Chapter 1: The Lantern by the Window
In the sleepy town of Rawalpindi in 1943, life moved slowly like the ox carts down dust-covered roads. Amid the quiet lanes lined with colonial homes and blooming bougainvillea, there stood a modest villa shaded by an old neem tree. Every night, a lantern glowed in the window of Room 3. It was a signal. A sign. A promise.
Inside, Zara sat by the writing desk, her silk dupatta loosely draped over her shoulder, pen poised above the paper. She wrote letters every night—letters she would never post. Letters addressed to Rehan, the man who had disappeared two years ago without a trace.
"I still light the lantern. I still wait."
The town believed he had died during the riots. But Zara refused to accept it. He had promised her one thing: “If I am ever gone, wait for the lantern to flicker. That’s how you’ll know I’m near.”
And so she waited.
Chapter 2: The Stranger in Town
On a rainy afternoon, as the smell of soaked earth filled the air, a stranger arrived at the local post office. He wore a faded coat, a turban slightly askew, and carried a battered leather bag. He asked only one question to the postmaster:
“Does anyone named Zara Hayat still live on Neem Street?”
The postmaster nodded, wary. “She does. But she's not been herself since... since her fiancé vanished.”
The stranger left without another word.
That evening, the lantern flickered violently for the first time in two years.
Zara noticed.
She stared at it, trembling. Could it be the wind? Or was it what Rehan had said?
Chapter 3: The Letter That Wasn’t Hers
The next morning, Zara found an unmarked envelope slipped beneath her door.
There was no stamp. No return address.
Inside it was a letter in handwriting identical to Rehan’s—but the ink was fresh.
Zara,
I didn’t break my promise. I’ve just been lost in ways I can’t explain in a single page. If you still keep the lantern, meet me where we last heard the flute play… under the pipal tree.
No signature. Just the scent of sandalwood—the one Rehan always wore.
Zara’s heart raced. Was this real? Was someone playing a cruel trick? Or… was it him?
Chapter 4: The Pipal Tree
That night, she ventured alone to the old pipal tree outside the town shrine. It had been their secret meeting spot back when they had to keep their love hidden from her orthodox family.
A flute tune drifted in the breeze. Her heart stopped.
Rehan?
She followed the sound, but the tree was empty.
Instead, she found a second letter tucked into a carved nook in the bark.
You came. That means you still believe. I’m not free yet, but each letter will bring us closer. You must follow them, no matter how painful the truths you uncover.
Below it was a date: 22 October 1941—the day before he vanished.
Chapter 5: The Locked Box
At home, Zara searched every corner of her room. Something stirred her memory. Rehan had once gifted her a tiny brass box, saying, “Don’t open it until the day we are apart.”
She had hidden it away.
Now, she found it under the false bottom of her drawer. The lock clicked open with her mother’s old hairpin.
Inside, wrapped in a red handkerchief, were three things:
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A torn photograph of a British officer holding Rehan’s shoulder.
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A train ticket dated October 23, 1941 to Delhi.
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A final letter—sealed in black wax.
She opened the letter with trembling fingers.
Zara,
If you found this, then you’ve followed the trail. I had to vanish. Not for fear, but to protect you. I uncovered something—something about my own identity and theirs. They wanted to silence me.
What was he talking about? Who were “they”?
Chapter 6: Secrets of Blood
The photo nagged at her. She took it to the local photographer to restore. What he discovered sent chills through her.
The British officer in the image wasn’t just anyone. He was Major Henry Wellesley, a high-ranking intelligence officer… and Zara’s mother’s employer before Partition talks had even begun.
Her mother had worked as a nurse in the British cantonment.
Zara rushed home and confronted her mother, who finally broke down.
“Rehan was not an ordinary boy,” she whispered. “He was the illegitimate son of Wellesley. Your father would never have allowed your marriage.”
Zara’s world tilted. Everything she had known was now shadows and secrets.
Chapter 7: Midnight at the Station
The last clue in the brass box was the train ticket—Delhi. October 23rd. Could he still be there? Was this trail recent, or a trap?
That night, she packed a small bag and made for the train station, her heart pounding.
On Platform 4, a man in shadows stood under a broken lamp.
“Rehan?” she whispered.
The man turned.
He was older, worn down—but unmistakably him.
He smiled softly. “You kept the lantern lit.”
She ran into his arms, sobbing. “Where have you been? Why didn’t you come back?”
He held her close. “They tried to kill me, Zara. When I found out about my father’s plans to rig the land records during Partition, I spoke up. The British intelligence branded me a traitor. I fled, changed names, hid. But I wrote to you… I just never sent them. It would have put you in danger.”
Chapter 8: Letters Beneath the Lantern
They spent the night in a safe house owned by a trusted friend of Rehan’s.
He showed her a satchel filled with unsent letters. One for every week since his disappearance.
“I wrote to you by candlelight, hoping the universe would carry them to you.”
Zara wept. She took the letters and whispered, “Every night, I wrote to you too. I never stopped.”
They laughed through tears. They had both lived in silence, loving each other through ink and memory.
Chapter 9: A New Morning
They returned to Rawalpindi under new names.
Her mother welcomed them, finally letting go of old rules and embracing a daughter’s happiness over society’s judgement.
The lantern in the window now glowed not for waiting—but for reunion.
Rehan opened a small bookshop. Zara wrote her stories—starting with their own.
Chapter 10: The Final Letter
One year later, on their anniversary, Rehan placed one final letter on Zara’s desk.
My Zara,
Thank you for keeping the light alive. For believing. For following the trail of letters.
This is the last one, for now. Because I’m right here—and I’m never leaving again.
She folded the letter, kissed the seal, and placed it beneath the lantern.
It flickered once.
Then stayed bright.
Forever.
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