It was evening.
In one of Lahore's underprivileged neighborhoods, the winter wind blew through narrow streets, carrying with it a deep silence. Between muddy lanes and homes without electricity stood a small house, its doorway marked by an old broken charpai (cot).
Inside that house lived Ali, with his mother. His father had passed away when Ali was just a child.
Ali was only twelve when he had to take on the role of "man of the house." Now at twenty-four, life had matured him — though his face still carried the innocence of unspoken dreams.
A dim yellow bulb hung in the room, flickering with tired light. Stains of dampness marred the walls, and an old leak from the ceiling still occasionally dropped water.
On the stove, lentils simmered — the everyday meal.
His mother, Zeenat Bibi, sat on the floor patching old clothes. Her hands trembled slightly, but her gaze always stayed steady — fixed on her son's dreams.
Ali was focused on typing something on his cracked laptop screen — finishing a freelance task — working without electricity, by the faint glow of a mobile torch.
"Ammi…" he said softly.
"Yes, beta?" she paused her sewing, looking up.
"Sometimes it feels like… everything is going to end. And other times, like maybe… everything is about to begin."
She smiled gently.
"Beta, if your dream is true, it will never betray you. It just takes time."
Ali took a deep breath, eyes lifting to the ceiling.
"One day, Ammi… I'll build a house in the mountains. A place where raindrops sing on the rooftop… and not a single bulb will be off. You won't need to sew anymore — there'll be a cup of tea in your hands. And there'll be three of us — your three sons — living life differently."
Zeenat Bibi's hands paused.
She placed the patched cloth aside and gently ran her fingers through Ali's hair.
"Dream, Ali… always dream. Just never lose the strength to follow them
Ali was neither very handsome nor very wealthy. But within him burned a quiet fire — a passion fierce enough to break the walls of the world.
By night, he worked online. By day, he taught coding to neighborhood kids. And in every passing moment, he built a world inside him that no one could yet see.
He had nothing.
Except:
An old laptop
A mother's prayer
And a dream — a dream meant to take root in the mountains.