THE WOUNDED DIERY OF SCARS

Fifteen Years Ago

Legends are born only once in centuries.

They are not molded by glory, but by enduring scars, deep wounds, burns, and unyielding agony. They are forged by walking through endless turmoil, offering heavy sacrifices, forgetting their own existence, and lighting candles of morality by igniting their own souls.

She was close to embracing that title... but only at the cost of surrendering her final breath.

She raised her head, and a violent wave of pain shot through her entire body. Her vision trembled, threatening to fade into complete darkness. Through the heavy blur, she forced herself to look around. Dust, blood, and deep bruises covered every face.

She needed to make sure they were safe. Those fragile lives had placed all their faith in her resilience.

One by one, she counted them in the shadows. All alive.

And last, her eyes found him.

He was already staring at her.

A sad, bittersweet smile touched her lips-one he couldn't possibly return. A hollow feeling clung to his chest, a terrible omen whispering that he was losing her.

Today was his birthday. And today would become the saddest day of his life.

Maa... please don't leave me...

The plea burned inside him, loud and desperate, yet he couldn't force it past his lips. The words slipped away before they could form, leaving only a silent scream echoing in his chest. He thought that maybe, if she could just hear him, she would fight harder to stay.

"Son..." her voice was a ragged whisper, catching on the blood and dust in her throat. "Stay... strong. Don't... blame... anyone. I am... so sorry. I have... to go. Always remember... I love you..."

Each word tore through oceans of pain, but she forced them out. Her organs were failing. Her breaths were slipping away. She knew her time had come.

Ya Rab... take care of my children...

Her heart whispered the prayer her lips no longer had the strength to shape. She looked at them one last time, memorizing every fragile detail of their faces, and slowly closed her eyes-releasing the final thread of life she had clung to through unbearable agony.

And that was how she let go, embracing death not as an enemy, but as a long-lost, inevitable companion.

With one final, shallow gasp, she exhaled. The thread snapped.

Her heartbeat stilled. The line went flat-and the world around him shattered.

Seven Days Earlier

The morning hustle at the fish market near the riverbank was a vibrant sight to behold. As a well-known hub of the fishing industry, the air was thick with the scent of the river and salt. Sun-baked fishermen bustled through the crowds, their weathered faces glowing with the grit of hard labor.

Wearing traditional kurta-dhotis, they balanced long bamboo sticks over their shoulders, heavy buckets of the morning catch hanging from both ends. High-stakes auctions echoed along the riverbank, a chaotic symphony of buying and selling.

Amidst the noise, a five-year-old boy clutched his mother's finger, whispering insistently into her ear.

"Maa, that chocolate-flavored one... I like it so much," he said, holding tightly to her dupatta with one hand while pointing a tiny finger at a colorful toffee container.

"Beta, are you buying those candies for yourself... or for your friends?" she asked, arching a brow in quiet suspicion. She already knew the truth-today, his little heart was set on taking full advantage of his special day.

"Maa, it's my birthday today! Everyone at school brings sweets on their birthday. I just want to give my friends my favorite ones," the boy explained eagerly, justifying his greed with innocent logic.

His mother knelt down, bringing herself to his eye level, her voice carrying a mix of gentle exhaustion and deep affection. "Look, your sister had a high fever last night. I wanted to take the day off, but you insisted on coming to school, so here we are. Now you need to behave yourself... and help me take care of her the second we get home."

"Okay, Maa. She was sick last night, but she's fine now. Nani is with her, don't worry," the boy said in his small, earnest voice, trying to reassure her. "But if I miss my birthday today... it won't come again until next year."

Clutching two oversized packets of candies against his chest, his school bag slipping off one shoulder and a water bottle bumping against his hip, he hurried to keep up with his mother's long strides as they stepped into the school courtyard.

Excited, the boy tried to dash toward his friends, but his mother's hand gently caught his shoulder.

"Don't distribute the candies now. I'll help you after my class," she instructed.

