Missing

by Mian Mohsin Zia

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright © 2020 by Mian Mohsin Zia.

  All rights reserved.

  First Edition

  Published April 24, 2020

  The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

  Cover and Interior Design by Mian Mohsin Zia.

  Proofread and edited by Deborah Knott.

  The author reserves all publication, printing, distribution and selling rights. Anyone found guilty of illegal publication, printing, distribution or selling of this novel will be subject to prosecution.

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  In loving memory of my beloved and respected father, the late Mr. Mian Zia-ud-Din Qaiser.

  You were lion-hearted with nerves of steel.

  You are a real hero who demonstrated enduring courage and composure under fire.

  You will live on in our memories forever.

  I am because you were.

  In the name of ALLAH, the most beneficent and the most merciful.

  This novel is fiction. Although it is based on a real-life relationship and inspired by actual events, all characters are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Places or events are either fictitious or cited in a fictitious context. Any resemblance to actual events is coincidental.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Acknowledgement

  Special Thanks

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  SpinGym

  Biography

  Bibliography

  Message to the Readers

  DEDICATION

  I dedicate all my efforts to my Almighty ALLAH and to the Prophet Mohammad (Peace be Upon Him).

  Without ALLAH’S blessings, I would never have dreamt of writing this novel, and without HIM, I would not have possessed the strength, the courage, nor the ability to complete it.

  It is my intention, through the effort put into this novel, to express and show my love to Almighty ALLAH and, my eternal inspiration, the Prophet Mohammad (Peace be Upon Him).

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

  As the author of “MISSING: Extraordinary Relation of Ordinary People,” I would like to acknowledge, thank, and express my unfathomable reverence toward my parents for their support, and encouragement. Without them, this novel would not have been possible.

  I would also like to acknowledge, thank, and express my unfathomable reverence toward my wonderful team members who supported, encouraged and loved me throughout this process.

  That team is:

  Mian Mohsin Zia: Author and representing Zia aka Z (Pakistan)

  Faisal Israr: The guy representing Faisal aka Honey (Pakistan)

  Deborah Knott: Proof-reader and editor (Australia)

  I wish the best to all of you. It was a wonderful experience to work with all of you from different parts of the world. Together we’ve formed an impeccable team. You are all much more than friends to me. I love you all.

  SPECIAL THANKS

   Mr. Tariq Hameed Butt aka Uncle Tariq

   Mr. Zubair Hameed Butt aka Uncle Zubair

   Mr. Khawaja Ahmad Hassan

   Mr. Burl Barer

  CHAPTER 01

  Z, an American national residing in Los Angeles, California, USA, is beaten, bloody, and dumped to die in the atrocious heat of Pakistan’s deadliest desert. But Z doesn’t die that easily. He’s on a mission…

  *******

  May 2007 – Thar Desert, Sindh, Pakistan

  Z opens his eyes and realizes he’s inside a tribal hut. He looks outside into the communal area. How come I’m here? It eludes him. And then he remembers — Madame.

  He utters: “I seek refuge in the light of Your face by which all darkness is dispelled. Everything is powerless without Your support.”

  Looking around, he notices that he’s on a woven mat on the ground, dressed only in his boxers, jeans, and socks. His shirt is folded neatly on top of his brown jacket and shoes. His wristwatch, cell phone, wallet, and glasses are on top of that. He puts his glasses on, and buckles his watch to his right wrist, checking the time out of habit — not that it matters here.

  His cell phone is powered off. He remembers doing that deliberately before all this happened.

  Jarring his arm causes slight discomfort and pain, but not nearly as much as it should. They must have used some herbs as a natural anesthetic. I hope the effect doesn’t wear off too soon.

  He dresses himself and staggers out of the hut into the dazzling sunlight. The people are emaciated. The men are partially clothed, but every female head and body is covered. Women and men are scattered around, accompanied by kids. They’re talking and plaiting sticks for repairing the huts. They’re in a miserable condition for this day and age.

  He spots an older man who simultaneously sees him. People stop and look at Z with smiles as if they’d been anticipating his appearance. A few kids and people hurry, as best they can, over to him.

  “My son, it’s good to see you!” the man greets Z. “I hope you find her.” The blazing sun overhead makes it nearly impossible for Z to keep his eyes open against the glare and the sweat. Z merely nods at the man, who seems to be about fifty.

  The man gestures to Z’s wounds. “If you can survive the heat of the Thar and these wounds, then you’ll certainly find her.”

  Z realizes he must have been speaking with the man during his treatment, whenever he was conscious. The man continues, “You’ve been here six weeks, and were lucky enough to survive. You haven’t fully recovered yet. You must see a doctor once you return.”

  “Thanks for everything,” Z says, while he holds the older man’s hand.

