Prologue

Children’s laughter echoed in the garden, carried by the late afternoon sun.

Hiba, no older than seven, giggled as she tried to keep up with the boy racing ahead of her. Arham, with his wild grin and scraped knees, looked back at her.

Arham (teasing):

“You’re too slow! If you can’t catch me, you owe me your marble collection!”

Hiba (pouting but determined):

“Not fair! You always run faster.”

For a moment, life was simple — two children bound by play, unburdened by the weight of the world.

Then came the sound that shattered it all.

A sharp screech. A crash. Metal against metal.

Both children froze. From the street beyond the gate, smoke rose in the air. Hiba, trembling, slipped her hand from Arham’s. She edged closer, curiosity and fear wrestling inside her. Through the gaps in the gate, she saw the twisted wreck of a car, the frantic voices, the broken body of a man being pulled out.

She covered her mouth, her heart hammering.

Arham’s cries cut through the chaos. “Baba! Baba!”

Hands dragged him away before she could move. His shouts grew faint, swallowed by sirens and panic.

And just like that, the world they knew split apart.

Years later, Hiba would remember the smoke, the blood, the sound of sirens… but not the boy whose hand she had once held.

What she did not know was that the boy had never forgotten her.