The night passed in fragments Noor would never remember clearly.

Somewhere between darkness and the muffled swaying of the truck bed, her mind floated through jagged images.

She saw Maira’s face, bloodied but fierce, shouting words Noor could not hear.

She saw her father’s twisted sneer, lips curling into curses, his hand always raised, always ready to strike.

She saw her mother’s eyes — not warm, never warm — but hard, glittering like shards of broken glass.

Every vision was wrapped in silence. Even in her dreams, her voice never came.

The cotton shifted around her, rising and falling as the truck rattled down uneven roads. Its faint smell of earth and sun lingered in her nose, clinging to her like an unfamiliar embrace.

The softness should have been comforting, but to Noor, it felt unreal, like she was floating not in cotton but in clouds. She feared if she moved, she would fall again — fall endlessly into the same darkness that had nearly claimed her.

Her fragile fingers clutched at the fibers, curling instinctively as if she were holding Maira’s hand. Her lips trembled with a wordless plea. Her eyelids fluttered, but her body refused to obey the call of waking.

The truck drove on. The world beyond was vast and silent. The fields stretched endlessly, stitched together by the pale light of the moon.

Trees lined the edges like black silhouettes, their branches reaching down as though trying to grasp the lone truck moving through the night.

The driver remained unaware. His head bobbed slightly to the rhythm of the road, his hands loose on the wheel, humming an old tune under his breath. He never looked behind him.

Hours passed.

The truck turned down a smaller road, its tires crunching over gravel, throwing up dust that mingled with the scent of cotton. Noor stirred faintly.

A low whimper escaped her throat — the smallest sound, fragile as a moth’s wing — but the driver did not hear.

Her head rolled to the side. Her cheek brushed against the cotton, the fabric rougher than it first appeared. Pain bloomed in her body, sharp and aching.

Every bruise screamed for attention, every scrape burned. Her knees throbbed, her shoulder pulsed.

Her eyelids fluttered open.

For a moment, she saw nothing but white — mountains of cotton pressing against her from all sides. Her heart jolted violently.

Her body convulsed, arms flailing weakly as panic surged. She thought she had died, that she was trapped in some blank void, her punishment for existing.

But then the truck hit a bump. The cotton shifted.

Through a crack in the piled fibers, Noor caught a glimpse of the world outside. The moon. The trees. The endless dark fields.

She  removed the cotton from her face.

Her breath caught in her throat. Relief and terror collided inside her. She was not dead. She was not free either. She was moving, carried somewhere she did not know.

Her small hands dug into the cotton, trying to anchor herself. Her chest heaved, her ribs struggling to contain the flood of fear. She curled her legs tightly against her chest, folding into herself like a frightened animal.

Her mind screamed questions she could not voice.

Where am I going? Who will find me? Will they hurt me? Will it be worse than before?

Her body trembled with every thought. Her lips quivered as if to form words, but only a dry gasp escaped. Her throat was too tight, her voice forever locked.

The truck rattled onward.

Her head throbbed, heavy from the fall, and tears blurred her vision. She wiped at them clumsily with the back of her hand, smearing dirt and blood across her cheek. The salt of her tears stung her cracked lips.

Noor’s body begged for rest, but her fear kept her wide-eyed. Every creak of the truck, every groan of its engine made her flinch. She pressed herself deeper into the cotton, trying to vanish within it, as though she could disappear from the world entirely.

The road stretched long. Minutes felt like hours. Hours felt like days.

Finally, the truck slowed. Its brakes squealed, and Noor’s heart seized. She clutched at the cotton desperately, her fingernails digging in. Her breaths came fast and shallow, each one a silent cry.

The truck lurched to a stop.

Noor froze.

The driver muttered something under his breath as he killed the engine. The world outside grew eerily still.

Noor’s body stiffened, terror gripping her like icy chains. She pressed her hands over her mouth, even though she had no voice to give her away. Her wide eyes darted back and forth in the cotton, searching for escape.

Footsteps.

The driver’s boots crunched against gravel as he climbed out. The slam of the door echoed like thunder in Noor’s ears.

She whimpered soundlessly, curling tighter into herself, her shawl half-draped across her arms. Her thin shoulders shook violently.

The footsteps grew closer to the back of the truck. Metal creaked. The rear latch clanged open.

Noor’s chest stopped moving.

The driver hauled himself into the bed, his heavy boots pressing down into the cotton. He dragged a hand across it, checking the load.

