A Pakistani taxi driver’s wife got pregnant by a Dubai sheikh — the finale shocked everyone!

A Pakistani taxi driver’s wife got pregnant by a Dubai sheikh — the finale shocked everyone!

PART1

A Pakistani taxi driver learned that his wife was pregnant by an influential Emirati sheikh.  A few days later, they were both found dead in a forest outside the city.  Imran came to Dubai 7 years ago with one goal: to earn money for his family.  He was 27 years old, with an unfinished education from Karachi Technical College and a huge responsibility behind him.

After his father’s death, he became the sole breadwinner for his mother and two younger brothers, who were studying at university.   There was no work in Pakistan, and what there was paid peanuts.  Dubai seemed like a promised land, a place where anyone willing to work 14 hours a day could provide a decent life for their loved ones.

  Imran took out a loan from relatives to obtain a work visa and a ticket, promising to repay the debt within a year. Reality turned out to be harsher than expectations.   For the first two years, he lived in a 10-square-metre room, which he shared with five other Pakistanis. Worked as a taxi driver 12 hours a shift, 6 days a week.

  I earned about $2,000 a month, of which I sent $1,000 home and $300 went towards rent, food and basic expenses.   I saved the rest.  He dreamed of the day when he could return home with enough money to buy a small house and start his own business.  After 3 years, he had saved enough to get married. Aisha was the daughter of a distant relative from his native village near Karachi.

She was 20 years old.  She finished school and could read and write English, which was rare for girls from her social circle.   Their parents introduced them, and after three months of correspondence and several video calls, they got married.  The wedding was modest.  Imran arrived for a week. They had the ceremony and he returned to Dubai to arrange the paperwork for her move.

  Six months later, Aisha received a visa and joined him.  They rented a one-bedroom apartment in Deira, one of Dubai’s oldest and cheapest areas, populated mainly by migrant workers. The rent was $600 a month.  The apartment was tiny, with one window overlooking a narrow street lined with cars.  In the summer, the air conditioning was on 24 hours a day, otherwise it was impossible to stay inside.

  But it was their home, and they were happy.  Aisha needed a job, and after two months of searching, she found a job as a salesperson at the Dubai Mall, one of the largest shopping centers in the world.  She was hired to work in the section selling luxury Swiss watches.  The salary was $900 a month plus a small commission on sales.

  Now they earned almost $3,000 between them , sent a thousand home, and saved the rest and spent it on living. Imran and Aisha’s life was measured and predictable. Imran worked from 6:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m., driving tourists and locals around the city, listening to them talk in languages ​​he didn’t understand, and dreaming of the future.

  Aisha stood behind the counter from 10:00 a.m. to 8:00 p.m., smiling at wealthy customers, showing them watches worth tens of thousands of dollars, and returning home tired.  On Fridays they went to the mosque.  On weekends we cooked home-cooked meals and video-called our families.  They planned their lives for 5 years ahead: save $50,000, return to Pakistan, buy a house, open a store or a small business, maybe have children.

These plans were their anchor, what kept them going through the heat, the fatigue, the homesickness, and the humiliation they sometimes had to endure from arrogant clients. Rashid Al Maktoum first appeared in the store where Aisha worked at the beginning of spring.  He was 45 years old.  He belonged to an influential Emirati family, owned a chain of hotels and had a reputation for spending money freely and lavishly.

  He arrived accompanied by a personal assistant, dressed casually but expensively. He asked to show him the most exclusive models.  Aisha, as expected, showed him the watches one by one, telling him about the mechanisms, the history of the brands, and the uniqueness of each model.  He listened inattentively, but looked at her attentively.

  That day, he bought a watch for $45,000, paid by card, and left, leaving Aisha a generous $500 tip, which was unusual but not prohibited.  He came back a week later and again a week later.  Every time I bought something expensive, I lingered at the counter and asked questions, sometimes personal ones.  Where is she from?  How long in Dubai?  Does she like it here?  Aisha answered politely but briefly, feeling uncomfortable.

