I HATE you too

The Central Jail's gates loomed, an iron maw spitting out a woman who was a ghost of her former self. Ten years, reduced to five, yet the weight of injustice pressed heavier than any sentence. Asmaira stepped onto the cracked pavement, the sun a harsh stranger on her skin. No welcoming faces, no comforting embrace. Only the sterile bundle of her belongings, containing the very ring that mocked her with memories of a love now twisted into hate.

“Raina,” she whispered, her daughter’s name a silent plea.

Uncle Khan, the kindly jailer, offered platitudes of new beginnings, but his words were hollow against the chasm within her. “I am always there,” he’d said. A phrase that now tasted of bitter poison. She hailed a cab, her gaze fixed on the blurred world outside, her face a mask of unfeeling.

Then, the Hashmi mansion. A beacon of light, pulsating with a party she didn't understand. The crude dismissal of the bodyguards, their taunts slicing through her. “Miss World of slums,” they’d sneered. But the old Asmaira, the timid one, was gone. Only a chilling resolve remained.

Thrown to the ground, she met the sad eyes of an old woman, a fellow traveler in the queue for charity. “Are you also here to receive the free food?” the woman asked. Asmaira lied, a new skill she’d perfected. She had to see Amaan. She had to.