Sahar, Zoya, Hafsah and Areesha were eager to perform in their school’s Independence Day event on August 14. But before that day arrived, something strange happened to all four of them on the night of August 11. Each of them received a strange message related to the role she was playing in the school play.

Sahar was about to fall asleep when an unknown notification suddenly popped up on her screen: “Iqbal dreamed about Pakistan in the language you feel embarrassed to speak, Sahar. Urdu is an important part of Pakistan’s identity. Never undermine the role language played in bringing Muslims together in their struggle for independence.”

Sahar’s heart skipped a beat. She was going to play Allama Iqbal in her school’s Independence Day play. She had memorised all her lines thoroughly and practised every scene. But in everyday life, she hardly ever spoke Urdu. Like everyone else, she thought English sounded cooler and considered speaking Urdu old-fashioned. She often laughed when her classmates spoke Urdu.

However, deep inside, Sahar knew it was wrong. Iqbal’s poetry was about identity, self-respect and believing in yourself. Every time she practised her dialogue, she felt guilty for making fun of the language he loved. Still, she pushed that feeling aside.

Then her phone buzzed again. It was a message from her friend Zoya, who was playing the role of Sir Syed Ahmad Khan in the school play. She had forwarded a message that she had also received. It read: “He built colleges so students could learn, and you keep looking for shortcuts. Zoya, you have been given the opportunity to study, yet you take it for granted.”

Zoya was confused and wondered who could have sent it. She was the student who would study only the night before an exam. Her assignments were often copied and pasted from other students or taken from free online resources.

Before Sahar could reply, another notification appeared in their group chat. It was from Areesha.

Areesha had received the following message: “Liaquat Ali Khan carried a nation on his shoulders. You can’t even help the people around you.”

Areesha was playing the role of Liaquat Ali Khan. She wasn’t a bad person, but she mostly cared about herself and her close friends. If she found someone in a difficult situation, she would often walk by as if she hadn’t noticed. During group projects, she let others do most of the work.

A minute later, Hafsah sent hers: “Unity, humility and justice. You know the words. Do you even know what they really mean?”

Hafsah had the biggest role of all. She was playing the role of Quaid-i-Azam Muhammad Ali Jinnah. Once she got the role, she posted a picture of her costume on Instagram and started showing off. All four girls were left frozen with surprise.

The next day, they gathered at lunch to discuss what had happened.

Zoya asked, “Who sent us these strange messages?”

“I must say, they were less strange and more thought-provoking,” Sahar replied thoughtfully.

“Could it be someone from the drama club? Whoever is behind this knows exactly what we are performing,” Areesha guessed.

“Hmm. Probably, but I think this is someone who knows us as people too,” Hafsah said.

“Well, you might be right. Could it be our parents, teachers or one of our classmates playing a prank on us?” Zoya asked, confused.

“But it doesn’t feel like a prank,” Sahar replied.

Nobody was sure, but they knew one thing: whoever was behind the messages was someone who knew them well. They spent hours searching through their contacts for the number, but it was nowhere to be found.

The messages were too personal. They weren’t making fun of them. Instead, they pointed out things each girl secretly knew about herself but had never admitted. Whoever was behind them had to be someone who genuinely wanted them to improve. But who?

The next day at school, rehearsals continued as usual. Their class teacher quietly observed them as they practised. Whenever Sahar forgot a line, the teacher smiled patiently. Whenever Zoya spoke confidently, she nodded proudly. Everything seemed normal, but the girls couldn’t stop thinking about those messages.

Later that afternoon, Sahar noticed one of her classmates struggling to read an Urdu paragraph. Normally, she would have laughed with her friends, but this time she helped the girl with the pronunciation of the words. The whole class was surprised. Nobody could believe it was Sahar. It was a small thing, but not what Sahar usually did.

Zoya also surprised herself. Instead of copying her chemistry homework before class, she opened her notebook and tried solving the questions on her own. She struggled, but for the first time, she completed the work herself. It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t copied and pasted either. For the first time, she felt proud of her effort.

Areesha saw a junior carrying decorations for the Independence Day event. She walked over and helped her.

The junior smiled and said, “Thank you. You are so nice.”

Those simple words touched Areesha’s heart. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had thanked her for helping them.

Hafsah noticed two girls arguing about their costumes backstage. Without thinking twice, she stepped in and made sure their misunderstanding was cleared up. She felt as if she had earned the role of Quaid-i-Azam instead of simply wearing his costume.

That night, the four friends met at Hafsah’s house to revise their dialogues one last time. Instead of practising, they ended up reflecting on themselves.

“I feel like I’m fake,” Sahar admitted. “How can I play Iqbal’s role when I don’t even respect my own language?”

“Same, Sahar. I also don’t deserve to play the role of Sir Syed. I waste my time and don’t even realise how important education is,” Zoya replied.

Areesha looked down. “I’m supposed to play someone who cared about his people. I hardly help anyone.”

Hafsah sighed. “Maybe we got these roles for a reason.”

The room was quiet for a while.

Finally, Sahar said softly, “Maybe we don’t have to be perfect. Maybe we just need to admit our mistakes and try to correct them.”

On August 14, the whole school was decorated with green and white flags. A sense of patriotism filled everyone as they gathered for the celebrations. The curtains opened and the programme began. The actors were so immersed in their characters that the audience was captivated by their performance.

Sahar stepped forward as Allama Iqbal and spoke every Urdu dialogue with confidence and a deep sense of belonging. Next, it was Zoya’s turn to portray Sir Syed Ahmad Khan. She imagined how hard he had worked to encourage Muslims to seek education and delivered her dialogues with depth and dedication.

Areesha acted with kindness and confidence. Hafsah stood tall as Quaid-i-Azam, reminding everyone through her performance that unity, humility and justice were not just words but values to live by.

The audience clapped loudly when the play ended.

After the programme, their class teacher asked them to follow her into the classroom.

“I think I owe you an explanation.”

The girls instantly looked at one another.

Hafsah finally asked, “Were you the one who sent us those messages?”

Their teacher nodded. “Yes.”

“But how did you know all those things about us?” Zoya asked.

The teacher smiled kindly. “I’ve been your teacher for two years. I know more about my students than they think. I know who avoids speaking Urdu. I know who copies homework. I know who quietly ignores classmates who need help. I know who struggles with discipline.”

The girls looked down, feeling embarrassed.

“Patriotism means having devotion to our nation and respecting its identity. I only wanted you all to think about yourselves,” the teacher said.

She paused before continuing, “I didn’t choose you for these roles because you were already like these leaders. I chose you because I believed you could learn from this experience.

“Our leaders are not remembered because they were perfect. They are remembered because they had values they strived to live by. Patriotism is not about waving a flag once a year or wearing a costume on Independence Day. It is reflected in the choices we make every day.”

The girls looked at one another, then thanked their teacher for giving them the opportunity to grow. They realised that being Pakistani meant being honest, having the courage to stand up for what is right, embracing their identity and striving to become better people every single day.

Published in Dawn, Young World, August 15th, 2026