CHAPTER (3) Breaking the Silence: The Wall of Indifference

 Dark Secret of the Mountain School

It was Kausar whom I spotted during that break. I thought that maybe she would step in and lend

a hand. Not once did she turn my way. Her eyes stayed locked on those sheets, blanking me out.

Out came only these words: “Stay quiet or things get worse." But I didn’t stop; those days

Madam Erum was very busy. One day, I got a chance and found her free and in a happy mood. I

explained everything to her but skipped the video recording. That moment stuck. Principal Erum

sat still and quiet. However, when she mentioned hostel safety, her expression shifted instantly.

The words never got out, and her look shut everything down. Out of nowhere, she made up a

story about Sir Noor being tied to the girls. That one didn’t sit right with me. I told her, "That is

not true. Farah is from Punjab, and Sir Noor belongs to Balochistan. This is a school. My parents

sent me here because they thought I would be safe." Principal Erum just waved her hand like she

did not care. The look in her eyes said, "You have gone far." She concluded the conversation by

saying, "Okay, I will discuss this with Sir Ram, and you also don't tell this to anyone.” I nodded

my head and left the office.

That morning, news had already spread through the school. The tight walls of the staff room pressed

in on me. Teachers spoke in low tones, their eyes flicking toward the door. The next day, Sir

Noor arrived in his Toyota Hilux Revo. This was alarming. Najma came to me. "I am afraid.

What will happen? We are all alone here." She was terrified. Outside, I was peaceful, but inside,

I was also terrified, but I knew Allah was with us. After a few minutes, Masi (maid) came to me

and said that Mam Erum was calling me. Everyone was staring at me, and I also knew that this

was a matter of do-or-die. Najma said, "My prayers are with you." I said, “Thank you," and then

I moved to the Mam Erum office. Sir Noor was sitting on a chair like a lord in stiffly starched

clothes. I sat beside his chair, and Erum sat in front of us; an office table sat between us.

My heart was pounding like it wanted to jump out of my chest. “Ma'am, Erum told me that you

have some issue with me.” Sir Noor directly attacked me. “Not with you but your act," I

explained. “And what is that act?" He said in a taunting tone. “You said that no male would enter

the hostel, but I found you two times entering the hostel at night and going to Farah and Faryal’s

room.” My eyes were watching his reaction. “Then what’s the issue? Me, or Farah/Frayal, or

night?" “All of them because you said to us that no male will enter the female hostel. It is a

security breach.” I explained the details. “Your madam didn’t tell you that they are my relatives.”

Now his tone turned into a low growl.

“Yes, she told me, and I explained to her that you are Baloch and Farah and Faryal are Punjabi.

How can they be your relatives? And if you are relatives, you can come during the day. My

whole body was trembling at the thought of its consequences.

“First of all, this is my school. When and how I want to come, I will come; it's my restriction,

and no one can stop me. The day they and I are so very busy that we don't have time to meet.

Nobody has issues with it, except you. Don't try to be heroic; remember any heroic act has a

cost." A serious threat in his voice. “Okay then, I don’t have any choice; just leave this job," I

said firmly. “Okay, as you wish." Then I left the office.

Kausar just crossed me, pretending to be busy with her files; her voice slipped through the air.

"You are dead; big trouble waits for you." It terrified me. Then Balach also passed by me,

saying, "Don't worry, we are with you."

Justice at the Peak: A Triumph Over Corruption

That night in the girls' hostel was really weird. The silence was so quiet that it felt like the whole

building was waiting for something to happen. Neither Najma nor I could sleep. Every little

noise made us jump. At one point, Najma was sitting in bed, whispering loudly. “He will kill us

for this, I know it. He will not let us leave.”

Our hands and our voices were trembling, but we finally picked up our phones. We called our

homes and told them everything. The security problem, the danger, all of it.

When my father answered, his calm voice got really strong and protective. That was the time I

felt a little hopeful.

"Stay locked in your room," he said. "We are coming to get you. You are not alone."

By sunrise, we went to the school feeling scared, thinking we would get looks... All the staff, the

helpers, the teachers, and everyone stood together, silent and strong. No one went inside, and the

school was closed. People were whispering to each other, telling secrets. It turned out that the

whole village had been living with these secrets for years.

