Angels & Sinners

"This show needs a miracle!" exclaimed Melanie, dropping the folders on the table. "Angels & Sinners" was printed on one of the folders in cursive writing.

"Why? What happened?" I asked, moving my head away from the papers laying across my table and focusing on her form.

Her shoulders slumped in exhaustion. Seating herself down on one of the chairs, she started her rant: "The ratings are going down at an incredible speed. People aren't really interested in watching this show anymore, and half of them don't even understand it. They say it's too complicated, too slow, it's boring, and the name—oh god, apparently Angels and Sinners feels too religious and historical. People think it's a preaching show!" she exclaimed, hitting her head on the table, this girl...

"You need to calm down. At this rate, you'll wear yourself out," I said, patting her head. "And that's the last thing you want if you want to get your show back on track... right?"

"Right," she replied in a weak voice.

"By the way, I really can't believe you. If you just needed my help, you should have said it, no need to go all hyper about it," I informed her, standing up and rounding the table.

Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment, realizing I'd caught her lie again. "Well, now you know, so you have to help me, alright?" she finished, beaming happily.

She's such a drama queen; her mood changes in seconds. "That's what friends do," I replied.

"So..." I started, moving around, thinking deeply.

"In the beginning, the show was quite popular, and the ratings were high, so I don't believe people didn't like the concept. The falling of the ratings is very recent; that shows the problem is in the recent storylines."

I turned to her, raising an eyebrow. "What kind of people have you been calling on the show these days?"

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise; she looked like a deer caught in headlights. "Well, all good people, good stories, good intentions, good looks; they even have good hair," she sighed with a dreamy look.

"Seriously..." I gave her a look, shaking my head in disappointment. "You know that storyline is the most important thing, not a pretty face. Get your head out of the clouds missy." I scolded her.

"Hey, I know that, right? But you can't dismiss the fact completely that a pretty face is also important in show business. Most people open their TV sets to look at some of that gorgeousness. I'll admit, I open my fat ass TV only to drool over handsome guys..."

Again, she sighed dreamily, then her eyes turned into laser blades. "You got a problem with that?" she challenged.

"Definitely not," I replied, raising my hands in surrender. You have to tread carefully with Melanie; one wrong move, and you'll win yourself a claw mark right on the face.

She nodded her head towards me, calming down a bit, only to stomp her feet like a three-year-old, making a sound of annoyance in the back of her throat.

"But the ratings are still going down; people aren't acknowledging my efforts," she wiped away a non-existent tear.

Yup, definitely a drama queen. "Hey, hey, look here, don't be sad. We will figure something out."

"But first, I need you to calm down and give me the list of the participants for this week's telecast. I'll look into it personally, because apparently, these days, people are able to tell when the stories are not genuine," I explained, grabbing the folders of the said show.

Skipping through the pages, I spotted quite a few fake wannabe angels; their bios were also interesting. These days, people will do anything to be famous. None of them seemed honest. I grabbed another folder filled with contestant names and began flipping through them when something caught my eyes.

"Mel...?"

"Hmm?"

"Who is this guy?" I showed her his picture.

She sat straighter on her chair.

"Well, he is a Muslim..."

"I can see that. Anything else you know about his story?"

"Hmm, he tried to reach us many times in the past. He is in search of his angel, someone who saved and inspired him. He has opened many rehab centers for drug addicts and substance abusers, he works for social welfare, and he has an NGO that helps people with mental issues."

"Why didn't you invite him then? He sounds like a wonderful person," I asked.

"Well, I don't know. It must have slipped from my mind," she murmured, biting her nails.

"Yeah, right," I added sarcastically.

"It must have slipped from your mind when you were drooling over hot guys."

"Oh come on, don't be like this, Liz. I just wasn't so sure about this one," she tried to reason.

"Break the damn stereotype, Mel. Your show needs it. Think clearly."

"And call him for me. I'll interview him myself; 

this guy seems interesting and genuine," I summarized.

"Okay, but what about the sinners? You have to choose one from that list too," she replied, standing up and gathering the papers I'd sorted out.

"Already did. Call this girl," I slid another folder towards her.

"Irina..."

"Yes, give her a call. I'll do her interview too. Both of them on the same day and same time—a collision of angels and sinners. Get ready, we will make this grand!"

"Hell yeah!" she squealed. I just chuckled at her antics.

