I’ll be there for you

Chapter 38 of Hold ON: Trail 5, Margalla Hills, Islamabad 2018

(N.B. I’m writing a novel, a chapter a week, here on Medium. Find out why I write here, start from Chapter 1 here, and always feel free to give me feedback in the comments. I write here for the community.)

Islamabad was particularly bright and sunny on Saturday when Hira and Sarmad were to meet for a hike along Trail 5. Disembarking from her car, Hira mentally chided herself for forgetting her sunglasses at the apartment. Sarmad got out of his car almost simultaneously, which he had parked right next to hers.

They had gotten onto the topic of trekking randomly, while waiting for a meeting at the office. Hira had casually mentioned to Sarmad that she had yet to explore hiking trails in Islamabad and, to her surprise, he had suggested that they go together someday to Trail 5. There was a freshwater spring that Sarmad knew about, which many trekkers often did not get to see because they gave up halfway. The thought of finding a natural spring in an increasingly concretized Islamabad appealed to Hira greatly; she had said yes eagerly, not even considering whether or not she had prior plans.

Now, as the pair embarked on their trek across Trail 5, Hira found herself taking on the role of primary speaker. She had been caught off guard by the greenery of the trail, much to Sarmad’s surprise. And in response to his raised eyebrows, she had begun the story of how there was very little natural greenery where she had grown up, in Peshawar. Before she knew it, she was opening up about the difficulties she had endured as a young person, especially as the first person in her generation who took her education and career seriously.

“Of course,” she began, “I don’t have any regrets. I know my parents did the best they could under the circumstances. And yet, I wonder how different my life could have been if we had similar exposure to nature. If we could have played in grass instead of filthy narrow alleys spewed with sewage.”

Sarmad walked along her throughout. He would nod occasionally, but remained silent for the most part, and it was beginning to irk Hira. Here she was, talking about the most vulnerable parts of her life, to no response. It felt as if she was talking to a wall. No consolation, no words of compassion, nothing. So she had tapered off her story, waiting to see what Sarmad’s response would be if he responded at all.

After about half an hour of silence, Hira decided to speak up. She was gasping for breath, and her t-shirt clung to her back, completely drenched in sweat. As she wiped her forehead with her sleeve she said,

“Sarmad, this is enough for today. It’s my first time on this trail and the weather is unbearably humid. We should head back.”

Sarmad, too, was clearly fatigued, and his appearance matched Hira’s. His branded shoes were caked in mud from when he had slipped along the edges of a puddle, and his mass of curly hair now clung to his forehead in wet tangles. Hira sensed that he had been waiting for her to voice her exhaustion first, so he would not appear ‘weak’.

They both settled onto a bench next to the cracked, dry bed of what would have been a shallow stream. The pair were silent as they took deep breaths, trying to cool down. The chirping of birds was the sole sound in the vicinity.

“My parents used to bring me along on this trail when I was a child,” Sarmad started out of the blue. Pointing towards the dry bed he continued, “This stream will come alive in a month or so when the rains get going. It will turn this place into a beautiful spot.”

Hira remained silent. She was both taken aback at this unexpected information and still slightly irked at Sarmad for being silent throughout the trek and leaving her to carry the entire conversation.

Sarmad seemed not to sense this and continued, “My parents still trek at least once a week, but I can’t really join them because they feel obligated to provide a constant stream of advice. It doesn’t stop, not even on the trail.”

Hira didn’t know how to respond to this. She had always assumed that this kind of parental disconnect was only found in less affluent families, and that wealthier families didn’t face these issues. But now, hearing Sarmad share these little snippets of his life, Hira felt it was a revelation that confirmed what she had already suspected about him.

Though calm on the surface, Sarmad evidently had his own demons to deal with like everyone else. He was simply unwilling, or perhaps unable, to share them with anyone else. It made Hira feel special, knowing that he trusted her with information about his private life.

Over the past few months, Hira and Sarmad had been working together on numerous projects. They would often sit together for hours discussing these projects, during the course of which they had shared their interests, and their favorite spots to frequent in Islamabad. Sarmad had suggested different places they could go to, but Hira had been hesitant to meet him outside of work.

“I’ve always been adventurous” Sarmad would often say offhandedly. “I used to go on random adventures with my parents as a child but it sort of tapered down as I got older. I’ve wanted to get back into it for some time but now I can’t find anyone to accompany me.”

“I’ll accompany you someday on one of your adventures, if you want,” Hira would respond noncommittally, and that would be the end of the discussion. She hadn’t really expected him to take her up on the offer until he had offered to take her on this trek.

Recently, Hira had also mentioned Sarmad in her daily talks with Ahmad.