"Okay, Maa," he agreed readily. He darted off toward his classmates, excitement lighting up his face as he gave them a conspiratorial grin, subtly gesturing to the hidden treats tucked inside his bag.

Making sure her son had safely joined his line, she glanced around. Her eyes fell on the principal standing on the raised concrete platform, waiting for the morning assembly to begin. Teachers bustled about, frantically lining up students, handling latecomers, checking uniforms, and ensuring order. Everyone seemed on edge under the principal's watchful gaze; she was notoriously strict, a woman who never tolerated even the smallest lapse in discipline.

Straightening her stance, the mother began walking toward her.

For five years, she had been a teacher at this school. In her toughest, darkest days, this job had been nothing short of a sanctuary. It wasn't just a source of stable income; it meant her children could study here for free, easing a financial burden she could never have carried otherwise. She was a dedicated worker, someone who never took unannounced leaves or neglected her duties.

But today was different. Her daughter was unwell, and she needed to get her to a doctor. She knew that the moment she stepped inside the school, the principal would try to persuade her to stay the full day. Still, she wanted to try her luck.

The morning breeze lingered, fresh and gentle, though the sun had already begun its steep climb into the sky. Teachers moved briskly-some genuinely occupied, others merely appearing busy to avoid scrutiny-reprimanding students even as a few mischievous children managed to slip through the cracks.

Just as she was about to reach the platform, her son appeared out of nowhere, having successfully slipped away from his class teacher.

"Maa!" he called out, waving his small hands in the air to catch her attention.

"Go back to your class and put those packets in your bag. Don't touch them yet," she said gently, patting his head with quiet, motherly affection. "I have a class with you right after the break. Let your friends eat their lunch properly first. If they eat candies before their food, they won't eat well."

"Okay, Maa," the boy replied obediently, turning on his heel to run back to his line.

"Good morning, Ma'am," she greeted, turning toward the principal with utmost respect.

"Ah, good morning, Miss. How are you?" the principal replied, her practiced, professional smile locking into place. "I was actually about to call you to my office. I am thoroughly impressed with your teaching skills. In such a short time, you've become a favorite-not only among the students, but the parents are praising you as well. Keep up the excellent work. No doubt, you are a true asset to this institution."

"Thank you, Ma'am. Your appreciation is an honor. I will put in even more effort to meet your expectations. I am already so grateful for the benefits you've extended to my family..." She paused, her voice trailing off as she searched for the right words. "Ma'am... actually, I wanted to request something."

She knew the unwritten rule of the school: once you enter with the morning bell, you only leave with the final bell. But she had to try.

"Ma'am, can I please take a half-day off today? My daughter was burning with a fever all night. I need to reach home early to feed her and give her medicine," she explained, searching the principal's rigid face for a glimmer of hope.

"Oh, Miss, I'm so sorry to hear that," the principal said, her tone shifting into a well-rehearsed, apologetic note. "But a large number of staff members are absent today. If you leave early, managing the classes will be incredibly difficult, and the students' studies will suffer."

It was exactly the answer she had anticipated. "Okay, Ma'am, I understand," she replied, bowing her head slightly, though the heavy note of disappointment in her voice was hard to conceal.

"However..." the principal added, pausing. "...if you can arrange to exchange your remaining periods with the other teachers, you have my permission to leave early."

The words were so unexpected that she couldn't hide her stunned expression. A few nearby teachers who overheard the exchange stood flabbergasted, their mouths slightly agape.

"Oh! Thank you, Ma'am. It really means a lot," she managed to say, quickly controlling her shock.

"Normally, I never grant such exceptions," the principal said, her demeanor softening slightly, as if breaking her own record of being an unyielding boss. "But I know it must be a genuine emergency, otherwise, you would never neglect your duties."

"Thank you so much, Ma'am!" she said, a wave of relief washing over her. At last, her morning felt triumphant.

