The announcement had been made in the last remaining tribe of the Forbidden Valley. They were to leave in ten days and resettle somewhere else.

Multiple things had happened in the last week. Shah Zaman's position had been questioned and a strong mutiny had risen against him. The tribal elders had turned against him - vowing that they would punish him for being subdued by the enemy. Simultaneously, Shahrazad had now lost her position amongst the women in the village. In fact, they had taken to bullying her when they weren't calling Nazli vulgar slurs.

Palwasha, in particular, had become Nazli's worst enemy. It had started when Bakhtawara had claimed that Nazli had been used by those men. Even remembering the incident brought her to a fit of excruciating sobs - an allegation so profound that Nazli had locked herself in her room without food and water. After a day when Shahrazad had begun to panic, Hamza had broken the door down. But he hadn't stopped there - he had dragged her into the pavilion and had announced that he would wed her.

Again, the tribal leaders had protested. Palwasha had weeped and sobbed and thrown even worse accusations upon her. Whore, homewrecker, prostitute, liar, sinful, shameless, manipulator . . . The list of abuse and accusations had been endless, but Hamza had vowed that he would not marry anyone, but Nazli.

But the worst feeling was how unappreciated she felt towards him. The thought of marrying the tender-hearted, but firm man should have sent a secret joy up her spine. Finally, someone from the village had shown interest in her, but . . . she knew it was merely pity. Hamza had always protected her - silently and from a distance, but he could never possibly love her.

And did she love him? Could she love him? Even after spending her entire life in his shadow - from being playmates with him when they were young and then occasionally herding sheep with him should have given her ample time to consider such feelings. Yet, she had barely known the brown-eyed silent marksman called Imad, but the sight of his smiling face had sent her heart into an addictive ecstacy.

She didn't know why she had done it. It was an impulsive act on her part - to smile at the man who had played a good role in threatening Baba Zaman and putting her entire village at the risk of homelessness, but still . . . still she could not forget his kindness. And she had wanted so desperately to tell him how grateful she was. So she had smiled, hoping he would at least see it. But he had responded with a heartstopping smile of his own. And after that, he had become a constant memory in her mind - replaying before her eyes in the daylight and under the night.

"Nazli!" Shahrazad exclaimed, plopping on the bed beside her. Three more days and they would be in another place - in another room. Their precious valley and home was being snatched from them and here she was fantasizing about the friend of the man who was doing this to them.

"Oh Nazli! You're not still angry with me, are you?" Nazli knew what Shahrazad was referring to, but she chose to not shake her head. She would be lying if she was to do that. "Nazli, I swear to you - Hamza and I searched for you everywhere! But Baba found us missing and he went berserk! He yelled at me and threatened to wed me to the next man who asked for my hand. Hamza was flogged five times for disobeying Baba! It wasn't our fault - truly!"

Nazli cringed visibly. Poor Hamza - he had suffered for her sake because Shahrazad had probably dragged him on a crazy scavenger hunt across the valley. The burden of accepting his proposal was becoming heavier and heavier upon her shoulders until it would crush her into saying yes.

And perhaps it was incumbent upon her to try. She would try . . . to replace the sight of brown eyes with Hamza's blue. She would try to seek out Hamza's blonde hair in the crowd instead of black. She would try to forget that Hamza preferred to stroll rather than trek quickly across the valley. She . . . would try and fail miserably.

"You are practically crying, Naz. Did you think we abandoned you?" Shahrazad was pushing into her single mattress - wrapping her arms tightly around her midriff. Nazli responded and couldn't help but let the warm tears roll down her eyes. "I could never leave you, Nazli. You are my sister - the apple of my eye - my first love! When I was a little girl, you were my only friend. I never knew Mama so you shared your Mama with me. You became a shadow so I could shine - I saw all the sacrifices you have made for me, Nazli. Today I am strong because of you - how could I ever abandon you?"

They both sniffed loudly - refusing to acknowledge the fact that they were being extremely sentimental. Finally Shahrazad chuckled, mysteriously wiping at her eyes before sitting up. "But you are definitely leaving me, aren't you Nazli? Haaammmmmmzaaaaaaa . . ." She sang the last word with a giggle earning a pillow smack on her face.

"Oh, but imagine your children! Both blonde definitely . . . but I wonder whose eyes they will take? Personally, I wish they would have your eyes! Only you and a few others have green eyes so it would be cool to have those!" But her brain had a mind of its own. The sight of brown eyed kids playing around her suddenly sent her blood pressure over the chart. She was breathless at her wild imagination and flushed from head to toe.