  She told Imran about a regular customer who spends tens of thousands per visit. Imran shrugged.  Rich people have nothing to do.  But after a month, Rashid’s visits became more frequent.  And one day he made an unexpected offer.  He arrived at the end of the working day, when there were almost no customers in the store.

PART2

  He asked Aisha to show him the new collection, and then, when she finished the presentation, he said: “Aisha, I see that you are a talented salesperson. You understand taste and know how to communicate with clients. I need a personal shopping consultant. I often buy gifts for business partners and family members.

 I want you to help me with my selection. A few hours a week in your free time. I will pay you $5,000 a month in addition to your salary.” Aisha was taken aback. $5,000 was more than she and Iran earned together. She said she should consult with her husband. Rashid smiled and gave her his business card. “Sure, think about it and call me.” That evening, Aisha told Imran about the offer. Imran was cautious.

Why did he choose you? There are many salespeople in the store. Aisha shrugged. Maybe I really am good at it ? It’s just shopping, consultations. Nothing bad. Imran thought about it.  $5,000 meant they could save for a house in two years instead of five, that his brothers would graduate debt-free, that their mother would get better health care. He nodded.

Okay, but if anything goes wrong, you quit immediately. Promise me. Aisha called Rashid the next day and agreed. For the first two months, everything was exactly as he promised. He sent a car for her two or three times a week after her workday. They went to boutiques. She helped him choose watches, jewelry, accessories.

 Rashid was polite, kept his distance, always with a driver or assistant present. He paid exactly $5,000 at the end of each month in cash. Asha brought the money home, and she and Imran opened a separate savings account. Their dream was getting closer every day. But after two months, something changed. Rashid started giving Aisha gifts.

 Small ones at first . He explained it as gratitude for her excellent work. A box of Swiss  Chocolates, a bottle of French perfume. Then the gifts became more expensive. Gold earrings worth $3,000. A designer Hermis bag for 12,000. Aisha tried to refuse, but he insisted. This is nothing to me. You deserve it. She brought everything home and showed it to Imran.

Imran frowned. This is too much. No one gives such things for free. Aisha defended herself. For him, these are really small things. Have you seen how much he spends? Maybe it’s their culture to give lavish gifts? But Imran felt something was wrong. In the third month, Rashid invited Aisha to a business dinner.

 He explained that he was meeting an important business partner to whom he wanted to give an exclusive watch, and he needed her advice. The meeting was scheduled for a restaurant at the Burj Al Arab hotel, one of the most expensive and prestigious places in Dubai. Aisha hesitated. She had never been to such places.

 She felt that this was going beyond their agreement. But  Rashid convinced her it was a purely business meeting, that her partner had already confirmed his attendance, and that it would take two hours at most. She agreed, telling Imran she had a business meeting with a client. Imran frowned but remained silent. When Aisha arrived at the restaurant, only Rashid greeted her.

 He explained that her partner was running late and asked her to sit down and wait. He ordered dinner. The waiter brought champagne. Aisha declined, explaining that she did not drink alcohol for religious reasons. Rashid insisted gently, convincing her that it was simply a symbolic toast, that one glass was no sin, that everyone did it there.

 Aisha, feeling pressured and not wanting to seem impolite, drank. It was her first sip of alcohol in her life. Her head spun almost immediately. Her partner never showed up. An hour later, Rashid admitted he had lied, saying there had been no meeting, that he had invited her because he wanted to be with her. alone with her.

 Aisha tried to get up, panic seized her. She said it was wrong, that she was married, that she had to leave. Rashid took her hand. His voice became firm. He said that he had been in love with her since the first day, that he thought about her constantly, that he wanted her to be a part of his life.

 Aisha tried to free her hand, but he held on tightly. Then he leaned over and kissed her. She pushed him away, jumped up from the table and ran out of the restaurant. She took a taxi home, sobbing the whole way. Imran was home. Seeing her condition, he immediately realized that something terrible had happened. Aisha told her everything except the kiss.

