Noor Mukadam was murdered. Tortured. Beheaded. In Islamabad. In the home of someone she trusted. I didn’t know her — but I felt like I did. Maybe because we were close in age. Maybe because she looked like any one of us. Maybe because in that moment, every girl in Pakistan realised something we’d always feared: it could’ve been me.
I was in O Levels when it happened. My life revolved around textbooks, late-night cramming, and dreaming of the future. But then came the headlines — gory, cold, unforgettable. Noor’s face plastered everywhere. The details are too cruel to repeat. And the worst part? The disbelief that followed. The gaslighting. The character assassination. The courtroom drama. The delays. The audacity of his parents to defend him. The system that dragged its feet while we screamed for justice.
I grew up while Noor stayed frozen in time — 27 forever. I graduated A Levels last year. I moved on, at least on the outside. But Noor never left me. She never could. Her story lived in my bones — a quiet fury, a desperate ache, a lingering fear every time I stepped out alone.
And then, on May 20, 2025, nearly four years later — the Supreme Court upheld Zahir Jaffer’s death sentence.
They stripped away the lies. The manipulation. The privilege. And handed down the final word: he will die for what he did. His rape sentence was converted to life imprisonment. His abduction charge was reduced. But the core of it — the murder — was not touched.
I should feel victorious. I should feel relieved.
But I don’t. Not really.
Because Noor is still gone. Because justice delayed isn’t justice fully served. Because it took this much horror, blood, and public outcry for the system to work. Because there are still girls out there praying their murderers get even half this level of accountability.
But still — something about this decision shifted. Maybe, just maybe, the system blinked. And for once, we were seen.
Justice has been served — but the wound still bleeds.