After the recess bell rang, she walked into her son's classroom. She had successfully swapped her free periods, ensuring her path was clear to go home to her sick daughter the moment this lesson ended.

"As-salaam-alaikum and good noon, dear students," she greeted warmly.

"Good noon, teacher!" the children cheered in unison. The room instantly brightened; she was undeniably their favorite.

"Before we dive into our books today, I have something incredibly special for you..." she said, a mysterious smile building suspense.

As expected, twenty pairs of ears practically perked up in curiosity. Every child sat up straight.

"Today is someone's birthday."

"Yay!" the children shouted in excitement, clapping their little hands. For them, raised in poverty, even the smallest joy was a reason for grand celebration. They knew it wouldn't be more than a single piece of cheap candy, but to them, it was pure happiness.

The teacher called her son to the front to distribute the treats. The students gazed at the large packets with wide, eager eyes, some even licking their lips in anticipation of the sweetness.

Their faces were glowing with pure, unadulterated excitement when suddenly...

...the ground violently trembled.

An earthquake.

In a fraction of a second, the joy vanished. Smiles faded, replaced by instant, paralyzing fear.

"Don't worry, children... it's just a tremor. Mother Earth has her own way of responding sometimes," she said calmly, her voice steady as she forced a reassuring smile to pacify the rising chaos.

But before the children could even settle, a second, far more violent jolt struck. The walls groaned, and deep, spiderweb cracks ripped through the plaster.

The teacher realized instantly-this was no minor tremor. The old, poorly maintained building was failing. It could collapse at any second. Her mind raced in a thousand directions, but one truth anchored her: she was the only adult here. She was the only one who could save them.

"Structures are shaking, but we are strong! Listen to me and you will be safe!" she shouted, her voice commanding and powerful enough to cut through the panic.

The students, who had begun screaming and pushing toward the doors, froze at the sheer authority in her tone.

Another jolt violently rocked the room. With a deafening roar, the heavy concrete wall near the exit collapsed, completely trapping them inside.

A suffocating silence fell over the room. Dust choked the air, and terror filled the children's eyes.

The teacher knew she had to become their literal shield. Twenty innocent lives were resting entirely on her shoulders.

"Listen to me! Keep your backpacks on, push all the heavy desks together, and crawl under them immediately! Move!" she ordered firmly.

The children obeyed blindly. Within minutes, the wooden desks were shoved together, forming a sturdy, makeshift shelter-a defensive roof beneath a collapsing ceiling.

The next tremor shook the foundation, widening the cracks in the remaining walls.

"One by one, get under the desks! Move all the way to the far end. Don't push each other!" she guided them.

They followed her instructions perfectly. But then... the big one hit.

A massive, cataclysmic jolt tore through the earth. The entire school building collapsed inward.

She had no time to dive under the shelter herself. A massive, heavy slab of concrete debris fell directly onto her legs, pinning her to the floor and sending a blinding, white-hot agony through her entire body. Her lower half was completely crushed, but her upper body remained free.

Gritting her teeth so hard they threatened to crack, she swallowed her scream and forced a smile.

"Don't worry... we are safe. You all did a wonderful job," she said, her voice impossibly soft and steady.

That single, forced smile became the children's lifeline.

"Now listen carefully to me. Soon, the rescue teams will come to dig us out. Until they get here, we have to stay strong. Promise me... none of you will give up."

Small, dust-covered heads nodded silently from beneath the desks.

Another aftershock rattled the rubble, showering them in debris. The pain in her pinned legs was blinding, but she kept her voice light.

"Don't focus on the noise outside. Close your eyes and cover your ears. This is just a test... it's a game. If you stay strong and follow the rules, we win."

Slowly, the children's panicked breathing began to settle.

"Now, carefully remove your bags. Take out your lunchboxes and water bottles and keep them right next to you. Lie flat on your stomachs and place your backpacks over your backs like turtle shells," she instructed.

They followed every word without a single question.

