During cold winters, when the air is as dry as sand, the sun shyly avoids people, and the moon dominates the night sky, the people of Kunhar wear clothing that wraps their entire bodies, offering warmth in the harsh climate. It is said that the people of Kunhar are brilliant, tall, fair-skinned, and beautiful, yet due to the unforgiving weather and mountainous terrain, a modern-day lifestyle remains a distant dream for many. But despite their struggles, their culture and traditions serve as fire—a source of light and warmth that keeps their spirits alive.

  One such frigid winter night, when the air was sharp with stormy chills, a woman cried out in labor. As a streak of lightning split the sky, a baby boy was born. But instead of cheerful smiles and joy, the cries of the newborn echoed in the room, for the woman who had given him life had passed away. The father, Abdullah, held his son close, tears streaming down his face as he named the boy Raad. At that moment, Raad's cries ceased, as if his mother's absence and his father's sorrow had calmed him into silence.

  Growing up, Raad always looked up to his father. Abdullah was not just a parent but also a guide—the person Raad trusted and loved the most. Before making any decision, he would first seek his father's advice.

  One day, while playing in the fields, Raad stumbled upon a 100-rupee note. Overjoyed, he ran straight to his father, clutching the money like a newfound treasure. Abdullah smiled softly and said, “My son, remember this: what you find on the land belongs to the land. Return it to where it came from.”

  Confused, Raad frowned. “What does that even mean, Father?”

  His father’s smile grew. “Go and donate it,” he said gently. Without another word, Raad obeyed. Though uncertain at first, he later felt a sense of joy and fulfillment, knowing he had not only followed his father's words but had also done something good for his land.

  Years passed, and Raad turned 18. On a dark, cloudy morning, he awoke to the sound of howling winds. They roared fiercely, as though they ruled the land, bending the trees in surrender. “God, forgive us. The winds are rebellious today,” Raad thought while peering out the window. He knew he had to prepare for the bitter cold.

  He stood up, freshened himself, and looked around the quiet house. “Where could Papa have gone?” he wondered. The wooden walls and empty rooms felt especially cold and lifeless. Raad decided to step outside. Sensing rain, he hurried to the backyard and quickly gathered firewood.

  Back inside, Raad arranged the firewood in the hall and lit the fireplace. Soon, the room filled with warmth, and the crackling of firewood echoed like music in the silence. After his work, hunger gnawed at him. Standing by the window, Raad glanced at the empty street leading to the marketplace. “Should I eat before my father comes back?” he wondered aloud.

  His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a deafening crash of lightning. His chest tightened as fear crept in. Clenching his fists, Raad tried to shake off the unease, but the storm outside only grew louder. He clutched the windowsill, his knuckles white with tension. What if something had happened to his father? Was he caught in the storm? Hurt? Or worse?

  The room around him felt even quieter now, the only sounds coming from the crackling fire and the whistling wind. Raad stood alone, his fear growing, in a house with nothing but a fireplace and a study table covered with old texts.

  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  He stood up, placing all his faith in the Almighty, and cupped his hands near his mouth. “Oh God, please, keep my father safe and away from harm!” Raad prayed earnestly. With his heart somewhat at ease, he walked toward the kitchen for breakfast. The sound of his footsteps echoed through the empty house—a small yet bold testament to his bravery against the thunderous lightning outside.

  As he approached the kitchen, his eyes fell on a piece of paper resting on the dining table. It was unmistakably his father’s. “A letter!” Raad exclaimed, his voice breaking the silence. With his heart racing, he carefully unfolded the letter, bracing himself for what it might reveal.

  “Dear Son,

  You must be wondering where I am and if I am doing alright. Let me assure you, I am in good health. However, I will be away for a while as I have some business to attend to.

  I trust you to take care of yourself and the house in my absence. I’ve left some milk and eggs in the fridge for your breakfast.

  Take care, my son.

  Yours truly,

  Abdullah”

  Reading this, Raad’s heart eased. He had complete trust in his father’s words. He did as he was told and waited patiently. Days turned into weeks, but his father didn’t return home. Anxious, Raad decided to search for him. He grabbed his coat and headed toward the Trade Center. As he walked along the road—strip after strip of barren land without grass or wooden fences—his worry grew. Where was his father? What was he doing? Had something happened? All these thoughts raced through his mind.

  Amidst the noises of running horses, shopkeepers advertising their goods, and customers haggling, Raad stood, scanning the crowd for any clue that might answer his questions. Surely, the shopkeepers must know something, he thought, and began asking them about his father.

  “I haven’t seen him in a while…”

  “No, I haven’t. But would you like to try these new biscuits?”

  “He’s probably busy with his work. You’re worrying too much, child.”

  None of the answers were satisfactory. With each passing moment, Raad’s anxiety grew, his heartbeat quickening. Just then, a small child dashed into him, sending them both sprawling onto the ground. The child quickly got up and ran off toward a ration shop. Dazed, Raad pushed himself to his feet, feeling a wave of dizziness. He looked around for the child—not in anger, but because he was expecting an apology.

  As Raad approached the ration shop, he was greeted by the shopkeeper. He didn’t hesitate and asked, “Where did the little kid go?”

  The shopkeeper, looking confused, asked for more details. Raad explained the situation, and the shopkeeper’s face flushed with embarrassment. “Please forgive my son! He’s just a child. Is there anything I can do to help you, good sir?”

  Raad accepted the apology before shifting the conversation. “Have you seen my father, Mr. Abdullah?”

  The shopkeeper nodded. “Yes, he came by my shop a couple of weeks ago.”

  Raad’s pupils widened as his entire body reacted to the words. “And...?” he asked, leaning in.

  “He bought basic food supplies—enough to last for a month.”

  “Do you know where he went after that?” Raad pressed.

  “I’m sorry, but I have no idea, sir.”

  “Could you at least tell me what supplies he took?”

  The shopkeeper flipped through his journal. “He took some rice, ropes, and some flannels.”

  As the shopkeeper listed the items, the Silahi Mountain range immediately came to Raad’s mind. His father often made trips there, bringing supplies from Kunhar to sell to the locals in the mountain ranges. It was hard work, and the pay was meager, but it was honest work. More than that, it gave his father peace, knowing he was helping the people living in those remote mountains.

  So, Raad set out towards the Silahi Mountains, hoping to uncover more clues about his father in the snowy, harsh terrain of the mountain ranges.