paint peeled from the ceilings, and the dim yellow bulbs hanging in the corridor flickered every few seconds, threatening to go out completely.
She stopped before the last door at the end of the hallway.
For a moment, she simply stood there.
This was the only place in the world she could call home.
She slipped a small key from her coat pocket and unlocked the door.
The room was tiny.
So tiny that it was difficult to imagine two people living there together.
An old iron bed occupied one corner. Beside it stood a small wooden table with uneven legs, its surface marked by scratches and years of use. A narrow cupboard leaned slightly to one side, while a single chair rested beneath the only window in the room.
The window didn't close properly.
Cold air slipped through the gaps, making the thin curtains sway gently with every gust of wind.
There were no photographs on the walls.
No decorations.
No flowers.
Nothing that suggested laughter or happiness had ever lived there.
Only silence.
She quietly placed the bread and milk on the table.
It was all she had bought.
No vegetables.
No fruit.
No snacks.
Just enough to survive another day.
She removed her shoes and placed them neatly beside the bed.
Her movements were slow, almost mechanical, as though she had repeated the same routine hundreds of times before.
The room was silent except for the ticking of a cheap wall clock.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
She glanced at the small calendar hanging beside the cupboard.
Another month was almost over.
Rent would be due again in a few days.
She lowered her eyes without thinking about it any further.
Some worries had become so familiar that they no longer frightened her.
Without changing her clothes, she sat on the edge of the bed.
The mattress creaked softly beneath her weight.
She picked up the loaf of bread from the table, tore off a small piece, and ate it slowly without even bothering to warm the milk.
There was no appetite.
She ate because she had to.
Not because she wanted to.
After finishing, she returned the remaining bread to its packet and placed it carefully back on the table.
Nothing could be wasted.
Every rupee mattered.
The wind outside grew louder, rattling the loose window frame.
She wrapped the blanket around herself and lay down on the bed.
The ceiling above her was cracked, the white paint faded into shades of grey.
She stared at it for several long moments.
Her eyes looked exhausted.
Not from the day...
But from years of carrying memories she wished she could forget.
She closed her eyes, hoping that sleep would silence them.
Instead...
The darkness welcomed them back.
And before she realised it, the nightmare had already begun.
The darkness swallowed her whole.
At first, there was nothing.
No sound.
No light.
Only an endless emptiness that seemed to stretch forever.
Then—
A voice.
"You don't deserve to live!"
Another voice followed.
"She's a liar!"
"Punish her!"
The darkness shattered.
She found herself standing in the middle of a crowded street.
Hundreds of people surrounded her.
Their faces were blurred, almost impossible to recognise, yet every pair of eyes looked at her with the same burning hatred.
Fear tightened around her chest.
She took a step backwards.
The crowd took one step forward.
"I... I didn't do anything."
Her voice trembled.
No one listened.
"I swear... I didn't do it."
Tears welled in her eyes.
"Please... believe me."
The only answer was silence.
Then someone bent down and picked up a stone.
It struck her shoulder.
She cried out in pain.
Another stone hit her arm.
Then another.
And another.
Within seconds, stones were flying from every direction.
She covered her head with both hands, desperately trying to protect herself.
"Please!"
she screamed.
"Stop! I didn't do anything!"
But the crowd had already judged her.
A woman pointed towards her with trembling fingers.
"Don't let her escape!"
Someone else shouted,
"She deserves this!"
The voices grew louder.
Crueler.
More hateful.
Every word felt like another wound.
She looked around desperately, searching for even one kind face.
Someone who would stop them.
Someone who would believe her.
But no one moved.
No one came.
She was completely alone.
A sudden silence fell over the crowd.
The people slowly stepped aside.
Someone was walking towards her.
She couldn't see the person's face.
Only a dark figure.
He stopped a few feet away.
Without saying a word, he bent down and picked up a jagged piece of broken glass lying on the ground.
Her breathing stopped.
"No..."
she whispered, shaking her head.
"Please..."
The figure raised his hand.
Everything around her seemed to move in slow motion.
The glass left his fingers.
It spun through the cold air.
Straight towards her.
"No!"
A sharp pain exploded across her left cheek.
She screamed.
Warm blood streamed down her face.
She fell onto the ground, clutching her cheek with trembling hands.
Blood dripped between her fingers onto the cold pavement.
The crowd watched.
Not a single person tried to help.
Instead...
They turned away.
One by one.
Leaving her alone.
Broken.
Bleeding.
Crying.
Her vision blurred as tears mixed with blood.
The voices slowly faded into the distance until only one remained.
A man's voice.
Soft.
Filled with pain.
"I'm sorry..."
She couldn't see who had spoken.
Before she could lift her head—
Everything disappeared.
She gasped violently and sat upright in bed.
Her heart pounded so hard it felt as though it would burst from her chest.
She struggled to breathe.
The room was dark except for the pale moonlight slipping through the broken window.
Cold sweat covered her forehead.
Her hands shook uncontrollably.
For several long moments, she couldn't tell whether she was awake or still trapped inside the nightmare.
The silence of the room felt almost unreal.
Slowly...
She touched her left cheek.
Her fingertips trembled.
The pain from the dream was gone.
But the memory...
The memory felt terrifyingly real.
For several long moments, she stood before the mirror without moving.
The room was silent.
Outside, the freezing wind continued to whistle through the cracks in the old window, carrying with it the loneliness of another endless night.
She slowly lifted a trembling hand towards her face.
Her fingertips brushed against the scar on her left cheek.
It had faded over the years.
But it had never disappeared.
Neither had the pain.
A single tear escaped her eye and rolled silently down her face.
"Who... did this to me?"
The words barely left her lips.
The nightmare had felt so real.
The hatred.
The screaming crowd.
The stones.
The broken piece of glass.
Every detail remained painfully vivid, yet the faces were nothing more than blurred shadows.
It was as though someone had stolen the most important part of her memories, leaving behind only the suffering.
She closed her eyes.
The name on the billboard echoed through her mind once again.
Rehan Malik.
For a brief second, she heard the faint melody of a piano.
Soft.
Gentle.
Beautiful.
A melody that made her heart ache for reasons she couldn't understand.
She opened her eyes.
The music was gone.
Only silence remained.
She looked into the mirror one last time.
The woman staring back at her felt like a complete stranger.
She touched the scar again.
Then, almost unconsciously, she whispered,
"I know I've forgotten you...
...but why does my heart still remember?"
Outside, the icy wind grew stronger, rattling the loose window against its frame.
Far away, somewhere else in the same city...
A pianist was preparing for the biggest performance of his life.
Completely unaware...