"Woah . . . I only mentioned your future kids and you already turned into a cooked lobster! How the hell are you going to get through the act?" Nazli's eyes popped at the indecent comment and she landed several smacks on the giggling girl. Shahrazad was unnerving for saying such a thing, but she was no less. Imagining brown eyed children was an ultimate betrayal to the man who had asked for her hand. She was . . . a horrible person.

"Hamza really loves you, you know." Shahrazad whispered in the dark as if she was afraid to say the words. The effect was the same on Nazli - she curled in on herself, frightened and lost at the revelation. "He said he has alwaaaays loved you. That nothing will change his love - even if . . . even if you were . . ." Raped. She felt the unsaid word like a throbbing stab to her gut. Despite the countless times Baba Zaman had protested for her innocence, no one had believed it. Even if she was to miraculously regain her ability to speak, that too would not prove her innocence.

"It's not your fault, Nazli. You never have to feel-!"

But the green eyed girl sat up with such force that Shahrazad was jumping back. She leafed out her small notebook from the side and scribbled out in her chicken scrawl. I am not marrying Hamza.

"What?! Nazli, I have said to you, haven't I? Hamza will accept you with every condition . . . even if there is some . . . extra baggage involved."

Oh Allah, she was going to be sick. Extra baggage. Had no one in this village believed her, it would not have hurt as much as now. But Shahrazad - the girl who had been her constant companion also thought the worst had happened to her? That she was raped and perhaps pregnant?

They didn't touch me! No one touched me!

"But . . . but you came in different clothes?"

Frustration and rage threatened to take over her. She didn't care - Baba Zaman had explained several times to everyone about what had happened. She could no longer take it anymore. So she buried her head in her pillow and for once allowed the submerged memories of her mother to take over.

"Your Mama has suffered through something monstrous." Baba Zaman had said to a fifteen year old girl who sat with a broken leg and cuts all over her. "Your Baba is in a good place now, Nazli. In Sha Allah, your Mama will be fine."

Just as those words were spoken, the village tabeeb (doctor) came rushing out - a forlorn expression on his face. "إِنَّا لِلّهِ وَإِنَّـا إِلَيْهِ رَاجِعونَ." To Allah we belong and to Him we return. Her mother was gone . . . both her parents were gone in the span of a few hours. She was an orphan - an orphan - an orphan.

Everyone was enveloping her in huge embraces, but she had not weeped. Only the images remained - of a man mercilessly shooting her father dead and then raping her mother brutally. She had seen it all - hidden underneath the rock her parents had guided her to. She had been a coward - trembling as her parents bodies fell, but not having the courage to rush to their aid. Maybe that was the reason why Allah's punishment fell upon her - she could no longer scream. Or speak . . .

Those images . . . she could never forget them. They would haunt her for years and years to come, but more than that it was the words of the people around her.

Good that she died. What good would it be for her to live - after her husband and honor were both lost?

Thank Allah, they didn't see Nazli. They would have definitely done the same to her.

Why do you think they were targetted? I am sure Nazli's mother was involved with another man. Jealousy drove him insane.

What a terrible ending. Rejected and ruined in this world and the next.

However the dreams of her parents were the only thing that kept her from breaking into a thousand pieces. It was a mercy from her Lord that she would often have pleasant dreams of her mother encouraging her to carry on or her father smiling at her telling her that she had made him proud. She never shared those dreams with anyone - not even Shahrazad.

But today she was facing those same allegations her dead mother had faced. The villagers hadn't even spared her mother the abuse before she was buried six feet under. They would never let her forget what had happened to her. She would forever be . . . stained.

And it was all because of that wretched man - Khalid and his sadistic brother Asadullah. She hated them - so much that she had come home and scrubbed herself a thousand times for all the times they had touched her. But that accursed green dress that had started all the rumours still sat in her small trunk.

She didn't have the courage to throw it away despite the negative connotations associated with it. For it was the only thing she had - the only thing that reminded her of something positive from that nightmare. And when her heart began to flutter in memory of him again, she knew she could no longer lie to herself anymore.

Like Palwasha, she too desired the company of a man. Like Palwasha, she too wanted to fix her gaze upon a man for as long as her heart wished. But unlike Palwasha, her heart did not sing a song for Hamza. Instead, it was for a man she should desire to run miles and miles away from. Imad.

Tomorrow, she would set things right. Tomorrow, she would refuse Hamza and make her decision known to the entire tribe. Tomorrow . . . she would take a stand.