This is me, a journalist. My life revolves around a camera and a story. I love my job, and my job is not just a job; it's part of my lifestyle. I'm always a journalist; I'm always curious, always questioning the norms of society, listening to opinions, and following the themes of justice.

"Mr. Ahsan, welcome to the show. It's good to have you here. I'm hoping you are feeling fine this evening," I addressed the man in front of me. He was in his early thirties but looked much younger. He was tall, handsomely built, and he had a cool mustache too. He had a charm about him that could bring light to any room.

"Thank you for inviting me," he answered. He wasn't much of a talker, I guess; he was still taking everything in. Mel really went all out for this one. 

The setting of the studio is extraordinary, a bit extravagant too. We'd better make this worth the while, or else the boss will be kicking both of our asses.

"It's nothing. I was thrilled reading your story, and I wanted to hear it from yourself, and I'm sure our audience wants to hear it too. The fact that from where you started and the thoughtfulness of the work you do—it's very inspiring," I stated. I didn't want to overwhelm him with too many questions. I thought this way he would get time to gather his thoughts, and he'd perhaps feel a little relaxed knowing people appreciate his work.

"I appreciate your kindness. To be honest, I never thought I could be able to do all this. I didn't know if I'd ever have a chance to do something like this in my life, because all of my focus was on making ends meet and living through the day. I was just existing," he replied.

This guy has a depth in his eyes that I have never encountered before—a depth of honesty, a dark past, and struggles for survival.

I was stunned for a moment. I quickly gathered my thoughts, giving him a genuine smile. "But now you are here, you have made it. I'm curious, how did that happen? What changed?"

"It was a pure coincidence. It was around the darkest time of my life when my father fell ill; he had lung cancer," his voice broke.

"I'm so sorry," I murmured.

"It's okay, it is in the past now. We used to work at a factory. My father was a skilled weaver of fine Arabic rugs; it was the family business at home, but father chose to come here for work. I was nine years old at that time. I used to always complain to my father that how much I hated this country and wanted to go back home. I hated the cold, I hated my school, I hated pretty much everything about England, and he used to listen to my ramblings, sometimes assuring me that we would definitely go back home one day."

"I realized the first day of working in the factory that I took him for granted, just like when you have something good, you take it for granted. Only when it's taken away from you then you realize its true worth," he stated, shaking his head, a thoughtful look on his face. It looked like he wasn't even here but far away in time.

"I wasn't fit for the job; no one would have hired me if it wasn't for my father, who had worked most of his life there. I didn't blame them; just last night, I was drowning away my life in alcohol and clouds of smoke," he stopped, taking a deep breath. He continued:

"You don't have time for thoughts of mental illness and well-being of other people when you are struggling to save your father's life. I would have never started this institution if I hadn't met her."

"Who?"

"Someone special. I like to call her my angel."

"Oh wow, she must be very special then. Where is she now?"

"I don't know, I haven't seen her since she saved me; she kind of disappeared."

"Oh no, that's disappointing," I replied, genuinely feeling sad. Why can't everyone have their happy endings?

"It's alright, I'm learning to live with the fact that the person who literally brought me back to life is not in my life anymore. I won't say it's particularly easy, but with someone like me, who has a history of losing things in life, it's understandable."

"Actually, that was one of my main reasons for coming here, because I wanted her to know how she has impacted my life and the lives of so many other people who benefit from the institution. Even if she didn't want to see me, I wish for her to know this," he said with a solemn look on his face.

"How sweet. Can I ask how the two of you met?" I asked curiously.

"As I said earlier, it was during the darkest time of my life. My father suddenly fell ill; it wasn't actually a sudden event because he had a lung problem for a long time, but he never took it seriously, always saying it's just a cough." "He was a stubborn man," he added, shaking his head.

"One day he just couldn't do it; his weak state was apparent to me, so I stopped him from going to work and took him to the hospital. That's when we found about the cancer. In just thirty minutes, everything changed, my whole world."

"And I knew what I had to do. I wanted to save my father in any which way, and to do that, I needed money. The treatment was very expensive, and the fact that he had a third-stage cancer didn't help. So I joined the factory, took two more jobs, one as a security guard, another as a delivery boy, but it was not enough. With the money that I had, I could only afford the medication. I was running out of ways to save his life, and that just led me to a very depressive state—the fact that no matter what I do, I would never be able to save him."

