13th October, 2011
1:49 PM - at bus stop
"Is that the last one?"
Hak asked his elder brother in an undertone, nerves tightening his voice.
"Apparently, yes."
"And it is not even a direct one to Abbottabad?"
"Yes."
Hamid replied, voice lowered as he faced Hak and then glanced at the management of the bus station—the way they exchanged looks made their judgment obvious.
One brother was tall, around 5'11, broader built, healthy. The other stood roughly 5'4, fit but small-shouldered, twig-like arms and legs, a little stomach from pressure bloating. A weak, meek appearance overall, with a backpack on his back and a shoulder bag in hand.
They laughed as they looked at them, as if thinking mischief. The elder brother stared back coldly, daring them, while Hak's eyes moved everywhere, taking everything in—his long‑formed habit as an introvert.
"Now what?"
Hak asked, staring at the last bus leaving in ten minutes. The only one… and a business one at that.
Hamid shrugged and handed over his ID.
"2 tickets."
They nodded and proceeded, still flashing those irregular smiles at each other.
"But isn't that like way too expensive?"
Hak's mind questioned as he gazed at the bus and its features. Hamid took back his ID and gestured for him to move.
Without another word, Hak looked around once before stepping into the bus.
"Go to seat 20‑21, take whichever you like," Hamid told him as he stopped by the bus hostess, handing her their tickets. She checked and stamped them, then returned them to Hamid.
Hak sat by the window and took a picture, sending it to his sister, who had been nagging him.
Hamid sat down and told Hak that he would be using the phone… what else would he do the whole ride? At least he wanted to listen to songs on the long journey.
Hak, being the younger, took a long breath and nodded. For the rest of the ride, he mostly observed his surroundings, the changing scenery outside.
By the time the clock hit 7:30 am, they were in Islamabad, trying to figure out how to reach Abbottabad by 11 am. A wild goose chase - impossible.
But before anything… they needed breakfast.
They entered a dhaba and ordered three parathas, two omelettes, half a plate of chanas, and two cups of tea.
Hak took the phone from his brother and messaged the man - Hak was, for now, calling the coach... after noticing two of his missed calls.
"Greetings, coach. Hope you are well. We have arrived in Islamabad and will try to be there by 12, hopefully."
Then came a video call from his sister, asking him questions about the journey and breakfast, filling him in on what had been happening since they left. And that Father was acting passive, though asleep at the moment. Then the call ended.
After eating, Hamid asked around at the token and bus station, eventually finding a van leaving for Abbottabad in half an hour.
"We will leave once the seats are filled."
The van driver informed. And only three seats were left after Hak and Hamid.
After around twenty minutes of waiting, a team of five entered the van, all dressed in blue tracksuits. Laughing, joking, full of loud energy. For most of the journey, they chose the songs, joked with everyone, and befriended nearly the whole van - except for Hamid and Hak. Their conversations jumped from topic to topic.
"Oy, I have heard that this time P1 had no representative?"
Laughter.
"Like really?"
A mocking disbelief.
"Yes, but HE was saying one boxer is going to make his debut from P1. So, only one unknown newbie will represent the whole of P1. The same as having no representative."
"A big politics they have played to put them in place."
The coach - observing - remarked.
The topic shifted again, but only these two sat quietly, staring ahead.
A fact that only these two were from P1, while the others were from different provinces, was about to get revealed far more ironically…
Between the banter and the casual chaos, the group finally stopped the songs. Silence settled. They were an hour from the station now, and everyone was either chatting softly, watching the scenery, or minding their own business.
Then Hak's phone rang - loudly, grabbing full attention.
A call from his coach.
He attended it. In the van's silence, the coach's voice echoed sharply.
"Hak, why are you not here yet!
Yr, they are asking where is he?
What do I answer them?
All others have already arrived!
I have to finalize the professional list and forward it!
You are the only one from the P1… Yr, you know! Is this how you are representing your whole province?"
The team turned one by one and looked at Hak - smirking - silent.
Nudging each other, whispering.
"I will be there in an hour," Hak replied, shortly - curtly.
Hayat—the coach—cut the call.
Soon after, they reached the station. As they stepped out of the van, Hamid told Hak they would simply follow the team - they were going the same way. But the team had clearly heard everything.
"Have you looked at his arms? How FRAGILE he is…"
One of them said to the coach as they stared at Hak. And even the coach couldn't hold back the smile - the smirk - the mock.
Hamid seemed to hear it but acted deaf.
Hak took slow, long breaths and continued behind them, but soon they were out of sight. Hamid stopped a taxi.
A long, humiliating journey had begun… for Hak had forgotten that he, too, WAS a boxer. And a pro one at that. And this simple realization was going to take at least seven years of his life, seven whole years of misery.