THE BRIDGE

Farewell by Ayesha Irfan - Pakistan

“I’m so proud of you!”

My eyes followed the source of the voice. Sudden lighting in the room made me close my eyes. I looked again after blinking a few times. My husband looked down at me with those teary brown eyes. His hands reached mine and gave a gentle squeeze. The door opened, capturing my husband’s attention.

I closed my eyes again. I felt tired. I knew they were talking but didn’t hear them. I took a deep breath trying to calm myself. The wave of sleep was engulfing me when a little cry of a little baby pulled me back up. My eyes opened in an instant. All the memories came back as to why my body felt like burning. I looked at my husband who was carrying our little newborn daughter. Tears engulfed my eyes as I looked at them. My arms raised to her unconsciously. My husband immediately asked the nurse to help me sit. He smiled at me and handed me my baby.

I couldn’t see her face properly as my eyes were filled with tears. I blinked those rebellious tears away. I saw her. I closed my eyes and smelled her scent.

“What’s her name?” The nurse asked.

“Her name is..”

The room began to shake up and down. My eyes opened and I looked at the old lady sitting in front of me. She was munching cookies she had in her little brown bag. The sound of the engine blasted in the air. I could see the mountains far away and the running grassland. A child ran across the train corridor.

What’s going on?

A man sat beside the munching lady. He looked like he was ready to go hiking, with his large hiking bag which he dragged along with him. He sat there quietly with his fingers intertwined. His eyes fixed on the seat in front of him, lost in thought...

 

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A Woman's Getaway by Ayesha Irfan - Pakistan

It was like she was grabbed from the deepest realm of the earth and pulled out through the sea. She took a few long breaths to clear her mind and know her surrounding. As the blurry image in front of her became lucid, she could see a face before her. A face that was unfamiliar to her. Confusion was lead into her with unknown emotions. She couldn’t control them as she leapt onto the person but was restrained by tied hands behind her back...

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The Wounded Connection by Ayesha Irfan - Pakistan

The hurried knock on the main door brought Lady Grace of the Winterbourne household back to reality. She could hear the footsteps of a maidservant reaching for the door a couple of halls away.  She wondered who the guest was in a lonely mansion. She closed the book shut. She was not reading it anyways.

“Please fetch Greta,” She stood up and said to the maidservant behind her. “Tell her I’ll soon be retiring for the night.”

Grace walked out to receive the guest, only to be stopped in the halls by Greta herself. The oldest maid of Winterbourne household stood before her with her grey hair tied to the back, lightlessness in eyes and hands intertwined together to stop them from shaking.

“Greta, do we have guests?” Grace asked as she encountered the maid.

“No, my lady.” Came in the thoughtful reply from Greta, but her fidgeting seemed like she wanted to say something more. Grace gave her some time but no other words came out of her mouth.

“Very good,” She said and turned to go to her bedchamber.

“My lady, there is something that should be brought to your knowledge.” The maid finally found the courage to speak. Grace turned around and looked at her.

“You must allow us!” Greta’s face was down.

“Not fond of riddles.”

“Well…” She started. “You see, the matter is-” but she was interrupted by the butler who stepped in the conversation knowing very well that the old maid would take longer than necessary to utter the required words.

“A wounded soldier, my lady. Just outside the outskirts of our land. He is critically injured.”

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The Tale of a Blank Page by Ayesha Irfan - Pakistan

This story starts with, well, the world. It is a big place. Thousands of cultures and countless variations. It is home to writers and artists all around. It is easy to think that they are all different, they are, really. Except for one significant similarity. There is a magical thing out there that makes their heart throb, their breathing shallow and their minds race. And that is the mere thought of encountering a blank page. Apparently its not a very substantial thing to a normal eye but it certainly holds great importance in the world of writers and artists. They imagine the world they are going to create, a world however they would like. Their mind already running a marathon about what they are going to do and how are they going to do it.

Then, the time comes. The time that they’ve been anticipating. They come face to face with a blank page. There is no need to wait anymore. The pencils start scribbling, the brushes start stroking. Then the blank page is not blank anymore.

The end.

This my friend, seems like a tale of every blank page. But that is not the case...

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