 She said that Rashid confessed his feelings to her, that she left immediately, that she would never come back. Imran was furious. He wanted to go to Rashid immediately, but Aisha begged him not to. She was afraid of a scandal, afraid of losing her job,  She was afraid of deportation. Imran calmed down and said that she should stop all contact with Rashid, that $5,000 was not worth their honor and safety.

Aisha agreed. The next day, Aisha ignored Rashid’s calls and messages . He called 10 times, wrote, apologizing, begging for a meeting to explain himself. She didn’t answer. On the third day, the store manager called and said she was being transferred to a different shift, to a different department, to a position with a lower salary.

 The reason was not explained. Asha realized this was no coincidence. Rashid really did have connections, as he had threatened. She called him and demanded that he stop. Rashid agreed to meet, but only in person. They met at a cafe. Rashid was calm but insistent. He told her bluntly: “The store’s contract with the shopping center is controlled by a company owned by his cousin.

  One word from him, and the store would lose its lease, all the employees would be fired, including her.  And without work, her visa is automatically cancelled.  She will be deported.  It’s too early for them too, because his visa depends on the stability of his job.  And a taxi driver whose wife was caught in an affair with another man will become persona non grata.

  Aisha listened to him, feeling the walls closing in around her.  Rashid continued.  He didn’t demand anything shameful from her right now.  He just wanted her to give him a chance, to spend time with him, to get to know him better.  He rented a separate apartment for her in the Dubai Marina area, luxurious, with a view of the bay.

  He wanted them to have a place where they could meet, talk, be together.  If she refuses, he will ruin her life and the life of her husband.  If he agreed, he would take care of them both, provide for their future in a way they could never have on their own.  Aisha felt cornered.  She saw no way out.

  Rashid was an influential man.  He had connections, money, power.  She was a nobody, a foreign worker without rights, completely dependent on her visa and her job.  She agreed, hating herself for it.  Rashid gave her the keys to the apartment and said that he would contact her in a few days.  Asha returned home feeling like a criminal.

  She couldn’t tell them the truth. I was afraid that he would do something reckless and ruin both of their lives completely.   The next 4 months were a nightmare for Aisha .  She met with Rashid two or three times a week in that apartment. At first, he really just talked to her, had dinner, watched movies, but gradually the boundaries blurred.

He touched her.  She did not resist, paralyzed by fear and a sense of hopelessness. Then he began to demand more.  Aisha resisted, cried, and begged to stop. Rashid did not stop. He reminded her that her whole life depended on one call from him, that he could make her life with Imran unbearable. Aisha gave in every time, returning home with a feeling of shame and self-hatred .  Imran noticed the changes.

Aisha became distant, silent, and avoided physical intimacy with him. When he asked what happened, she replied that she was tired, that she was stressed at work.  Imran didn’t know how to help her, but he felt like he was losing his wife.  He tried to be patient, caring, hoping that with time everything would get better.

Aisha thought every day about telling him the truth.  But the fear was stronger.  Fear of losing everything they had built for 7 years.  Fear of ending up on the street without work, without a roof over your head. sent back to Pakistan empty- handed and with their dreams shattered. After 4 months, Aisha felt that something was wrong with her body.

  My period was 3 weeks late.  She felt sick in the mornings, her breasts were swollen and painful.  She bought a pregnancy test at the pharmacy and did it in secret from Imran. Two stripes.  She was pregnant.  The horror she experienced at that moment was absolute.  She knew for sure that the child was not Imran’s.

  They hadn’t been intimate for several months.  She avoided his touch under various pretexts. The child was Rashid’s.  At eight weeks pregnant, Aisha went to the doctor.  She wanted to make sure that the test might have been wrong, but the doctor confirmed it.  She is pregnant.  The term is about 2 months.  The doctor, a middle- aged woman, congratulated her and asked about her husband’s health.

  Do both need consultation? Aisha couldn’t stand it.  She burst into tears right there in the office.  The doctor, frightened, asked what had happened.  Aisha admitted through tears : “This is not from my husband. I don’t know what to do.”  The doctor listened to her without judging.  She explained that Dubai had strict laws regarding extramarital affairs, and that if the truth came out, Aisha would face deportation or even prison.