They had seen Sir Noor hurt teachers who could not afford to lose their jobs. They had been

waiting for someone to stand up. They were still scared. The first car that entered the school

building was Sir Ram's. Then Balach, one of the teachers, came up and said, "Sir Noor’s partner,

Sir Ram, is a 'nice person.' Even though he is a Hindu, he has humanity and would protect us.

Najma grabbed my arm, her eyes narrow. "How can you trust him?" she said quietly. “He is

probably another friend of Noor’s.”

Then we heard the jeep’s sound coming from the top of the hill. These were not Sir Noor's

friends. My father had called a friend. A major from our family. Soldiers came out of the jeep

and took over the school, and like that, all the fear went away.

I did not wait; I ran straight to my dad, my boots hitting the ground. When I finally reached him,

I started crying. He hugged me tight, smiling. "So," he said quietly with relief in his voice, "Do

you still want adventure?” I looked up, my heart finally feeling okay, and laughed. “No,

definitely not.”

As we packed our things and got ready to leave the hostel for good, something amazing

happened. The village people came. Not angry. Thankful. They threw flowers at us, a few gave

us bouquets, and smiled like a weight had been lifted. Farah and Faryal found us in tears. Their

eyes thanked us for the freedom they never thought they could have. At that moment, I realized

how hard it is to do the thing. How lonely it can be... Honestly, it is the only way to stop bad

people from being in charge. 

The Beauty of Balochistan

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Dark Secret of the Mountain School

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The Haunted School’s Dark Secret: What Happened That Night? | Chapter [2]

QaiSaifullah

 Midnight came, then silence; the wind just gave up. Deep in sleep, something touched my

shoulder. Eyes opened; Najma was above me. Moonlight across her face. Fear sat heavily in her eyes.

Out of nowhere, her breath came quickly, and her eyes stretched open like she'd seen something

wrong. A hushed sound slipped out when she spoke, barely disturbing the air between us. She

said, "Sir Noor. Just stepped into Farah's and Faryal’s room." I jumped out of my bed. My heart

was pounding, and suddenly, my chest tightened from curiosity. Heavy air

pressed against the walls. That moment showed me something about our school; it wasn't a

shelter at all.

With light footsteps, we moved down the hall. Silent footsteps touched the cold floor without a

sound. Air was stuck in our lungs. Eyes stayed fixed ahead. At the doorway of the girls’ bedroom.

Out stepped the headmistress. Out of nowhere, fear kicked in, not a word came from the

gatekeeper. He snapped to attention, spine rigid. A salute followed, sharp and sudden. His

expression gave away whatever was unfolding.

It hit me that our school kept things hidden. Survival wasn’t a choice; it was what we were stuck

doing. Not only did the peaks of Balochistan look striking, but they also concealed hidden truths.

The night's visit provided proof: safety was an illusion here. Appearances were deceptive; both

the land and the building concealed secrets. After we saw it, everything blurred into nothing. A

thought kept coming back; it could have been an accident. Perhaps someone slipped up once.

Though there was no real doubt left. That break-in at the dorm stayed stuck in my head. My gut

twisted up, heavy and cold.

A few days passed smoothly, but one night, quiet nights before now seemed different—too still.

That hush carried weight. Something unseen lurked just behind it, ready to snap. Out of nowhere,

Najma quit laughing. Not a single joke slipped out after that. No more poking fun at me, either.

Instead, her eyes stayed fixed on the glass pane, as if expecting a signal.

Then came a dark evening, and her voice cut through the silence. At that moment, sunlight hit

the tiles just right. Across the open space, Sir Noor moved slowly, almost floating. His fingers

curled around that thick mustache like he owned the air. A guard stood stiff near the gate. Arms

still, face blank. Nothing changed in his posture. Not even a blink. My phone captured each

moment. Sir Noor walked into the girl’s room boldly as if he were welcome there. He moved

like someone aware his actions didn’t belong. Everyone else acted blind, eyes elsewhere. Not

merely rule-breaking, this carried deeper wrong.

Baloch Dance

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HerTrembling Hand Broke the Silence in Qila Saifullah

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Friendship, Fear, and Freedom: My First Year Teaching in Qila Saifullah, Balochistan

The Real-Life Hero
 

Stuck in Karachi, the air clung thick around me; humidity crept under my skin, never letting go.

Wherever I moved, dampness tagged along, slow and heavy. Sitting still, I flipped newspaper pages

but didn't read them fully. Life plans blurred into the background noise of wet streets. Choices

felt distant, buried beneath layers of sweat and silence.