Noor shut her eyes. Her whole body went rigid, as if stillness could make her invisible. She buried her face against her knees, muffling her breath.

The man shifted around, moving bales, inspecting. He muttered again, swearing at the weight.

Then, satisfied, he jumped down.

The tailgate clanged shut.

The truck started again.

Noor’s body collapsed with the release of terror, though her heart still raced wildly. She buried her face in the cotton, silent tears soaking into it.

She did not know where she was being taken, or who would find her when the truck stopped again. All she knew was the pounding in her chest, the ache in her body, the endless weight of fear pressing down on her fragile frame.

Still, beneath the crushing terror, one fragile thought flickered in her heart — I escaped once. Maybe… maybe I can again.

Her arms tightened around her legs. Her eyes closed. And slowly, against the rocking of the truck, Noor drifted back into uneasy sleep, carried toward yet another unknown fate.

The world was gray when Noor’s eyes opened again.

She stirred slowly, her body aching from stiffness, her skin sticky with sweat. The cotton around her had shifted, compressed beneath her fragile frame. The air smelled heavier now — dust and faint oil, mixed with the lingering sweetness of the cotton.

Then she heard voices.

Her breath froze in her throat.

Through the crack of cotton bales, Noor saw movement. The truck had stopped again. The driver was at the rear, speaking in hurried tones with another man.

The second man was taller, his clothes neater, his manner sharper. He leaned into the truck bed, running a hand through the piles of cotton as if testing its quality. His words were businesslike, but Noor did not understand them fully. She only caught fragments — “weight,” “price,” “load.”

Every syllable pressed against her heart like a hammer.

The two men moved closer together, now standing at the side of the truck. They spoke in low voices, bargaining, their faces unreadable.

And the door — the heavy metal door of the truck — was open.

Wide open.

Noor’s heart jolted violently. Her breath quickened, sharp and shallow, her fragile chest heaving. Her small hands dug into the cotton.

Now. Now. Now.

The thought screamed inside her head, louder than any sound she had ever made.

But terror followed instantly after.

What if they see me? What if I fall again? What if it’s worse out there than here?

Her body shook violently, knees knocking together. Her lips parted as if to whisper, but only silence escaped.

Her wide, terrified eyes darted between the men and the open door. The morning light filtered through, soft and pale, spilling onto the cotton like a path meant only for her.

Freedom — it was right there.

Her whole body wanted to move, but fear chained her in place. Every second of hesitation felt like drowning. Her heartbeat thundered so loud she thought the men would hear it.

Her small, bare feet twitched against the cotton. Her fingers gripped the shawl at her chest so tightly her knuckles turned white.

She remembered Maira — the way her voice had cracked, the way her bloodied hand had pushed Noor away. “Run,” her eyes had pleaded. “Run until you are safe.”

Noor’s tears welled up instantly. Her throat closed with silent sobs.

If I don’t run now… Maira’s pain was for nothing.

Her body, frail and bruised, moved before her mind could catch up. She crawled slowly, trembling violently with every inch. Each shift of cotton sounded deafening to her ears. Her gaze darted to the men — still talking, still distracted.

The air outside smelled different. Fresher. Raw. The morning had begun — the sky pale blue, streaked with orange. Birds called faintly in the distance, their voices sharp and alien to her.

She reached the edge of the truck.

Her legs shook so violently she thought they would give out. Her breath rasped noiselessly, chest pounding. She glanced once at the men — both with their backs turned, deep in conversation.

Noor clutched her shawl tighter. Her toes gripped the rough edge of the truck. She swallowed the scream rising in her chest and jumped.

The impact stung her bare feet, shooting pain up her legs, but she did not stop. She staggered forward, her body swaying like a fragile reed in the wind.

Her first instinct was to collapse, but fear whipped her forward.

She ran.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, silent but desperate. Her thin arms pumped awkwardly at her sides, her bruised legs carrying her faster than she thought possible. Her heart slammed in her chest so hard it hurt.

The earth beneath her feet was dry and coarse, dotted with pebbles that cut into her skin. She stumbled, nearly falling, but she caught herself, adrenaline dragging her onward.

Behind her, she heard the faint sound of a man’s shout.

They had noticed.

Noor’s body jolted with terror. She pushed harder, her lungs burning, her legs screaming. Her shawl fluttered wildly behind her like broken wings.