  She offered options: an abortion, which could be done legally for medical reasons, or an attempt to hide the truth.  Aisha couldn’t think.  She left the clinic and wandered aimlessly through the streets for several hours until she decided to return home.  Imran was at home.  He took a day off.  Seeing her face, he immediately realized that something irreparable had happened .

  He asked directly: “Are you pregnant?”  Aisha nodded.  Imran hugged her joyfully.  This is wonderful.  Why are you crying?  Aisha broke away from his embrace, sat down on the sofa, and covered her face with her hands. Imran, this is not from you.  The silence that followed lasted an eternity.  Imran stood motionless, trying to comprehend what he had heard.  Then he sat down next to me.

  His voice was quiet but firm.  Explain. Aisha told him everything.  about Rashid, about his threats, about how she was forced to meet with him, about how she couldn’t refuse, about how she was afraid to tell, about how she was now pregnant.  She spoke without stopping, through her sobs, expecting Imran to hit her, to throw her out, that their marriage was over.

  Imran listened in silence.  When she finished, he sat for a long time, looking at the floor, then stood up and put on his jacket.  “I’ll be right back,” he said and left. Aisha was left alone, not knowing if he would return at all. Imran returned two hours later. He was calm, but his face was pale. He sat down opposite Aisha and took her hands.

 “I don’t blame you,” he said. “You were cornered.  This man used his position to manipulate you.  It’s not your fault.  But now we have to decide what to do.” Aisha looked at him with gratitude and despair. “We can have an abortion and forget about all this,” Imran suggested. Aisha shook her head. “I can’t kill the child.

  This is a sin.  I have already committed so many sins.  I can’t add another one.” Imran realized she was adamant. “Then what?  We can’t raise his child as our own.  “I ca n’t.” Aisha didn’t know the answer. They sat in their small apartment, two people whose lives had been destroyed by forces beyond their control, trying to find a way out of a situation from which there was no way out.

 The night passed in heavy silence. Imran and Aisha lay in the same bed, but there was a chasm between them . Imran lay awake, staring at the ceiling. His thoughts raced between rage, pain, and the search for a solution. By morning, he had made a decision. He got up, dressed in his best clothes, and told Aisha, “I’m going to him.

  He must answer for what he did.” Aisha jumped up and grabbed his arm. No, please, this will only make things worse. He is a powerful man, he has connections. He will destroy us. Imran released his hand. His face was hard. He has already destroyed us, but I will not let him get away with it. Imran knew where Rashid’s office was. He had driven passengers to that area many times and had seen the glass-fronted high-rise building that housed the headquarters of his hotel empire.

He arrived there in the morning and walked through the revolving doors into the marble lobby. The counter guard stopped him and asked who he was going to see. Imran said the name Rashid Al Maktoum. The guard looked at him with disbelief, at his simple clothes and shabby shoes.

 “Do you have an appointment?” Imran replied, “No, but he will see me. Tell him that Aisha’s husband has arrived.” The guard called upstairs, spoke to someone, hung up and said coldly: “You are not allowed to come up.  “Leave the building.” Imran didn’t move. “I’m not leaving until I talk to him.” The guard called for backup. Two other guards approached, grabbed Imran by the arms, and began to lead him out.

 Imran broke free, shouting, “Rashid al-Maktoum, get out, you coward!”  My wife is pregnant with your child.  “You destroyed my family.” His voice echoed through the hall. Several employees passing by stopped and turned around. The guards grabbed Imran tighter and dragged him toward the exit.

 He continued screaming until they pushed him out into the street and threatened to call the police if he didn’t leave. Imran stood on the sidewalk, breathing heavily. His hands were shaking with rage and helplessness. He realized that a direct confrontation wouldn’t work. Rashid hid behind the walls of his office, behind security and authority.

