The pilot's voice echoed through the airplane's speakers:

“Dear passengers, we are about to land at Karachi Airport. Please fasten your seatbelts.”

Danesh leaned his head against the cold window of the plane. His tired eyes gazed into the dark night outside, seeing things only he could understand. Memories from the past that never left him—moments of joy, pain, laughter, and screams—played endlessly in his mind. His eyes shut, but his thoughts were alive, tangled with images that had stayed with him for years.

The airplane landed softly, the sound of its wheels meeting the tarmac breaking the heavy silence in his mind. Struggling to open his eyes, Danesh stared out the window for a moment. The yellow lights of the runway reflected faintly, casting shadows on his face, illuminating the quiet rage simmering within him—rage toward everything and everyone.

He whispered under his breath, breaking his inner silence:

“It’s all over… but the wounds are still fresh.”

As the plane came to a halt, Danesh unfastened his seatbelt and stood up without haste. He grabbed his suitcase and walked down the aisle, as though invisible to the other passengers, or perhaps, as if they were invisible to him.

The warm, heavy air of Karachi hit his face as he stepped out. The scent in the air was familiar, but it brought no comfort. This place was once filled with family, life, and hope. Now, it only carried the stench of betrayal and unhealed wounds. His dark, elegant suit was a symbol of power to those around him, but to him, it was just a reminder of his cold and shadowy world.

MukhtarKhan, a tall, serious man who had always stood beside Danesh's father, Anwar Khan, waited at the airport’s entrance. A faint smile appeared on his lips as he saw Danesh. Placing a hand on his chest, he greeted,

“Mr. Danesh, welcome home. How was England?”

Danesh pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with a steady hand. After taking a deep drag, he exhaled slowly and replied in a cold, emotionless tone,

“Good to see you, Mukhtar. England had nothing. Neither does this place… just the same air filled with betrayal and scars.”

Mukhtar nodded with a faint smile.

“I understand. By the way, Anwar Khan is waiting for you. The family has missed you dearly…”

Danesh cut him off with a cold glare.

“Missed me?”

He smirked and walked toward the cars without another word.

Outside the terminal, a fleet of black cars and bodyguards stood in neat rows. Everything was orderly and formal. His luxurious car awaited him, its doors held open by a guard. Ignoring the gesture, Danesh climbed in on his own. His gaze lingered on the bustling streets as the car moved through the city. Everything seemed familiar yet strangely distant.

When they arrived at the estate, the grand gates swung open, and his family stood at the top of the stairs. Anwar Khan, towering and commanding, stood at the forefront. His mother, Fayezeh, kind and emotional, stood beside him, her eyes brimming with tears. His uncle, Asghar Khan, stood firmly beside his brother. Zohreh, his aunt, and Zahra, his cousin, waited with their usual air of pride and arrogance.Among them, Narges, Foad(his brother)'s wife, was waiting with a compassionate and happy face mixed with sadness.

Danesh stepped out of the car, his gaze sweeping the house and its surroundings, pulling him back into his memories—a time when this house was filled with laughter and joy, when his brother Foad and his cousin Adnan were alive… but nothing was the same anymore.

Anwar Khan’s voice broke the silence, warm and inviting:

“Danesh, my son, welcome home.”

Danesh looked at him, his eyes filled with memories he could never let go of. After a pause, he replied in a dry, detached voice,

“Hello, Baba. Thank you.”

Fayezeh, overwhelmed with emotion, stepped forward and embraced him gently. She whispered,

“I missed you so much.”

Danesh gave a faint smile and said,

“I missed you too, Mama.”

Zahra, his cousin, boldly stepped forward, her gaze a mix of contempt, mockery, and love.

“So, you’re finally back! I heard you were quite successful in England. I missed you.”

Danesh glanced at her with cold indifference, his tone dripping with restrained anger.

“Successful? Where did you hear that? And… missed me?”

Zahra shrugged and laughed artificially.

“From here and there. But honestly, you seem so different… even your eyes…”

Danesh smirked.

“I’ve always looked at you this way. You just never noticed.”

Zahra’s eyes filled with tears, but she said nothing. Zohreh, her mother, spoke with a sharp, threatening tone.

“Different? I still see the same Danesh. Only your suit is more expensive.”

Narges, who wanted to break this cold situation, said with encouragement and a smile:

 "Danesh! You are welcome home. I hope you are well." 

Danesh, who saw Narges and remembered his brother and cousin, said with a kind smile: 

"Thank you, Narges. I am glad to see you." 

 Then Narges answered with a smile: "Well, you look really tired. Otherwise, I wouldn't have given up! I have a lot of questions to ask you, naughty!"

Danesh smiled and walked past her،heading toward his uncle. AsgharKhan embraced him and said,

“Welcome back, son. I hope you’re well. Go and rest for now.”

Pointing to pictures of Foad and Adnan, he added,

“You know… these pictures can never replace them. It’s your turn now to fill their place…”

Danesh’s gaze lingered on the old photographs of Fawad and Adnan, but he didn’t respond. Under the stunned silence of his family, he climbed the stairs to his room.

Inside, the walls were filled with remnants of the past—old photos, medals, and paintings that once made him proud. He tossed his coat onto the bed and leaned against the wall, his eyes fixed on the pictures of Foad and Adnan. The sound of their laughter echoed in his mind. His throat tightened with emotion, but no tears fell.

Softly, he whispered to himself:

“This time… no one can stop me.”

That night, Danesh made a choice—one that would shape his future. A future that could lead to redemption… or destruction...