"Are you really going?" Etisham leans in too close, breath warm with the last cigarette he'll ever smoke.

  "I don't know," I say. "My parents decide."

  He studies me like I'm a crack in glass. "You scared?"

  I shake my head. "No. Feels like an adventure… but my family is in it. That's the bad part."

  "You're crazy," he says, and I hear the shadow whisper *thank you* behind his teeth.

  "I know."

  That night, the adults gather in the living room like birds before a storm. I sit quiet while Mother speaks.

  "We're staying here tonight," she says, voice soft as ash. "Tomorrow, we leave for Saudi Arabia. Your aunt's family is joining us."

  I nod. No excitement. No fear. Only stillness.

  I spend the day flipping through movies I don't see, thinking about what waits. That night, I whisper to Etisham: "How do you think life will be there?"

  "No idea," he shrugs. "One cousin's already there. Maybe it's safe."

  We fall asleep in uneasy silence, both of us lying to God.

  Morning comes. The house moves like clockwork about to break. Bags packed. Faces tense.

  I catch a glimpse of the TV: *Several cities in Punjab lost contact… near Afghanistan…*

  I blink. Silence.

  Breakfast passes without conversation. Outside, taxis wait like hearses.

  Our small convoy moves through empty streets—no animals, no voices. Karachi itself seems paused, holding its breath.

  A police car stops us. Father speaks quietly, eyes sharp. No smiles. No reassurance.

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  At the beach, the boat waits, large enough for our car. Luggage unloads. I step onto sand and feel like I'm leaving more than land behind.

  One by one, we board: Sadia, Nosheen with her one-year-old daughter, the two-year-old son, Mahir, me, Etisham, Anny (15), Ayan (10). Finally, Sherbaz and Shehbaz join.

  The engine roars. Shore drifts away.

  We sit by the rail, forcing laughter, joking about old memories, pretending the world isn't breaking apart beneath us.

  Later, I lean toward Etisham and ask, quiet enough that the shadow has to strain to hear:

  "Do you miss someone? Someone you never told anyone about?"

  He glances up, frowning. "What kind of someone?"

  "The kind you pretend doesn't exist," I say, letting the teasing smile creep in.

  He scoffs. "Don't be stupid."

  "Then why'd you answer so fast?" I challenge, grin widening.

  "Who?" he asks, looking away.

  "Not telling. Not until you do."

  Etisham shakes his head. "You're annoying."

  "I know," I say, and mean it more than he'll ever understand.

  We sit quietly, both thinking of names we don't say out loud, while the shadow counts them in the dark.

  Evening. A storm approaches.

  The captain's voice cracks like thunder: "Everyone stay inside. Storm coming."

  Sherbaz and Shehbaz tie the car down. Sadia and Nosheen whisper prayers I don't join. I stay in the corner with my cousins, pretending to ignore the way my blood sings.

  The storm hits. Waves smash the hull. The cabin shakes. People clutch walls and chairs like they're already dead.

  I press my face to the window, feel the tremble thrill through my teeth. "Like an amusement park," I mutter.

  Then—the cabin door bursts open. Screams slice the air.

  I lunge, grab the handle, slam it shut, lock it tight. Return to the window, balancing as the boat rocks violently. Etisham joins me. The younger kids get ordered back.

  Minutes. The storm weakens. Sherbaz tries the door. Locked.

  I open it. "All clear," I whisper.

  Night falls. Water leaks onto the deck.

  I jump out, grab a bucket, start moving. Etisham joins. We work fast, efficient, like we've done this before.

  "How are you doing this?" he asks.

  "Practice," I say. "At home… smaller scale."

  I grab a pipe, seal one end, plunge the other into water, release. The surge carries water out. "Hold this!" I shout. Etisham does. I repeat on the other side. Minutes later, the water's gone.

  Elders shout for us to retreat. I obey.

  Morning light.

  Mother asks quietly, "Did you really do that last night?"

  I blink. Then remember. "Yes."

  "How did you know?" Nosheen asks.

  "I… saw something online. Fix videos. I remembered."

  Etisham and Anny listen, eyes wide.

  No one replies.

  By afternoon, Saudi Arabia appears.

  I step onto land for the first time. Uncle Abid waits, car ready. Luggage unloads.

  "Pakistan has almost lost connection," Uncle Abid says quietly.

  I look back at the sea.

  The crossing is over.

  The world we left behind… is not.