"The prospect of losing your father because of your incompetence sits heavily on a son's mind. I was reminiscing all those times when he used to say to me to become someone, to do better in studies... I should have listened to him," his words were making my eyes moist, but oddly enough, he was smiling, but this was not a smile of happiness; this was a smile filled with pain.

"What happened next?" I questioned. The studio felt quieter than usual, like everyone was eagerly waiting to hear the rest of his story. 

"One fateful day, I was driving my car. I had just gotten the news that my father needed an immediate lung transplant or else he would not make it. I wanted to help, but I didn't have the money for the operation. I was going insane, driving towards a deserted place. I needed to think, and I wanted to get away from everyone, from the city."

"I was way above the speed limit, and at that moment I realized that I wouldn't mind if something happened to me right then and there. I thought I would even like it; it would save me from this turmoil," you could hear the guilt in his voice. The calm persona that he had at the beginning was beginning to fade. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and continued, saying : 

"Instead of slowing down, I sped up even more. It was one of those countryside roads with lots of turns. If any car was to come from that side, I wouldn't be able to see it until it's very close, which wasn't ideal with my already scattered mind. And then, on an unpredictable turn, I swirled the handle to the right at the last moment to avoid crashing into an upcoming vehicle. Both cars swirled off the road. I was just able to stop the car from crashing into a tree; it was wild.

And then I heard a cry that filled me with dread, then a series of curse words, and what sounded like someone hitting the dashboard with their head again and again.

Gathering courage, I tried to move from my 

tangled position in the car seat to be able to open the car door. It opened on the third try. I got out of the car and started walking suspiciously towards the other car. It was in bad shape, but not bad enough to stop working.

On a closer look, I realized it was a very expensive car. Now I was just relieved that I managed not to crash into it; I wouldn't be able to pay for the maintenance.

I was busy thinking about these thoughts when a hand appeared at the top of the door, pushing it open. The first thing I noticed about her was that she was tall, blonde, with a devastating frown on her face that let me know that she was set out to kill someone; it was either me or herself. I never got to ask her about that because as soon as she saw me, she started shouting. 

"Are you out of your damn mind!"

"I'm sorry..." I started.

"What sorry!? Your sorry isn't gonna fix anything!"

"Now I have to find another way to get hit," she mumbled.

"What?"

"Nothing!"

"What are you doing here anyway?" I asked. She glared at me. "Away from civilization..." I tried to explain.

"I am trying to find the cliff. I have heard there is a cliff nearby."

"Oh yes, there's one up north," I said, remembering.

"But wait... Do you like to hang out at the cliff?" It sounded strange to my ears, but I had a feeling this girl wouldn't find it too strange.

"No, today I have some serious business there. It's a very big deal," she spoke, moving towards my car and sitting on the bonnet of my car.

"Nice, as long as that business deal of yours doesn't include jumping off that cliff," I joked, trying to diffuse some awkwardness.

"That's none of your business." And there goes my attempt to lighten up the situation.

I just shrugged my shoulders at her response, like I really couldn't care less, but still thought of asking.

"Are you getting blackmailed?"

"No, why would you ask that?"

"It seems like the perfect scenario: meeting at a deserted cliff, for a business deal. It's the perfect opportunity for someone to take all your money and push you off the cliff," I rambled.

"I may be a stranger to you, but I would advise against going there, especially alone."

"Aww, who are you, my savior?" she mocked.

"And trust me, no one has to blackmail me for me to jump off of a cliff."

"That eager to die?"

"You have no idea."

"Me too."

"Do you have a cigarette?" she asked.

"Here," I said, searching through my pockets and finally coming up with a packet.

She took it, lighting it up quickly with a small lighter she had in her jeans pocket. I took one for myself, which she efficiently lit up. I didn't know what I was doing; at that point, I was so lost that having a cigarette with a random stranger felt like the most natural thing in the world.

After a while, she spoke, "You know you were right about that climbing off of a cliff thing." She said it so randomly that it surprised me. I looked at her; she was puffing out the smoke from her cigarette, and I believed her, but what I found impossible to do is to say anything to stop her. How could I? That would be hypocritical.

So I took another swig of my cigarette and said, "I too was trying to lose control of the car on purpose." She looked at me with surprise, but then eventually a smile made its way across her lips, and she said, "So we both are trying to die, nice to know. Can I ask why were you going to do that?"