The world around her was vast, endless — a barren stretch of road lined with scattered trees and wide-open land. There was nowhere to hide, no safe shadow to vanish into.

Still she ran.

The morning sun broke fully over the horizon, blinding her eyes with its sharp light. She stumbled again, her vision blurred by tears. Her lips trembled, parting soundlessly as if begging the world not to let them catch her.

Every sound behind her — a shout, a footstep, a scrape of gravel — sent knives of panic through her chest. She imagined hands reaching, grabbing, dragging her back into the darkness.

But she kept running.

Her frail body, so accustomed to servitude and silence, now carried her into the unknown. Every step was agony, every breath fire. But fear was stronger.

And for the first time in her life, Noor was not running to serve. She was running for herself.

And suddenly the ground beneath Noor’s bare feet was no longer dirt.

It was rougher, harder, unforgiving. A strange texture bit into her soles as she staggered forward — jagged, man-made stone instead of the soft cruelty of earth. She had reached something vast and different: a road. A concrete highway stretching wide and endless, cutting through the open fields like a scar.

Her body had carried her farther than she ever thought possible. But now, every bone in her frame screamed for release.

Her legs buckled beneath her, trembling violently. Her chest heaved in silence, each breath a jagged knife. Her head spun, the world around her blurring. The light of the morning sun was no longer bright — it was blinding, stabbing into her eyes until tears streaked down her face.

Her shawl slipped from her weak grip, dragging across the road. She tried to clutch it again, fingers twitching, but her arms felt heavier than stone.

Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop…

The words echoed in her skull like Maira’s voice — desperate, begging, commanding.

But her body betrayed her.

Her knees gave way first, smacking the rough ground. Pain jolted through her body. Her palms scraped against the concrete, leaving thin lines of blood. She tried to crawl forward, inch by inch, but her arms shook uncontrollably.

Her head spun so violently she couldn’t see anymore. The fear that had carried her this far now became suffocating. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She could only feel her heart thrashing against her ribs, wild and panicked.

Then, with a small, helpless gasp of air that made no sound, Noor collapsed.

Her fragile body curled slightly as she crumpled against the roadside, her shawl tangled beneath her, dust clinging to her skin. She lay still, the rise and fall of her chest shallow and trembling.

The highway roared.

A row of cars sped by in perfect formation — large, dark vehicles with tinted glass, engines growling like predators in the morning quiet. The wind of their passing whipped against Noor’s fragile frame, pulling at her shawl and tossing her tangled hair across her pale face.

They kept going. One after another, wheels hissing against the road. They didn’t stop, didn’t slow, didn’t notice the small, broken figure lying just beyond the reach of the asphalt.

But then…

The noise changed.

The rumble of engines that had been fading into the distance suddenly cut, one after another. Tires screeched faintly as the row of cars slowed. One braked sharply, then the others followed, the sound jarring against the silence of the open fields.

The long chain of vehicles came to a stop on the empty highway.

And Noor — unconscious, fragile, unaware of the world shifting around her — lay still on the edge of the concrete, the morning sun burning gold across her bruised skin.

Warmth.

Not the kind that came from fire or sun, but something softer, stranger. Noor’s lashes trembled as her eyes opened to an unfamiliar glow. It wasn’t harsh daylight or the dim, suffocating dark of a cell. It was a gentler light — a muted, golden hue spilling from the ceiling above.

Her heart stuttered.

She blinked rapidly, her vision slowly clearing. What she saw made her breath falter in her throat.

The ceiling soared higher than any she had ever seen — smooth, ivory white with delicate patterns carved into it. Drapes, soft and shimmering, hung from the tall windows at the far end.

The walls were lined with intricate paintings, gilded frames glinting faintly. And beneath her, against her fragile frame, was something impossibly soft.

She was lying on a bed.

A massive bed.

The mattress dipped under her weight, cradling her gently, wrapped in sheets that felt smoother than anything her fingers had ever touched.

Her eyes darted around, panicked, drinking in the vastness of the room: velvet curtains, a shining chandelier, carved furniture that gleamed in the filtered light.

Everything screamed of luxury, of wealth, of a world she had never known existed.

Her stomach dropped.

Terror surged through her chest like a storm.

She sat up sharply, her breaths ragged, her hands clutching the sheet as if it would burn her. Then, with trembling urgency, she pushed herself off the bed. Her bare feet touched the polished floor — cold, smooth, alien.

