fanaa, rehan-centric, pg-13, spoilers, naturally.
disclaimer: I don't own the characters or anything.
You were born into a warzone.
Sometimes you think about the what-ifs. What if your family had just left Kashmir. What if some of them had survived. What if you had heard lullabies instead of propaganda. What if you hadn't first held a gun aged 7, killed a person aged 16, constructed a bomb aged 24, what if, what if.
Sometimes you think, Surely Allah wouldn't want this for anyone and then, always a bit louder than your own thoughts, you hear a voice that says, Somebody has to. What you sacrifice is an honor. What you have is a gift. What you do is a show of faith.
You fight because without it there is only peace, and there's no progress in peace. You bleed and you kill, but at least you're not delusional in that things are fine when they're clearly not.
Let Mother India take care of it, those fools think. You'd hack off her leg and twist her arm, because whenever her one hand is pouring water into the mouths of the thirsty, the other one is choking a million. Fuck Mother India.
You fight because somebody has to.
You feel sorry for Zooni, but at least she got out. You could never be hers like she could be yours. You're sorry she became more than the others. You never meant for it to happen, you never wanted it to.
The least you can do is save her. When the bomb explodes, the Rehan she knew dies with it. Only not really, because for all the photographs and memorabilia you can destroy, you can't rid yourself of the memories. Her laughter and her touch, her love becomes another item on your long list of what-ifs.
Her voice in your head, beautiful and innocent, whispers things to you during nights and you hate it. It's not a possibility, you and Zooni. She wouldn't love the real you, to which the voice answers that it's exactly the real you that she does love. Did love.
That Rehan is dead, or at least, you wish he was.