The Sun also Shines In Pakistan.

Chapter 3, part 2: Sins you were born with

After scanning my bed for any spider-webs or insects, I gathered that it was rather like a medicinal bed than a prison one. The room smelled like a clinic with a hint of antibiotics and Dettol hovering in the air. I guess I really was in care.

As I lay down I noticed how there was no washroom in my cell, normally for me I'd have everything in my jail itself so that I won't "spread the influences of my religion" on other residents, whatever that means.

I noticed someone still standing outside my door,

So I inquired about the washroom to her, "You can roam around, this entire floor and below is now your house, as long as you don't leave it, of course.", the guard added with a snort.

I nodded slowly and opened my door to turn around the other corner to find an alley which symbolized a motel.

There were vending machines used with the smallest amount of money given every month, bathroom stalls lined one after another and a door leading to a room which had a set of stools and tables very similar to my cell. The placing of the bathroom stalls next to the eating area really didn't make up for a pleasant aroma as I walked right in.

As I entered, the entire hallway stared at me shamelessly, as they always do. I expected them to stare me down as they always had every other time before. How they had always acted like they had all the right to judge me and know who Saul Sun was without even knowing how to pronounce my name, my real name.

Just because of the colour of my skin and maybe the thick accent I had, they always thought they had me all figured out.

They were all white, had those thick Texas accents and judged each other as 'Harry' and 'Sally' and not as an American, however, my country's name was stuck on my face like a sore tag and everyone couldn't help but put a value for the tag I never chose yet the tag I loved.

The irony, which always made me laugh was that the ones judging my character and behaviour were all criminals, it was a jail after all.

So, with the same uncaring flair I walked right in and swooped a plate from the stack of trays.

A man with a bushy moustache covering his face and brown parted hair started staring at me. He looked like he could easily fit in a poker game amongst billionaires and still manage to fit into a jail without being starred upon.

"Salut, you must be the famously infamous Saul, am I right, monsieur?", he spoke with the thickest french accent I had heard.

"Yes, I'm the famously infamous.", I spoke with a smile curtaining my face.

"Yes, yes monsieur, I've heard alot.. des rumours about you. You're very.. how- do- you -say-it? .. oui.. known.", he spoke completely ignoring my sarcastic remark.

"Known for?", I question, my voice hardening as I wait to decide whether to punch him in the face or on his shoulder.

"For your crimes, your plots, your schemes, your murders et ton nome.", he went on again, pausing before talking about my name.

I scanned his face for a second only to realize he was staring at me with fascination rather than judgements like everyone else so I decided to hold off the punch for a while.

"Are you wondering why are they staring at you?", he asked now staring at me staring at them.

I already knew, I replied. It was because I was a Muslim.

"Non, non, non", the man replied, "It's because, monsieur you are, en fact the world's biggest criminal."

And as ironic as it is, it felt like the most wonderful thing to be judged by the acts you've committed rather than the sins you were born with.