  “Fire runs through your blood. I’ve never heard a story like that before. Time is at your command. You’ve started but not finished yet, from what you shared with us. In times of pain, you kept saying one name. We hope you find her, so there’s no more shame.” The older man holds Z’s hand tightly and then tussles his hair.

  Z nods and sets off to continue his interrupted struggle.

  *******

  8 Months Earlier – September 2006 - Los Angeles, California, USA

  “That’s it, Marlon, you can do it. Just one more rep, and then you’re done!” Z psyched up his 22-year-old trainee. As a fitness trainer, he needed to be able to mix just the right amounts of encouragement and enthusiasm. Easy for many, but mustering enthusiasm for anything had been a chore for Z since his daughter’s death.

  She’d been his world after his wife’s, and parents’ tragic deaths had left her with him alone. Then to have had Angel’s life, her hopes, her dreams cut off after only eight years on this earth! He still wa
sn’t over it. He had to be enthusiastic about life, about staying fit and healthy, because of his job. In reality, all he wanted to do was stay at home and mourn.

  He knew that the timeline — according to his friends and trainees — was over, and he had to get back to life. His heart, though, was still laden with grief.

  “Thanks, Coach.” Z helped Marlon place the weight back, and the young man sat up smiling. “A new personal best of 175 lbs for a bench press! Isn’t that great, Coach?”

  “Superb, Marlon. Not only because you’re progressing, but because you’re doing it naturally, without supplements and artificial products.” Z gave him a thumbs-up.

  “Bloody Paki!” sneered John, another coach in the gym, as he was sitting at a table nearby eating a sandwich. For some reason, he’d never liked Z but blamed it on Z’s ethnicity. He always made things personal. Z had been unable to brush off the sneers as easily of late.

  Z was about to help Marlon with his second set when he heard a sucking, gaspy noise coming from John. He looked up to see John clutching his throat, his lips turning blue. Marlon sat up while Z took his hands off the rod for helping Marlon lift another bench press. If nobody moved, the man would die! Z strode around behind John. Placing his fisted hands underneath John’s diaphragm, Z jerked John’s body back toward his, then again, and then a third time before a piece of sandwich flew out of John’s mouth. John bent over the table, his spiky hair a mess, water streaming from his eyes, and then looked up at Z.

  “You saved my life.” It came out as a whisper, while he coughed. Z was staring at him, still a bit surprised about what had happened.

  “You saved my life?” This time it was a question. “I’ve been such a jerk toward you, and you saved my life?”

  “Though I’m a Pakistani-born American national, in your words, I’m just a Paki. However, I’ve been raised in this beautiful country called America as an American — though, for you, I’ll always be a non-American,” he said, touching his forehead.

  John thought Z had finished, but there was more. “America’s beauty comes from the fact that it’s built of people who’ve come from across the globe for freedom of religion and freedom of speech. That’s what makes America the land of opportunity and a great country. I don’t deny that, yes, I’m a Pakistani-born American. That’s how some people see me and even challenge me at times,” he said, as he adjusted his glasses before looking at John again.

  John looked away, unable to meet Z’s gaze. “Let me then be a Pakistani for you. But bear in mind — Pakistanis don’t discriminate. Pakistanis don’t differentiate in the name of nationality, color, or religion. Pakistanis are there to shake hands whenever others are ready for it. A Pakistani is a Pakistani at heart, no matter whether he’s in or out of Pakistan.”

  John seemed taken aback at what was possibly the longest speech he’d heard from Z. Shattered, he walked away.

  After Marlon and John left, Z was doing reps with the free weights, when Mr. Marshal Knott approached. Marshal was the forty-seven-year-old, who owned the gym that employed Z. However, their relationship was more than that of employer and employee. He was a friend to Z, and there was always respect in their relationship.

  “Hi, Z. I heard what happened to John. I’m glad you were able to help.”

  “It’s OK, Marshal. It worked out alright in the end.” Z carried on with his reps.

  Marshal changed the topic to an old one. “So, have you had a change of mind about the competition? When should we start preparing for it?” He’d been pressing Z to enter for quite some time, but Z hadn’t wanted to, after the death of his daughter.

  “I’ve told you before, Marshal. I’m no longer interested.”

  “But why? I don’t get it?” Marshal sounded confused. “It would help you make money and give you some financial stability. If you win, you’ll get $50,000.”

  “Before, my Angel was with me, but now she isn’t.” Z stopped and looked straight into Marshal’s eyes. “I wanted to make extra money for her, but now I don’t need it. I’m OK with what I’ve got.”

  “The money you earn hardly makes ends meet. Better think again. Anyways, take this.” Marshal offered him a pamphlet. “I know it was your Angel’s dream to master seven languages.” His green eyes grew cloudy at the mention of Z’s daughter, as he shared Z’s pain, and his lower lip trembled a bit. “Maybe you can make her dream come true by doing it yourself. At least, you could give it a try.”