The bed loomed behind her, untouched in its grandeur.

Noor’s eyes widened. Fear twisted inside her. She rushed forward, clutching the sheets with shaking hands. Feverishly, desperately, she began smoothing the blankets, tugging at the corners, pulling every fold straight.

She worked quickly, silently, until the bed looked perfect again, immaculate, as though no one had ever lain upon it.

Her breaths grew shallow. Her heart hammered so violently it hurt. She backed away slowly, staring at the spotless bed with wide, terrified eyes.

Then, with her shawl clutched in both hands, she pulled it up, covering her face. The fabric muffled her shallow breaths.

Tears stung her eyes. Her body folded in on itself, she knelt on the floor, her thin shoulders curving forward as she bent low — her forehead almost touching the polished floor.

She bowed to the bed.

Her lips quivered soundlessly as she pressed her palms together, trembling. In her silence, her whole being screamed an apology. An apology to an object.

To a bed.

Her mind whispered frantically:

'hame maaf kar do... Hame aapko chuna nahi chaiye tha... Hame maaf kardo, hame maaf kardo... Ham aesa dobara nai karenge... Please hame saza mat dena'
(I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have touched you… forgive me, forgive me… I won’t do it again… please don’t punish me…)

Every fiber of her body begged for forgiveness, as if her laying on that bed was not just a mistake, but a sin. As if the bed itself could condemn her.

The room was silent except for the sound of her quiet gasps, muffled against the shawl.

And then—

Her mind slipped, unbidden, into memory.

She was smaller, thinner, her hair shorter. Her little hands clutched a rag as she scrubbed the floor of the dim, suffocating house. The walls smelled of dust, of damp.

Her father’s voice echoed somewhere in the background, harsh and sharp. Her mother’s sharp bangles clinked against utensils.

She had been sweeping, wiping, folding clothes for hours. Her arms ached. Her back burned from bending.

But then her eyes had lifted.

The bed.

It stood in the corner of the room, raised and soft, its sheet not as perfect as today’s but still neat. The curiosity inside her — fragile, innocent, childlike — whispered:

' ye kaisa mehsoos hota hoga?'
(What does it feel like?)

Her little feet hesitated, then carried her closer. Her heart pounded as though she were stealing something. She looked around nervously — no one was there.

Then, shyly, carefully, she pressed her hand on the sheet. It felt cool. Softer than the floor.

Her breath hitched. A timid smile had ghosted across her lips. And then—she sat.

For one small, stolen moment, she let herself rest. Her legs dangled off the edge of the bed. She touched the sheet with her fingers, wide-eyed, marveling. A strange warmth filled her chest.

But it shattered the instant her sister’s voice shrieked through the room.

“Papa!”

Her blood froze. She whipped her head around. Her older sister stood in the doorway, eyes wide with shock — and disgust.

“Papa!”

Kavya yelled, her voice piercing.

"Papa! Ye mere bed par baithi hai!"
(Papa! She’s sitting on my bed!)

Noor’s small heart dropped. Terror stabbed through her chest. She jumped down immediately, panic surging in her veins. She smoothed the sheet with trembling hands, whispering sorry, sorry, sorry under her breath.

But it was too late.

Her father stormed into the room. His shadow filled the doorway, his face dark with rage. His hand came down before she could even flinch.

The beating was merciless. His palm. His fist. His belt. Each strike burned into her skin, into her memory. Her cries were silent — strangled, swallowed in terror.

Her mother watched from the side, indifferent. Kavya smirked faintly, triumphant.

When it was over, she lay curled on the floor, her body throbbing, her breath broken.

And from that day forward… she never touched a bed again. She never even looked at one without bowing, without apologizing. Without fear choking her throat.

The memory ripped away, and Noor blinked back into the present.

Her shawl was damp with tears. Her shoulders shook violently as she remained bowed low, her forehead pressing harder against the cold floor. Her fragile frame trembled, locked in that silent ritual of apology.

The bed remained untouched behind her — vast, soft, inviting. But to Noor, it was a monster cloaked in silk.

Her heart thudded louder, louder, each beat a cry of fear. Her lips moved soundlessly, repeating apologies into the shawl, to the bed, to the air, to the ghosts of her father’s anger.

She didn’t dare move.

She didn’t dare breathe too loudly.

Because even in this strange, luxurious place… she knew only one truth: touching what wasn’t hers would always bring punishment.