 Imran returned to his car, got behind the wheel and sat there for a few minutes, trying to calm down. Then he decided to try something he almost didn’t believe in anymore: turn to the law. He drove to the nearest police station in the Deira district. He went inside and approached the officer on duty at the counter.

 The officer, a middle-aged Emirati in uniform, looked at him.  Imran asked questioningly. He tried to explain the situation. His English was broken, but he tried to be clear. He said he wanted to file a complaint, that a powerful man had coerced his wife into a relationship, threatened to deport her, used his position, that she was now pregnant and the child wasn’t his , and that he wanted justice.

The officer listened without emotion. When Imran finished, he asked one question: “Do you have evidence of coercion?” Witnesses, recordings of threats, medical reports of violence?” Imran was at a loss. ” No, but she’ll tell you herself. She’ll confirm it.” The officer shook his head. Without proof, it was her word against his.

 And he’s a respected UAE citizen. Do you understand that extramarital affairs are illegal in our country? If there’s no evidence of coercion, then by law your wife committed adultery voluntarily. This entails deportation or imprisonment . Are you sure you want to file a report?” Imran felt the ground shift from under his feet.

 He tried to protect his wife, but the system was against them. The officer continued, “My advice to you as a human being is: go back to your country.  Solve these problems there.  “The law is not on your side here.” Imran left the station feeling completely defeated. All avenues were closed. Appealing to Rashid directly hadn’t worked.

 Appealing to the law would backfire on Aisha. They were cornered, helpless against the man who held all the power. Imran returned home late that evening. Aisha was waiting for him, her face pale with worry. He told her everything: about his attempt to break into Rashid’s office, about his visit to the police, about the officer’s words.

 Aisha listened, and with each word, the hope in her eyes faded. What now?”  – she asked quietly.  Imran sat next to her and hugged her.  “I don’t know, but I won’t leave you. We’ll figure something out.”  Over the next two days, they discussed their options: going back to Pakistan.  But how can we explain Aisha’s pregnancy to her family just a few months after her return?  Have an abortion.

  Aisha categorically refused to try to hide the truth and pass the child off as her own.  Imran knew that he couldn’t live like that, that every time he looked at the child, he would see Rashid and what he had done to their lives.  There was no way out.  They were trapped with no escape.  On the third day in the evening, Imran received a message from an unknown number.

  It read: “Meet me tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. Coordinates included: come alone.” The coordinates led to a place outside the city, in a wooded area, not far from the highway leading to Kal Ainu. Imran showed the message to Aisha. “It’s from him,” he said. Aisha was scared. “Don’t go, it could be dangerous.

” Imran shook his head. Maybe he wants to negotiate? Maybe he’ll offer money, help? I have to go. Aisha begged him not to go. But Imran was adamant. The next morning, he drove to the address given. The place was deserted, away from main roads, surrounded by sparse trees and bushes. Imran parked the car and got out.

 No one was in sight. He waited about 10 minutes when a black SUV appeared from behind the trees . Rashid got out alone, without security. He walked up to Imran and stopped a few meters away. “You made a scene in my office,” Rashid said calmly.  He screamed at the top of his lungs. It was stupid. Imran clenched his fists.

 You ruined my life. My wife is pregnant. What are you going to do about it? Rashid smirked. I’m not going to do anything. It’s your problem, not mine. Imran stepped forward. You coerced her, threatened her. You used her. Rashid shrugged . Do you have proof? No. Then it’s her word against mine, and we both know whose word carries more weight.

 Imran felt rage flooding through him. He lunged at Rashid and punched him in the face. Rashid staggered and fell to the ground. Imran pounced on him, continuing to hit him. Rashid tried to defend himself, but Imran was stronger, driven by rage and despair. They wrestled on the ground, raising dust. Then Rashid found a stone lying nearby and hit Imran on the head.

 Imran staggered back. Blood streamed down his face. Rashid jumped up, heavily  breathing. His expensive shirt was torn and stained. “You made a mistake,” Rashid croaked, wiping blood from his split lip. Attacked me. Now I can call the police and you’ll go to jail for assault. Imran rose to his feet, swaying. Do whatever you want. I don’t care anymore.