I told her about my father's condition and how it was predominantly the helplessness of my situation that made me do it. She listened to my story with a patient look on her face, taking everything in, but she remained silent afterwards, appearing deep in thought.

I thought maybe I told her too much and it bothered her, so I tried to change the topic and asked her, "So, that was my tragic story, what about you? Why are you bent on dying young?"

"I did something bad," she said, looking at me, gauging my reaction, but seeing that I wasn't giving any, she continued telling me about herself and her boyfriend—the one she was madly in love with, the one with tattoos and questionable music taste, the one her parents didn't approve of. But she didn't believe in any stereotypes; she was sure he loved her as much as she loved him. She invited him to a party where he got into a verbal fight with her dad, which made him so aggressive the next day he demanded her to leave her family home and live with him.

He didn't give her any time to think, asked her to pull up some cash from her father's locker for their future, since her father was so rich. She told it all to her father, who rejected her request of money. He didn't want her daughter to end up with him, and did everything in his power to keep them apart, but that made Irina even more rebellious. So one day, after planning it with her boyfriend, she decided to steal the money from her dad's office and run away to be with her boyfriend forever. The plan went well; they got the money, but when she was leaving, the accountant of her father caught her. To get out of the trouble at that moment, Irina grabbed a vase sitting on a nearby table and hit him with it. Mr. Joshua fainted by the impact, and he started bleeding. Seeing that made Irina horrified, but the fear made her run away on the spot, with the bag of cash.

On her way to her boyfriend's house, Irina had a sudden realization, and she realized all the things she did wrong and because of whom: her boyfriend. His manipulation was clear to her now. Before him, indeed she was alone, but she was a good person. His influence had turned her life so drastically into a catastrophe, so much so that she hurt another person just for him. Disgusted by herself and what she had become, she took a U-turn since she no longer wanted him to have the money, but she couldn't go back to her house since she was sure her parents would be so mad they'd disown her. She just wanted to end her life, right then and there.

Hearing her answer made me better understand her, but I wasn't devastated because I knew she still had hope. "You should go back to your home, and apologize to your parents. They'll forgive you," I told her.

"Psst, there's no way," she answered.

"Believe me, they will. I know how parents are. I have disappointed my father so many times in my life, but he still forgave me each time and still loves to see me. Parents can never be angry with their child for too long."

She looked at me with a downturned face and doubtful eyes. "Really?" she asked.

"Yes, I swear on my father... and if it doesn't work, the cliff will always be there," I joked.

She laughed, saying, "Thanks for the advice, I definitely wouldn't have thought that on my own." She said then stopped for a moment, thinking something, then added, "But I'll do it only if you listen to one request of mine as well."

"What would that be?"

"Currently I have five million pounds sitting on the back seat of my car. I don't need that anymore, but you do. That money makes no difference in my situation, but it can save your father's life. Please take it and go back... all is not lost for you." That sentence could have offended me, but she spoke with such sincerity, I couldn't have been offended even if I tried.

"I can't do that. I—"

"Please, you have to. We sure met by a coincidence, but this meeting stopped me from dying. Today, I was so close to seriously harming a person. Doing this would be the first step towards redemption for me, and don't look at it as a favor I'm doing to you; I know you would pay me back one day," she said with a smile, trying to convince me.

My thoughts were in shambles; I wasn't expecting this. "I still don't think—"

"You wouldn't do that."

"Try me."

"Okay, fine, but I only need fifty thousand, which I will return you the next time we meet each other," I promised.

"I got it, now go, aren't you getting late?"

I speed-walked to my car, all the while looking back to check if she was still there. She was standing there, smiling at me, doing a best of luck sign. That was the last time I saw her, almost nine years ago. My father lived to see six more years, and I joined the work in NGOs, "You wouldn't do that."

"Try me."

"Okay, fine, but I only need fifty thousand, which I will return you the next time we meet each other," I promised.

"I got it, now go, aren't you getting late?"

I speed-walked to my car, all the while looking back to check if she was still there. She was standing there, smiling at me, doing a best of luck sign. That was the last time I saw her, almost nine years ago. My father lived to see six more years, and I joined the work in NGOs,

mental health institutions, and different non-profit organizations. I felt like I was given a chance in life, and I wanted to help others who maybe got misled and ended up on that path I was once on. Also, since I never met her again, I couldn't pay back what I owed her, so I thought doing these things would help lessen my debt to her.