"Beta, hand me the packets of candies," she whispered to her son.

The boy crawled slightly forward and handed them over, his eyes entirely full of absolute trust.

She gathered all the remaining food and water from the children, pooling the resources together in the cramped, dark space.

"Listen, children... we have successfully crossed Level One," she said gently. "But we don't know how long this game will last. Level Two is this: we only eat when I say so. Just a tiny bite, just enough to stay alive... not to fill our stomachs. Understood?"

Before she could even finish her sentence, another violent jolt shook the ruins.

"Bags over your heads!" she commanded.

With a final, deafening crash, the remaining overhead structure settled, sealing them completely beneath a mountain of rubble.

They were buried deep under the concrete. But they were alive.

Time lost all meaning in the pitch black. The hours bled into days.

Despite the agonizing, throbbing torment in her lower body, she never stopped talking. She kept her voice moving through the darkness-asking them about their dreams, telling them elaborate stories, distracting their fragile minds from the reality of their tomb.

When the darkness felt too heavy, she rationed the food. A few bites of stale bread. One tiny sip of water.

Three days passed. The lunchboxes were completely emptied. The water bottles dried up, one by one.

Her legs had gone entirely numb, a terrifying sign. Deep down, she knew she had lost them forever. Quietly, secretly, she stopped drinking water altogether, hoarding her own share for the children.

Twice a day, she distributed the birthday candies instead-passing small pieces of chocolate sweetness through the gaps in the desks to keep their blood sugar up and their hope alive.

On the seventh day, a frightened voice broke the silence.

"Teacher... Alina is not waking up!"

Her heart violently sank. No. If even one child gave up, the collective psychology would shatter, and the others would lose the will to live.

"Try to wake her," the mother said, her voice weak as she reached out, handing over her own water bottle, which contained the very last drops of liquid they had.

Her son looked at the bottle. His own throat was burning with a terrible, agonizing thirst. His eyes lingered on the plastic container in the dim light.

"No, son. Alina needs it more. Be strong."

"But Maa... I'm so thirsty... just one sip..." he whispered, his voice cracking.

The mother inside her violently broke. Every maternal instinct screamed at her to hand the water to her own flesh and blood. But the protector inside her chose everyone.

"Listen to me... this is Level Three. If you drink it now, we lose the game," she said, making her voice firm despite the weeping storm inside her soul.

And it worked. The boy obeyed. With tiny, trembling hands, he lifted the unconscious girl's head and let the final few drops of water fall onto her parched lips.

Moments later, the little girl stirred. Her eyes fluttered open, and a faint smile appeared on her face.

Hope returned to the darkness.

But on that seventh day, the teacher grew entirely quiet.

"Teacher..." her son called out softly into the dark. He wanted to scream Maa, but he knew the rules of the game. He didn't want to compromise her position.

She forced her heavy eyelids open. She forced one last, faint smile. "I'm okay..."

But his heart knew the truth. She wasn't.

Then... a sound.

It was faint at first, a distant vibration through the concrete. Then it grew clearer, sharper. The heavy mechanical thrum of bulldozers. The shouting of human voices.

Rescue.

She had done it. They had won the game. They had crossed the final level. They had survived.

Summoning the absolute last reserve of her fading mortal strength, she whispered into the dark, "The game is over... you did it... all of you."

Slowly, weakly, she raised her hand through the rubble, forming a fragile victory sign.

Her eyes met her son's one final time. And then, she closed them forever.

Hours later, the emergency rescuers broke through the concrete and pulled the children out into the blinding, beautiful sunlight.

Alive. Every single one of them.

Deep within the ruins, only one stretcher moved slowly, its burden completely covered and silent. The face remained hidden from the world.

Their teacher. She had given her life so they could live. She was not just a teacher by profession, but a teacher by the very fabric of her soul.

And beneath the cold ashes of that building, those twenty children had learned a lesson that would stay with them for the rest of their lives.