“Sarmad is a diligent worker, but I sense a deep underlying sadness within him. He’s usually very reserved, so when he starts talking, I listen intently. But then he seems to drift off into his own world. What do you think happened that made him this way? Because I personally can’t fathom how someone so young can be like this.”

“Why does it matter? I don’t think any good will come from you trying to piece his life together. He’s your colleague and works well with you. Isn’t that all you should be concerned about?” Ahmad had snapped.

His reaction had struck Hira, but she had decided to ignore it for the time being and talk about something else. Moving on to the topic of their future, Hira had asked Ahmed where they should look for apartments.

“I want to live outside Islamabad, perhaps in a suburban area. Maybe we could find a place along the Murree Expressway or near the new airport,” Ahmad had proposed.

“Very clever of you,” Hira had responded. “You’ll be working from home while I endure long commutes to work. I’ve been enjoying living in my apartment in F10. It’s convenient and most places are close by. I think we should look for an apartment in Islamabad.”

“Well, who knows what kind of job you’ll be doing next year,” Ahmad had replied.

Hira had been contemplating this since he had brought it up. The thought had never crossed her mind, though she knew that the challenges of operating from within Pakistan were taking a toll on Shehryar and that he wouldn’t be able to bear this load indefinitely. The thought of not working alongside Shehryar, or in her comfortable workplace, was an unpleasant thought that soured her mood. It had taken her a good deal of time to become comfortable in this environment; it was obvious why she dreaded any change.

Now, on the bench at Trail 5, Hira felt a surge of gratitude for her surroundings.

“I’m so grateful to you for introducing me to this beautiful place. Having such a green space is truly a blessing. I hope to make the most of it before the authorities decide to dump concrete on the trail. If only I could visit daily,” she mused.

“Who’s stopping you,” Sarmad replied. “There’s no fee after all.” And then he laughed.

This was the first time Hira had seen him laugh. It was heartwarming to see him finally act his age. She wondered if it was being in nature, in his preferred habitat, that had prompted such a rare response from him.

Something had shifted in Sarmad. As they descended the trail, they engaged in deeper conversations about their education, their daily routines and other mundane things.

Once at the bottom of the trail, Sarmad turned to her and said, “If you have the time, we could grab chai and pakoras here at Naseer’s shop in the parking area of this trail. They’re the best pakoras you’ll ever have in Islamabad. He seemed shy when making this suggestion, but Hira took him up on the offer. The hike had given her quite an appetite.

Next to the unassuming pakora stall, the pair perched on a relatively smooth rock, the air filled with the welcoming aroma of deep-fried food. In this little cocoon, the atmosphere was unusually still and humid. There was no rustling of leaves or sign of movement from wildlife, but Hira and Sarmad were too caught up in their conversation to notice.

“Do you miss your childhood days, when you would make regular trips here with your parents?”, Hira asked.

“I do miss them”, Sarmad confessed. “But then, things changed. It was like everyone turned against me; I became a constant topic of discussion in family gatherings, with everyone talking about how I was lagging behind in my studies and career. So I distanced myself from everyone.”

Sarmad paused, and looked away, seeming on the brink of tears.

“I can understand what that’s like. I’ve been in many similar situations, especially with my mother,” Hira empathized.

They sat in silence for a while. Hira observed Sarmad’s sharp nose and deep-set eyes, and his fair complexion, which was growing rosy due to a combination of the weather and his emotional confession.

Eventually, Hira asked Sarmad about his mother. She already knew that his father was a doctor and was intrigued to know more about what his mother did.

“She runs an NGO for social work, something I was never interested in,” Sarmad shrugged.

“Growing up, my parents were often occupied with their work, and I could rarely spend time with them in the evenings. Our house was always bustling with family friends and hosting events. My parents preferred talking to their friends instead of each other.”

Hira felt a pang of sympathy for the person she had been working alongside for these past few months. She wished ardently that she could do something to help him, but she couldn’t think of what that could be.

“You know,” she began hesitantly, “You can always talk to me. I will always be willing to listen.”

Sarmad sighed and placed his hands over his eyes for a moment.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable by dumping all this on you. You’re the first person I’ve ever told these things to.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m grateful that you trusted me enough to tell me,” Hira consoled.

After another short silence, Sarmad stood up and looked up. “Let’s call it a day then, looks like it might rain at any moment.”

Walking back to their cars, he said, “We can plan another hike next week, if you would like.”

“I would love to, but I’m going home next week. My mother needs some checkups done for her kidney issues, so I have to take her. Also, my brother appeared for the CSS and another police exam. His results are expected this week, and I’d like to go home and be there for him when they announce the results”, Hira explained.

Sarmad nodded and offered his best wishes to her mother. “I hope it all goes well and that she recovers soon. Best of luck to your brother as well!”

Before getting into their respective cars, Hira turned to Sarmad and said, “You can always reach me by phone, you know. I’ll be there for you.”