  At the mention of his Angel, Z’s thoughts closed down, and he didn’t hear the rest of what Marshal had to say, so he merely accepted the pamphlet and put it into his pocket. Marshal grasped Z’s arm in condolence and sympathy and left Z alone to complete his workout.

  *******

  Later that night, Z woke in a sweat, stuck in his tangled sheets. His pillows were soaked. Angel had been screaming in pain, but he couldn’t get to her. Switching on the lamp on his night table, he saw the pamphlet Marshal had given him lying next to Angel’s picture in its photo frame. Thoughts of her reminded him about its content.

  Will it just be another website where people are looking for fun — or no-nonsense stuff? Z wondered, but before he could give it serious thought, he booted up his desktop.

  After going through the pamphlet and website, he realized it was a professional platform, sincerely dedicated to people interested in learning languages.

  Happy Language Planet — HLP — was a website where you could learn languages in exchange with other people. You taught them the language you knew, and they taught you what they knew. The website users ranged from professionals to amateurs, but all were willing to help and learn. Kind of like a social networking site focused on languages.

  “Oh, why not,” he mumbled as he stumbled to the bathroom to finish drying off his head with a towel. With his hair sticking out all over the place like some sort of Anime cartoon, he signed up with the website.

  Username: AngelWithPain

  First Name: Angel

  Last Name: With Pain

  Interested in Learning: German, Russian, French, etc.

  Interested in Teaching: English and Urdu

  Proficiency Level: Native Speaker

  Country: USA

  Please Submit

  Once you submit, a confirmation email will be sent to you. Once you verify your email, you will be directed to your profile setup.

  He filled and submitted his form, then verified his email to log in to his account and complete his profile details. Before completing it, though, he started browsing through the website and its different features. Ten minutes later, while he was still browsing, he had a response on his profile.

  “Hello AngelWithPain, I can teach you Russian and Ukrainian in exchange for English.”

  The username of the person contacting him? AngelInPain.

  The similarity in the username enticed Z to respond immediately and proceed further.

  *******

  May 2007 – Thar Desert, Sindh, Pakistan

  Z walks slowly and steadily through the scorching heat of the desert, his lips dry, and hair scrambled. He needs water to quench his thirst and freshen up. In the distance, he can see the main road and a truck parked outside what looks like a roadside hut.

  “Water, please,” he says to one of the guys as he steps into the hut. He’s young with a dark complexion and a mustache but has a stone-age feel to him. The miserable conditions in the Thar have been on the news.

  The guy stares at Z. It makes Z feel as if he has asked for something priceless. Yes, that’s true. Water, food, and other resources are that scarce in the Thar. Before Z can work out what’s going on, he starts collapsing. The guy grabs him, saying to another man, “Water bottle.”

  He hands a half-filled water bottle Z, who drinks, savoring every single drop and making sure each one falls into his throat. He drinks until the last drop of water in the bottle is gone.

  *******

  8 Months Earlier – September 2006 - Los Angeles, California, USA<
br />
  Z drank the water and placed his bottle on the table as he typed.

  AngelWithPain: Hi.

  AngelInPain: Hello.

  AngelWithPain: Thanks for sharing the Russian alphabet the other day. Though it was our first lesson, and very brief, you sent it to me! I learned it, but it will be helpful if I can get to know the pronunciation.

  AngelInPain: Yes, pronunciation and practice are essential to learning a language.

  AngelWithPain: How can we do that? I noticed your written expression in English is pretty good, but you wanted me to help you with spoken English to develop fluency. Since we’ve started interacting, you haven’t mentioned much about that and have just helped me. How can I return the favor? I’m new to this website.

  AngelInPain: Happy Language Planet allows text chat only at present. It’s a new website, but they are developing it by introducing new features.

  AngelWithPain: But how can you learn a language without knowing how to speak it? You also said you’re interested in developing fluency in your spoken English.

  AngelInPain: You’re right. HLP offers a free, no-obligation platform to people around the world to connect who are seriously interested in learning a new language. HLP users can use other means to talk, so can we? Do you Hype? Hype allows free calls.

  AngelWithPain: I know Hype.

  AngelInPain: My Hype ID is “AngelInPain.” Please add me, and we’ll have audio sessions from next time. Same time as now at my place and yours, if that’s fine for you. I’ll train you in Russian, and you can help me with my spoken English fluency.

  Z looked at the time. It was 6 in the morning for him.

  AngelWithPain: OK. Same time will be fine. Bye for now.

  AngelInPain: Bye.

  *******

  “So, what have you decided?” Marshal asked as he stood next to Z.

  “About what?” Z looked at Marshal in surprise.