Prologue
1948
“What did you say? You’ve fallen in love?
Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un.( Muslims use to say these words when someone died) ”
This was Kashmir.
Snow was falling without pause. The silence was so deep that even the sound of one’s own breathing felt unfamiliar. Yet beneath that silence lay a restlessness, the kind that is born only in a battlefield.
A white sheet covered everything, but there was no peace in that whiteness. Here, the heavy imprints of boots. There, the dragged lines of weapons across frozen ground. And beyond them, the quiet tents where Pakistani soldiers fought the cold while forcing themselves to stay awake.
Snowflakes drifted from the sky as though time itself had slowed. Hands were numb. Fingers lifeless. But hearts, hearts were still beating.
Each man sat there for one hope. Each one had someone waiting for him somewhere. Each one had to return. And among them… he was there too.
Sahil Riaz.
Wrapped in thick uniform, rifle slung across his shoulder, his eyes were fixed on the distant mountains but his heart… his heart was somewhere else.
He sat in the corner of the tent and, with trembling hands, unfolded a carefully creased piece of paper. The same paper that had reached him only a short while ago.
It was from her.
From his Husna.
His life, his love, his reason. He had to fight the enemy. Because he was not only the guardian of a border. He was the last surviving hope of someone’s wait.
