Raastein

2. Letting Go

"The death toll from a triple suicide bombing at Istanbul's Ataturk airport rose to 50 dead and 250 injured this Thursday. The police have identified two couples who had come to Istanbul for their honeymoon. Other than that, there hasn't been any other information that is presently available from the police. All we know is that these terrorists won't stop here. They will attack again. So stay safe everyone, and let us pray in hopes that no one else has to get hurt. Bu mohair Chand Nawab ve benimle birl." (This is reporter Chand Nawab and with me is cameraman Hamid Khan). The blaring sound of the reporter came from Aryan Mehra's 40inch LED T.V.

It was a Sunday morning and already things weren't going well.

Istanbul was becoming less and less safe by the minute. The only way to stay safe was to escape–but that was illegal. Either way, it wasn't safe.

Like every other day, today was the same. Aryan got up in the morning, got ready, and went to the 'Lekker Café'.

Aryan walked inside the the café and made his way towards the counter. He ordered his regular dry, soy cappuccino, went towards the closest table, sat down, and enjoyed his warm and refreshing coffee. He had only relished a few sips when something disrupted him–or rather someone.

"Hey Aryan," came the voice of a woman. The voice was silvery; clear and pleasant to listen to. It was a familiar voice to Aryan's ears.

"Mahira, so nice to see you!" he said. Getting out of his chair, Aryan made his way towards Mahira, gave her a warm hug and a small peck on her cheek.

"I haven't seen you in days!" groaned Aryan.

"You saw me yesterday jaan!" exclaimed Mahira, giving Aryan a friendly slap on his shoulder.

"Come here," Aryan growled, pulling Mahira onto his lap.

"Arre Aryan! Sab log dekh rahe hai," complained Mahira. (Aryan! Everyone's looking)

"Don't worry, let them know you're mine," suggested Aryan, making Mahira blush.

"Be serious Aryan, I've told you several times. We won't work. I'm a singer with no career, and you're an architect with no job, who does martial arts and dance as a hobby,"

Aryan stayed silent. No words could describe or express how Aryan was feeling right now. Mahira and Aryan had been dating ever since they met in Year 11. You could say that they were together for a very long time. There was no doubt that the two were lovebirds, though, not many people new about the couple. In fact, no one knew...

"Mahira, you always talk about this, and every time I tell you the same thing; it'll be alright," Aryan said as he cupped Mahira's face in his hands.

"I know bu—," muttered Mahira

"No buts." cut Aryan.

"I guess you're right," answered a very hesitant Mahira.

"Okay good. Well then I guess that's that." concluded Aryan. He grabbed his bag from the chair, and started walking out of the café. Only, he felt a restrain on his arm. Aryan turned around to see that Mahira had held onto his hand.

"I love you Aryan," Mahira said, lowering her voice.

"Hmm...I love you too Mahira," laughed Aryan. He turned around to head out, but once again he felt another pull on his arm.

"Ab kya?" (What now?) questioned Aryan, a bit annoyed now.

"Don't laugh, but I wanted you to have this. Yeh mere dil ke bhoot kareeb hai," (This is very close to my heart) said Mahira as she slid off a ring from her finger and began sliding it onto Aryan's pinky finger. "Isse kabhi mat otarna," she continued (Never take it off).

"Okay," Aryan said with a smile, and with that left the café.

✿✿✿

"Imran Dixit, this is the second time in six months that you have conned a woman and have been arrested for it, and who knows how many more you've conned without the Police knowing. You already know the consequences if you do it again for the third time. Escape from prison this time and you will face those consequences."

The voice of Officer Kuvvert pounded in Imran's chest. Imran had conned many women in his lifetime. He had only been caught by the police once, and that one time he had managed to escape from prison. Now that he had been arrested again, there was nothing stopping him from escaping again.

"Come on number 57, get inside your cell," yelled one of the officers inside the jail.

Imran had lost his identity now that he was in jail. He was no longer Imran Dixit, he was number 57.

It had been a week since Imran had been in prison. He had called his family and had let them know that he would be released soon–not that that was the truth...

Today was the day Imran was getting out–and that was decided.

It was around midday when all of the inmates were waiting in line for a shower; all except Imran.

"Hey! Number 57, you should be in line. Hurry up!" came the rowdy voice of one of the guards. The guard moved closer towards Imran's cell.

"Sorry, I must've lost track of time," he muttered innocently. The guard was now facing Imran.

Imran made a smirk. Out of nowhere he brought out his fist and punched the first thing that his fist touched on the guard's body. The guard took this blow by surprise, and in defense, attempted to punch Imran back. Imran dropped to the floor with an injured rib. But he wouldn't give up now. He got back up and managed to kick the guard in the groin, making him fall to the ground. Imran didn't stop there, next he went onto the floor and elbowed the guards nose, leaving a trail of blood oozing out of his nose. He came up to the gate and threw his arms around the guard's neck in a headlock position. Imran didn't waste any time. Without hesitation he twisted the guards neck with a quick, sharp jerk, snapping his neck.

The guard was down for good.

Imran reached out into the guard's pocket to find the key to the cell door. With luck, he found it and brought it out. He managed to unlock the door. He stepped out of the cell with a smirk and started to make his way down the hall, avoiding anyone and anything.

He could feel the prickly grass scratching the soles of his feet as he ran with all her might across the courtyard. No one had seemed to notice that he was missing, which was a bit odd. Imran had finally gotten past the courtyard gate. There was only one more gate up ahead that he had to get past, and after that he would be free.

But it wasn't that easy. As he continued running he heard footsteps from behind. Imran turned around to face the glaring lights from the torches. He must've triggered something on his way out of the cell.

"Stop right there!" yelled one of the guards, but Imran didn't even take a moment to listen to what he was saying.

Imran turned around and started to make his way towards the final gate. The gate looked around two meters high, but that didn't stop Imran at all. He grabbed one of the poles of the gate and found a grip with his feet. He grabbed the next pole, as he started climbing further and further. A few gun shots were fired, but all of them missed Imran and his cunning self. He had finally reached the very top of the gate.

No one could stop him now.

He had to jump. That was the only way he could get off the damn fence, and so he did. Imran held his breath as he felt his feet leaving the gate. He felt like he was flying away from the most daunting thing in the world.

Reality swooped in as he hit the ground hard, probably fracturing a few of his bones. He tumbled and turned along the ground.

Even though he had finally found balance, his head was still spinning. And then he saw a blurry image. Several blurred images of the same thing, or was it a person? He couldn't see too well.

Then he saw it. The images weren't blurry anymore, and he could see who it was.

It was her...