Rashid looked at him with contempt. You’re pathetic. You know what? Take your wife and get out of the country. I don’t want you here. I don’t want this story to become public knowledge. Take her and disappear. That’s the only offer you’ll get from me . Imran turned silently and walked to his car.

 He got behind the wheel, started the engine, and drove away without looking back. Rashid stood watching him, then got into his SUV and drove off in the opposite direction. Imran returned home with a broken face and bloody clothes. Aisha gasped when she saw him. He told her about the meeting,  about the fight, about Rashid’s last words. Aisha cried as she tended to his wound.

 “What are we going to do?” she asked again and again. Imran didn’t answer. He sat there, staring into space. His mind was empty. That night they went to bed, exhausted and broken. Imran lay awake, thinking about how their lives were ruined beyond repair. Whatever they did, there was no way out. If they went to Pakistan, they would face shame.

 If they stayed in Dubai, Aisha would be deported or jailed when the truth about the pregnancy came out. Rashid had won. He had all the power, and he knew it. And they were nothing. Imran felt something inside him break completely. The next few days passed in oppressive silence. Imran went to work like a robot, drove passengers, answered their questions in monosyllables, and in the evenings he returned home and sat by the window, looking at the city lights.

 Aisha also continued to work, although her morning sickness was getting worse, and she tried to hide  The pregnancy was becoming increasingly difficult. She wore loose clothes, but she knew that in a few weeks it would become obvious. Coworkers had already begun to ask questions, noticing her paleness and frequent trips to the bathroom.

 She laughed it off, talking about stomach problems, but she felt the walls closing in around her. Imran was no longer angry. The rage that had burned within him after his meeting with Rashid had burned to the ground, leaving only emptiness and fatigue. He thought about his parents, about his brothers. About what they would say when they learned the truth, about the shame he would bring on the family.

 About the money they never saved. About the house they never built. About seven years of life in a foreign country that had been wasted. He thought about the child who was supposed to be born, who would carry within him the blood of the man who had ruined their lives. And the more he thought, the clearer it became that there was no way out. Aisha too.

  She felt it. She saw Imran changing, how he withdrew into himself, how the light in his eyes faded. She blamed herself for everything that had happened, for agreeing to Rashid’s proposal, for not telling her husband the truth right away, for being weak and allowing herself to be intimidated, for now carrying a child inside her who would become a living reminder of this nightmare.

 She thought about abortion, but the religious beliefs she had absorbed since childhood did not allow her to take this step. Killing a child was a sin for which she would answer before God. But the birth of a child also meant the end of everything they knew. On Friday evening after prayers, Imran and Aisha sat on the floor of their small apartment.

 Between them lay the Quran, open to a random page. Imran read aloud, his voice quiet and monotonous. Aisha listened with her eyes closed. When he finished, they sat in silence for a long time. Then Imran spoke without looking at her. Aisha, I can’t see anymore.  “There is no way forward,” he said. “No matter what we do, only shame and suffering await us .

 If we stay here, you will be imprisoned or deported. If we go home, our families will turn their backs on us. The child will grow up in a world where he will be a bastard, without a father, without a future. I have thought about this day and night, and the only thing I see is darkness.” Aisha opened her eyes and looked at him. “What are you trying to say?” Imran finally looked up, meeting her gaze.

“Perhaps there is another way?”  The path that will free us from this torment, from the shame, from endless years of suffering.” Aisha understood what he was talking about before he said it out loud. Her heart began to beat faster. “You are talking about death.” Imran nodded. In Islam, suicide is a sin.

 But isn’t what we are going through now worse? Is n’t life in shame, in poverty, with a child born from violence and coercion, worse than death? Maybe Allah will forgive us, seeing our suffering? Maybe this is the only way to end the pain? Aisha was silent for a long time. Part of her wanted to scream that this was madness, that she couldn’t think like that.

