<p>It was around 4 PM, and the neighborhood had fallen silent without any notable activity. A beautiful young girl with chocolate-colored skin, tall and possessing a strikingly pretty face, was walking down the street. Her delicate features included a sharp, elegant nose, large doe-like eyes with a fish-like pattern in their design, and long natural lashes that gave the impression of artificial ones. Her small lips, perfectly matching her face, were soft and pink, shaped like a heart. She had smooth black sideburns resting on her delicate cheeks, with shiny, straight black hair cascading neatly on her forehead like an Arabian's. Her toes were graceful, adorned with clean, milk-white nails (kunba).</p><p>She was dressed in a stunning pink blouse gown paired with a small black hijab on her head. At around 13 years old, her appearance spoke of privilege and comfort, yet her face bore signs of dried tears, a clue that she had been crying. In her hand, she clutched a matchbox, and her dainty foot, clad in elegant black flats, moved slowly. Her beauty was so captivating that attempting to fully describe it might take an endless amount of time, as every part of her appearance was flawless.</p><p>Stepping off the main road, she ventured into a narrow alleyway, walking unsteadily, a clear sign of exhaustion. Just as she was about to turn a corner, a young man called out, "Hey, young lady!" She turned to look at him. He was seated in his car with the door open, his feet extended outside. For a moment, she hesitated to approach, but her mother’s advice rang in her mind: “Never look down on anyone because you never know when you might cross paths again.” Remembering this, she reluctantly moved closer, her face stern.</p><p>Stopping at a safe distance, she replied in a sharp tone, "Here I am." Before she could react, he swiftly stepped out of the car, glanced around to confirm there was no one in sight, and then pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket, pressing it against her face. She struggled for a moment but soon slumped, unconscious. He caught her before she fell, quickly bundled her into the backseat of his car, and drove off at high speed. Inside the car were three other unconscious girls, making a total of four, all of them young and all seemingly kidnapped.</p><p>By 4:30 PM, the clock ticked on.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p>The scene shifted to a modest house with a small entry gate. It wasn’t a poor man’s house, nor could it be considered lavish, but it fell into the category of comfortable middle-class homes. The house had two rooms, a small kitchen on the left side of the courtyard, and a toilet on the right. The courtyard itself was decently sized.</p><p>A beautiful woman sat in the courtyard on a mat, sorting rice grains awkwardly, an indication she wasn’t accustomed to such chores. She was dressed in a stunning black lace dress with red accents. Her neck and wrists were adorned with expensive gold jewelry. Her fair skin radiated luxury. In a soft, gentle voice, she raised her head and called out, "Jehan! Jehan!" A sweet, sharp voice responded from inside, “Yes, Mum.”</p><p>“Please go check on Rimsha. She left to buy matches a while ago and hasn’t returned. You know she’s unfamiliar with the area. Hurry up so we can start cooking; it’s getting late.”</p><p>Jehan’s voice, laced with laziness and spoken in English, replied, “Mum, I’m tired. Two days ago, I even showed her the way to the store. Didn’t you say she’s smarter than me? Let her figure it out and come home by herself.”</p><p>Jehan emerged from the room as she spoke.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p>Jehan</p><p>Jehan was stunningly beautiful, with fair skin, tall stature, and a delicate face. Her nose was sharp and straight, her eyes large with fish-like patterns, her long lashes standing upright like doll’s. Her lips were soft and pink, complementing her face perfectly. She was dressed in a pink blouse gown, her long black hair flowing down her back, shiny and soft. It was braided into tiny cornrows, with large beads attached at the ends of each braid. Her confidence radiated from her relaxed posture and fearless eyes. At just 15 years old, Jehan was spoiled, defiant, and bold. She lacked patience, respect, and tolerance for others, with a quick temper and a tendency to shy away from authority.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p>"Mum, where’s your scarf, Jehan?" her mother asked sharply. Jehan pouted and replied in her usual whiny tone, "Mum, I’m tired of wearing a scarf. I want some fruits now." She finished in English.</p><p>"Jehan! How many times will I call your name? Go put on a hijab and look for Rimsha. You know she’s new to the area and hasn’t gone out alone since we moved here. If I have to get up myself, you’ll regret it," her mother threatened.</p><p>"Mum, seriously! We’ve been here for five days, and only a fool like Rimsha wouldn’t remember the way after being shown once. I don’t care if she’s lost. Besides, I don’t even like this local house. Let’s go back to our real home. I miss my dad," Jehan complained, switching back to English before storming off to her room.</p><p>Jehan’s mother sighed in frustration, muttering to herself, “Whatever she is today, we made her that way.” Meanwhile, Jehan’s aunt (Goggo) tried to console her spoiled niece, but Jehan was unmoved, retreating further into her tantrum.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