"I'm sure it did," I replied after listening to his story. It moved me in a way I didn't think it could, but I was grateful regardless. He smiled at me; the audience applauded, and just like that, after a handshake and wave at the audience, he was gone. But I was still thinking about him and wondering if the next interview could top this one. It was hard to say, but regardless, I called the next guest in the category of a sinner. Now this was the flip side of the show, an opposite scenario. Here, people share something that they did, or something that happened in their past which can be quoted as a 'Sin,' but like we all know, life is much more than that. Beyond these labels, there's a story, and now we are about to learn a new one.

"Miss Cole, welcome to the show. I heard you had a confession to make," I asked, in my best trying-to-create-suspense tone, because that's what you do in showbiz.

"Not really. I have already confessed to all the people who really matter in my life. This is for clarity, for anyone who might be going through similar situations," she answered very articulately, if I do say so myself. Well, this is going to be fun.

"That's nice," I continued.

"Miss Cole, you are a lawyer, and you have come to this show as a sinner. It sounds quite cliché, isn't it?"

"That was not my intention. The story that I have to tell is from my past. Something I didn't think I could get out of. My father said that it's okay to lose your path in life; what's important is to pick yourself up from where you have fallen and start walking again; you'll eventually find your way."

"Your father sounds like a wise man."

"He really is," she said with a laugh, and I noticed I really liked this woman's laugh. She was such a light, and that made me even more curious to find out what dark past she was here to unveil.

"Oh, you have made us all so curious... so tell   me why, how, and when you lost your path," I asked, leaning in towards her. She stretched her lips in a thin line and looked sideways, shaking her head. "I was in love... And it's easy to lose your path in love."

"What kind of love makes a person lose their path?" I asked.

She smiled again, saying, "The obsessive one, the young-drunken love, the dreamy-dreary, one-of-a-kind love. It makes you do the things you have never did, just to feel that high again, that lightheadedness that comes with the realization of being loved, being seen for the first time."

"So you fell because of that?"

"I did more than just fall. I hurt the people closest to me, injured someone, stole money,  ran away, all for a love, a commitment I put above everything else. To be with him, I lost myself completely... sitting behind the wheels of my car and staring at the mirror, I couldn't recognize myself. I knew I had lost my path and felt like there was no way for me to go back. That day I decided to end my life; I couldn't live with the pain and humiliation of my actions. Somehow, someone caught me just in time and saved me, 'and if it didn't work, the cliff will always be there' were his exact words." She said with a laugh. By now, I noticed something weird: her story was a lot similar to the girl Mr. Ahsan talked about, the one he was looking for, his angel. While she was explaining more on the incident, I quickly shuffled through her file and realized the timeline of the incidents in both of their files were the same. 'There's no freaking  way!' I said in my mind, but oh, there was! I can't believe it! I quickly sent a message to our management team, asking if Mr. Ahsan was still on the set. Thankfully, he was still there.

"Miss Cole, I'm sorry to interrupt you, but we have a little surprise for you," I informed her with a smile, internally beaming with the joy of the coincidence. To be honest, I felt like a matchmaker.

"Yeah, sure..." she said, probably wondering what that could be. In the next moment, there was Mr. Ahsan on stage with all his razzle and dazzle, and they instantly recognized each other, which was quite shocking to a lot of people. But they did, and it was such a perfect moment in their lives, and of course, for our show. That day, the angel met the sinner, and it was proven how similar they both are. 

Mr. Ahsan thanked me profusely for letting him meet her, someone he was looking for such a long time. Irina was overwhelmed, but learning about Ahsan and all the things he did in these years filled her with joy. She finally was happy with her past and said everything happened for a reason. They didn't really say anything that could link to any personal feelings of affection, but even a blind person can see the chemistry between them. All in all, that day was super fun.

After the show, Mel literally jumped into my arms, and we did our victory dance, which was totally worth it. Our boss was very happy, Mel got a promotion, and I, well... I got a transfer! What?! Yes, that was my reaction too, can you believe it? My boss later explained to me it was part of a bigger project and he really needed someone with experience on this, preferably me. So I couldn't even say no. I don't know how it would go, but I have high hopes. Meet you again in future... till then, take care.