After my master’s degree, the idea of a city office job held no interest. Not once did I feel drawn

to that kind of life. Something wilder pulled at me. Balochistan’s mountains began filling my

thoughts without warning.

Pacing there, caught between thoughts, my parents just watched. Restless energy filled the room;

they saw it clearly. Permission came at last, opening a door I’d been pushing against. Relief

washed in, quiet and deep. Their look held what words could not: we know why you must go.

That teaching job interview felt heavy. Silence filled the space. People around shifted. uneasily.

Not Najma, though. She sat beside me, after the introduction. I got her name, twisting strands of hair, peeking at shiny awards lined up high. Her voice slipped out low. “Staring into mirrors too long might break me.” A joke, maybe. Just came across that way. Her hand trembled just a little, same as mine. That’s how Najma shows up in moments like these. Out of nowhere, she’d just smile, and somehow everything got lighter. Tension slipped away without anyone noticing. Najma broke the ice with a few funny comments about the interviewers. Moments later, phone numbers passed between us as if we’d

known each other for years. My breath came slow, fighting the shake inside. She sat relaxed, as

if nothing weighed on her at all.

After a week, the phone rang with the job offer, and my breath stopped. A sharp spark ran

through me, sudden and bright. Then came Najma’s voice, loud and shaking, yelling, "We made

it!” into the receiver. We looked like just another pair of city girls on forms and files. But inside,

it didn’t feel small at all.

The Road to Qila Saifullah Hiding What Lies Above

A van arrived from the school in Karachi that morning. Behind us now, the city faded. into dust.

Cooler air slipped through the windows as we moved forward. The road pulled us deep into

Balochistan. Everything out there seemed unknown, almost silent.

Up we went, a road stretching further into the peaks. Past Khuzdar it rolled, a wide stretch of

stone under a bright sky. Beauty sat heavily in the air. Silent, vast like Earth, but not quite. My

fingers gripped the edge of the seat. Not even Najma broke the stillness.

Out there, she said softly, “It feels hollow,” then paused. That hollowness pressed hard, not

because we were far from streets or lights, but because all familiar things had been dropped like

stones into a well. Silence followed, not the kind that comes with space. Rather, the sort born

when pieces of life stay behind without warning. Out here, the moment we reached Qila

Saifullah, daylight lingered. Purple stretched above; waiting ahead, the principal stood with the

staff. Their eyes held distance, almost cautious; weight pressed down, as if those peaks around

had voices.

A corner of the women’s hostel became ours; just a tiny room with thick walls surrounded us,

and safety crept in without saying much. Our bags hit the floor one after another. Echoes

of our talk slipped through the hall like quiet guests.

Each day began the same way: lessons in daylight, then shared meals followed by evening strolls

among the trees. As darkness fell and the peaks around grew still, a slow unease crept in. Not

loud or sharp, just hanging at the edge like breath on glass.

Of course, there were rules of the hostel: men stayed away, no exceptions. Our space, our own

small universe, just for us. Despite every rule, a quiet sense crept in: we were seen. Something

waited, still ready when we slipped. A beginning hides inside each instant, though none stay

long. Teaching brought us here more than anything else.

Secrets lingered in the hills because time had left them behind.

Out there near the Balochistan peaks, mornings always felt sharp. Cold pushed through every

crack by sunrise; blankets lost their warmth fast. Hostel walls did nothing against that chill. Feet

hit the floorboards before the light showed up. A slow walk followed toward whatever food

waited. Breakfast came like clockwork, even when bodies resisted. Heavy legs followed each

day in the classroom. A nap became hard to ignore by mid-afternoon. Sleep came easily, quiet

and deep. Evening light crept through the windows before we stirred. Grading stretched on past

dinner, page after page. Darkness draped heavily when the world slowed down there. That

stillness pressed against our skin without warning.

Weekends meant heading out to Zarzari Picnic Spot in Ziarat and spending time in the Siazgaah

Mountains. Beauty stood strong in those spots. Up at Kan Mehterzai, breathing took more effort;

the air was so light, filling lungs there brought its own kind of comfort. Gazing across wide open

valleys sparked something uneasy inside. Eyes soaked in the view just the same. Far beyond

Karachi, we found ourselves in a completely different place.

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