After spending the weekend with my parents in my hometown of Gujranwala, my younger brother and I woke up early yesterday morning in order to return to Lahore, where we live, so that we could get to work on time.

Our mother made us a heavy breakfast which we ate like kings. As we were leaving, she did her usual sadqah ritual so that we are protected from anything bad.

The drive was an hour and a half long, and it was pouring heavily. We were glued in our seats, almost sedated by the lassi we'd had earlier.

Halfway into the journey, on the GT Road, we saw a policeman waving at us for a lift. We didn’t want to leave him in the torrential rain, and decided to let him hop in.

He told us that he was late for duty because of the rain and that his fellow officers were waiting for him at a chowk in Lahore. He was evidently relieved at finally finding a ride to work.

The policeman brought a unique energy with him; it broke the silence and woke us up from our lassi-induced slumber. We suddenly started talking all at once.

I asked him what time his shift starts. Seven in the morning, he said, with a smile. And when does it end? "Hamari duty kabhi khatam nahi hoti" he replied, with another smile.

I told the officer that I used to work at a news channel and we always made sure to highlight the positive efforts of our police force in resolving many issues. I also mentioned that the media, in general, advocated for more resources for the police and compensation for the families of the policemen who lay their lives in the line of duty.

He retorted, "to kia ye sab kuch kaafi hai?" His question silenced me and made me ponder. With his vibes, straightforwardness and wit, he had brightened up my day.

We dropped him off at his destination when we reached Lahore. He thanked us and we were equally if not more thankful to him.

Later in the afternoon, a blast outside my office at the Arfa Karim Tower sent ripples through the building. Everyone was in shock. I was panicking but tried to tell myself that it was not as bad as it seemed.

I hesitantly went over to the window to see what had happened. I saw thick black smoke rising from the burning cars right in front of my office building. The next thing I knew, there were dead bodies strewn across the area.

Witnessing what a bomb blast does to human bodies sucked the soul out of me. There was blood everywhere and people on Ferozepur Road were in a state of frenzy. What I had only ever watched on TV was playing out right in front of my eyes and I could not make sense of anything I was seeing.

My brother called me to make sure I was OK. Family and friends started calling me as well right after. I reassured them that everyone in the office was safe.

When I went home, I turned on the TV to see the details that were coming in. The policeman who had lifted my mood earlier in the day was on my screen. It’s just that, he had been martyred.

I was depressed after the bomb blast; when I found out that the person I had driven in my car a few hours earlier was dead in the same blast, right outside my office, I was completely broken.

I still remember his smile.

Rest in peace, Assistant sub-inspector Fayyaz.

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