 But another part, exhausted, broken, whispered that he was right, that the life that awaited them ahead was unbearable, that it was better to leave now with dignity than to live for years in hell. “How?” she asked quietly. Imran was thinking about it. “There is a place outside the city where we  met with Rashid.  Forest.  There’s no one there.

  We can go there at night.  I’ll take the rope from the garage.  It will be quick, painless.” Aisha shuddered, but did not object. Imran continued: “We will leave letters for our families, explain that it was our will, that we could not live with the shame, ask for forgiveness.” They spent the weekend in a strange calm, as if having made a decision, having lifted the burden of uncertainty.

 Imran wrote a long letter to his mother and brothers in which he explained everything that had happened, without naming Rashid by name, but only speaking of the influential man who had ruined their lives. He asked for forgiveness for not being able to provide for his family, for what was causing them pain.

 He asked them to remember him and Aisha with love, not with condemnation. Aisha wrote a similar letter to her parents , begging them to understand and forgive. On Sunday evening, they gathered. Imran took the rope that the builders had used in his house and put it in a bag. They dressed in clean clothes, performed ablution and prayer, as if preparing for  A long journey.

Before leaving, Aisha turned around and looked at their small apartment one last time: the bed where they slept, the kitchen where she cooked, the window with a glimpse of the sky. All this should have been the beginning of their new life. Instead, it became the grave of their dreams. They got into Imran’s car and drove to the outskirts of the city.

The drive took about an hour. Imran turned off the main highway onto a dirt road leading to a forested area created by the UAE government as part of a desert greening project. The trees were sparse, mostly acacia and tamarisk, but the place was secluded. He parked the car in the depths, far from the road, where no one would see them until morning. They got out.

The night was warm, the sky strewn with stars. Imran found a sturdy tree with a thick branch, quite high. He took out a rope and tested its strength. Aisha stood nearby, shivering despite the warm air.  “Are you sure?” Imran asked. She nodded, unable to speak. Imran hugged her.

 They stood like that for a few minutes, holding each other for the last time. Then Imran made two nooses, attached the rope to a branch, brought two boxes from the car for them to stand on, and placed them under the tree. “I’ll go first,” he said. “I can’t let you die alone.” Aisha grabbed his hand. No, we were together at the same time.

 Imran hesitated, then agreed. They stood on the boxes, put the nooses around their necks. Imran took Aisha’s hand. “On the count of three,” he said. Aisha nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. One. Imran squeezed her hand tighter. Two. Aisha closed her eyes, whispered a prayer. Three. They simultaneously pushed the boxes aside with their feet.

The bodies of Imran and Aisha were found by a local shepherd. The next morning, he was pascoing in the area and came across the car, and  Then he saw the bodies hanging from a tree. He immediately called the police. Investigators arrived and examined the scene. There were no signs of a struggle, no signs of violence by third parties.

 Two sealed envelopes with letters were found in the car. The police read their contents. The story was shocking, but without specific names and evidence, there was nothing to base the investigation on. The official version was closed as a double suicide. The bodies were handed over to the Pakistani Embassy, ​​which organized their repatriation.

The families of Imran and Aisha received the letters and the bodies of their children at the same time. The grief was boundless, mixed with incomprehension and shame. The parents read the letters over and over again, trying to understand how this could have happened. Imran and Aisha were buried in their homeland, in family cemeteries.

 Their graves were in different villages, several hours’ drive from each other. The story of their deaths remained within a small circle of family and a few close friends. The embassy did not disseminate information, not wanting to create a diplomatic incident based on unproven accusations against an influential person.  Emirati.

Rashid Al Maktoum never learned of their deaths. He continued his life, running his business, buying expensive things, meeting new women. For him, Aisha was just one of many, a fleeting affair he had long since forgotten. The case was never investigated further. Officially, it was closed as a tragic incident of two migrants who couldn’t handle the pressures of life in a foreign country.

 Two lines appeared in the Dubai police statistics : suicide, motive, and personal problems. No mention of Rashid, coercion, or pregnancy. The truth remained buried with Imran and Aisha, known only to their parents, who bore this burden until the end of their days, unable to resist revenge or find justice.