Malaika ka ghar Nazimabad ki un purani, tang galiyon mein tha jahan makaan ek doosre se kandha jode khade rehte hain. Do kamron aur ek chhat par mushtamil ye chhota sa ghar uski kul kayenat tha.

Muh-haath dhone ke baad sheeshe mein dekha toh aankhon ke neeche halki siyahi saaf jhalak rahi thi. Bikhre baalon ko ungliyon se peeche sameta aur kamre se bahar nikal aayi.

Kitchen se elaichi wali chai ki khushbu aa rahi thi. Ammi choolhe ke saamne theen.

"Uth gayi?" Ammi ne bina mudhe poochha.

"Jee," Malaika ne lakdi ki purani kursi kheench kar baithte hue kaha. Table par parathe plate mein dhake rakhe the.

Ammi ne chai ka garam cup uske aage rakha aur ek nazar uske chehre par daali. "Raat ko phir jaagti rahi na?"

"Nahi toh, bas thodi der mutala kar rahi thi."

"Mujhse jhooth mat bola kar," Ammi ne dabi hui aah bhari. Unke lehje mein woh fikr thi jo pichle teen maah se har subah unke chehre par dikhti thi. "Beta, BA ho gaya, ab aage ka bhi kuch socho. Kab tak yunhi baithe rehne ka irada hai?"

"Soch rahi hoon, Ammi. Koi munasib kaam mile toh dekhun."

"Sochne se din guzarte hain, masle hal nahi hote," Ammi ne bartan samette hue kaha.

Malaika ne parathe ka ek niwala toda, magar gale se utarna mushkil lag raha tha. Karachi University se Urdu Literature mein graduation kiye do mahine guzar chuke the. Degree haath aayi toh laga tha zindagi ka naya baab shuru hoga, magar uske baad ek ajeeb sa thehrao aa gaya tha. Rishtedaar aate toh pehla sawaal yahi hota, "Ab aage kya?" Aur Malaika ke paas koi seedha jawab nahi hota tha.

Cup utha kar woh seedhi chhat par chali aayi. Ye ghar ka akela kona tha jahan usse sukoon milta tha — jahan sawalon ka shor nahi hota tha.

September ki subah thi, hawa mein halki si nami ghuli hui thi. Farsh par paanv samet kar baith gayi aur cup ko dono haathon mein thaam liya.

Saamne aasmaan par suraj ki pehli kiranen ufaq ko narangi rang mein dhaal rahi theen. Neeche gali se kisi cycle wale ki ghanti baji, door masjid se aakhri azaan ke baad ki khamoshi utar aayi thi, aur shehr aahista aahista bedaar ho raha tha.

Malaika ne thandi hawa mein ek lamba saans liya. Shehr kitni jaldi mein tha, har koi kahin pohnchne ki firaaq mein daur raha tha. Aur ek woh thi, jo thehri hui thi.

Chai ka ghoont kadwa laga — cheeni kam thi, magar usne chup-chaap cup khatam kiya.

Dopahar ke qareeb phone ki screen roshan hui. Nida ka number jagmaga raha tha. Call uthate hi doosri taraf se cheekh sunayi di:

"Malaika! Zinda bhi hai ya qabar mein chali gayi?"

Malaika ne phone kaan se zara faasle par kiya. "Ghar par hi hoon, itna chilla kyun rahi hai?"

"Toh aur kya karun? Jab call karo ghar par hoti hai. Kabhi dunya mein bhi nikla kar! Graduation ke baad banday nayi zindagi shuru karte hain, tu aisi ho gayi hai jaise pension par baith gayi ho."

Malaika ke labon par halki si muskurahat aayi. Nida ki yahi be-baaki thi jo uske bhaari pan ko halka kar deti thi.

"Acha bata, kya baat hai?"

"Chal na shaam ko Sea View chalte hain. Hawa lagegi, dimagh khulega tera."

"Nahi yaar, aaj mood nahi hai. Thakan si ho rahi hai."

"Tera yeh 'mood nahi hai' wala bahaana sun sun ke kaan pak gaye hain mere," Nida ne daant-te hue kaha. "Sun meri baat, khud ko kamre mein band karke shayeri sochna band kar. Sham ko nahi aana toh mat aa, magar kam az kam khidki se bahar sar nikaal ke dunya dekh liya kar."

"Theek hai meri maa, koshish karungi."

"Koshish nahi, amal chahiye. Chal abhi main nikal rahi hoon, baad mein baat karti hoon."

Call cut gayi. Malaika ne phone bistar par phenka aur deewar se tek laga li. Nida galat nahi thi, magar har kisi ko samjhana mumkin nahi hota ke khaalipan ko bharna kitna mushkil kaam hai.

Shaam dhal chuki thi. Kamre mein tube-light bujhi hui thi, sirf laptop ki screen se aati roshni uske chehre ko ujala kar rahi thi.

Screen par uska Instagram account khula tha — @alfaaz.e.

Yeh uska apna makhfi kona tha. Na koi tasveer, na doston ki fehrist, na asli naam ka pata. Yahan woh lafz rehte the jo woh kisi ke saamne bol nahi paati thi. Followers koi hazaaron mein nahi the, bas aath sau ke qareeb the, magar har post par kuch log aise zaroor aate the jo uske dard ko apna kehte the.

Usne thodi der pehle likhi hui chaar satren post keen:

Post share karne ke baad usne laptop band kiya aur raat ki chai banane kitchen mein aa gayi. Ammi so chuki theen, pura ghar neem tareek aur pursukoon tha. Stovetop par doodh ke ubalne ki dheemi aawaz ke siwa koi aahat na thi.

Chai ka cup le kar woh dobara chhat par aayi. Raat ke andhere mein Karachi ki batiyan taaron se zyada chamak rahi theen.

Jeans ki jeb mein phone vibrator par hila.

Malaika ne phone nikaala. Notification bar par Instagram Direct Message ka alert tha. Ek anjaan ID — @ahmed_raza_:

Malaika ne screen par nazar jama di.

Aam taur par woh anjaan logon ke messages kholti bhi nahi thi, magar is jumlay mein ajeeb si saadgi thi — koi sasti taareef nahi thi, koi be-wajah takalluf nahi tha.

Usne screen band kar ke phone ulta kar ke railing par rakh diya. Chai ka aakhri ghoont liya aur shehr ki batiyon ko ghoora.

Magar zehan mein wahi ek jumla goonjta raha: "Koi meri diary chura kar likh raha ho..."

Raat gehri hoti chali gayi. Karachi ki sardi abhi door thi, magar hawa mein halki si khunki utar aayi thi. Malaika neeche kamre mein aayi, bistar par leti, aur aankhein band kar leen.

Pehli baar pichle kai hafton ke baad, khamoshi itni wehshat naak nahi lag rahi thi. Jaise kisi band darwaze par hawa ne halki si aahat paida kar di ho.