An Incomplete Story

It’s late at night. Inaya is lying on her bed, trying to remember her father. He passed away two months ago.

She still misses him; her mind is stuck in those memories. The diya spreads its light throughout the room as she stares at the wall.

Unable to sleep, she decides to go to her father’s room and check his belongings. She enters the room and sees a box there. She clears the dust from a book with her hand. The book’s name is “An Incomplete Story.” She opens it and finds an old book covered in dust with aged paper.

As she begins to read the book in the quiet of the night, the story begins—

1789 – Zarabad, Morning

A big city was busy as usual in its routine. The markets were full of people, and the city guards were on their horses, alert as always. The environment was peaceful, but that tranquility was shattered when enemy forces attacked the city.

Everyone was in a rush, trying to save their lives and families. Among the chaos, a couple of slaves were running with a small child around three or four years old. The woman was holding the child, trying to save their lives, but the pursuers were cruel.

They struck the mother in the back and hit the father on the head. The father collapsed to the ground at the very moment the arrow hit his head, but the mother still tried to save her child. She broke into someone’s house and hid him under a table.

The kid saw his mother struggling, dealing with the pain and tears in her eyes, but he had no idea what was happening. He didn’t know he had lost his father or that his childhood had been ruined. He remained unaware of the tragedy unfolding around him.

His mother advised him to stay under the table. She took a knife from the kitchen of that house, lay down with her wound, guarding her kid—but after some moments, she died, and her eyes closed.

A child remained in the house. After a while, the city guards defeated the enemy and defended their city. The homeowner, an elderly man, entered the house and discovered the body of a woman and a child hidden under the table.

The old man politely asked the kid to come out, buried his mother’s body, and fed him. The kid was still clueless, but the old man was kind-hearted. The old man knew that the enemy would try again and worried about the child.

He decided to send him to a peaceful place far away from those sad, heartbreaking memories. So he packed his baggage, placed it on the horse, put the kid on the horse’s back, and started the journey.

After a long journey of five days, he finally reached an area—a small tribe between two mountains, a peaceful tribe. He stopped with his horse at the gate of that tribe.

The guards asked him, “Who are you?”

The old man replied, “I’m Rashid, and I’m here to meet Jalal.”

The guards checked his horse and belongings to ensure he wasn’t hiding any weapons or anything else, then allowed him to enter the tribe.

He entered the tribe on his horse and stopped outside a blacksmith’s shop, where an old man, Jalal, was working with iron.

Jalal saw him and came out of his shop with a smile. Rashid’s feet landed on the ground as he dismounted from his horse. Both smiled, feeling happy to see each other, and they hugged.

Jalal: “How are you?”

Rashid: “I’m good, praise be to Allah. What about you?”

Jalal: “I’m good too, Alhamdulillah.”

Jalal looked over his shoulder and saw a quiet kid sitting on horseback. He approached the boy and offered his hand for a handshake, which the kid accepted. Their hands connected—Jalal’s tough, rough hands meeting the small, soft hands of the child.

With a smile, Jalal lifted the boy down and set him gently on the ground.

Jalal: “I received your letter. He is such a cute kid. It’s sad to see what happened to him.”

He looked at the kid and asked, “What’s your name, kid?”

Kid: “Amir.”

Jalal: “That’s such a nice name, kid. You must be tired; would you like to have some dates?”

Amir: “Yes.”

Jalal gave him dates, and in the next scene, we see Amir, Rashid, and Jalal sitting at the table having dinner.

Jalal: “You did the right thing by bringing him here.”

Rashid: “Yes, he’ll be safe here and far away from those memories.”

Jalal: “Don’t worry; I’ll take care of him like my own son.”

Rashid: “That’s a wonderful thing you’ll do. May Allah reward you for it.”

Rashid turned his head to face Amir.

Rashid: “From today, you’ll be with Uncle Jalal, okay?”

Amir was already missing his parents’ innocent faces and their eyes. He politely asked about them.

Amir: “Where are my Ami and Abu?”

Rashid looked at Jalal’s face, feeling heartbreak inside, but smiled and replied gently,

Rashid: “They are in Jannah right now, and one day you will meet them soon.”

Amir nodded silently.

They finished dinner. Rashid looked at Jalal.

Rashid: “It’s getting darker. I’ll head toward Zarabad in the morning.”

That night, Amir was tired and went to sleep. However, Rashid and Jalal stayed together to talk.

Rashid: “You know why I brought him here, far away from Zarabad and those heartbreaking memories. But I’m worried about Murad, the leader of Kohzad. He’s greedy for land and power.”

Jalal: “No, Rashid, he’s no longer a threat to Barzang. We signed a peace deal with Kohzad. From now on, Barzang and Kohzad will not raise their swords against each other.”

Rashid: “That’s good, but greed has no limits. We can’t trust him; I’m sure he’ll break that deal someday.”

Jalal: “Well, let’s see then.”

They both went to sleep, and in the morning Rashid set off on his horse to return to Zarabad.

Amir said goodbye, now staying with Jalal—the blacksmith and his new guardian.