Hamara Saadi

The faint sound of the third call to prayer echoed through the dimly lit prison corridor, carried on the morning breeze. Inside a cell, a prisoner in white adjusted his sleeves after performing ablution. Two guards stood nearby, one lighting a cigarette. "Don't keep looking at that ill-tempered man, Mohammad," the older guard, Abdul Sakoor, warned his companion. "Your sympathy will only make him bolder."
Mohammad looked at the prisoner laying out his prayer mat. "Does praying like that really make God forgive you?" he asked in a despondent voice.
"Murder is never forgiven," Abdul Sakoor declared, taking a drag from his cigarette, "and one who murders his wife and own brother? Never."
"But he killed them out of honor, or so they say. That's why he's only been in jail for four years." Mohammad leaned against the pillar, watching the prisoner begin his prayers.
The prisoner, Faris Ghazi, a man with a strong build and handsome features, finished his prayer. His golden eyes, sharp and intense, met the guards'. He beckoned them closer. "Clean your ears and listen carefully," he said, his voice low but sharp. "First, he wasn't my full brother, he was my step-brother. Second, my nephew's name is Saadi Yousuf. And finally, if I see you loitering around during my visiting hours again, you'll be guarding this place from a wheelchair tomorrow. Understood?"