@maryam.sarkar: Menu Teri Sadeghi Punjab Lage Jay. #pmln #maryamnawazsharif #maryamnawaz #nawazsharif #capcut #viral #reel #cmpunjabmaryamnawaz #song #karan #aujla #karanaujla #maryamsarkar #foryoupage #fypシ゚viral #1millionaudition

Maryam Sarkar

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Region: PK

Friday 24 May 2024 15:25:23 GMT

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Comments

PMLN/Azeem-Tariq-Saleem :

my leader Maryam Nawaz sharif 💖

2024-05-24 19:36:46

295

Not Benni🐥💙 :

Imran Khan laughing in corner 🖤

2024-05-25 05:37:47

745

Fatima♥️🥀 :

Follow me Guy's please🙏🥺?? 🫣🫶🩷🫰🫀♥️🫶💓

2025-02-14 23:06:29

0

user4702855150923 :

great leader Cm punjab maryam nawaz❤

2024-05-24 20:44:37

150

Queen😈 :

sherni🦁♥️

2024-05-25 13:06:57

179

Art Lover🖌️ 🎨 :

khan lover's come here🤩

2024-05-26 14:56:04

440

🥀عبداللہ چیمہ 🇵🇰 :

804🔥

2024-05-25 12:00:05

358

KHAN ₩AL€€D :

only Khan shab 804

2024-05-29 10:52:56

199

Azeem.Rajput :

very very very happy 😍😍💕💕💕💕💕

2025-02-14 14:15:46

0

Sheiخh Moعz :

mariyam nawaz is the great leader

2024-05-25 08:53:33

68

2Riderofpak🇵🇰 :

Only king khan

2024-05-30 05:33:43

89

Süfÿàņ جٹ 💎 :

My EX 😂

2024-05-26 05:04:35

13

⚜️ اعوان بادشاہ ⚜️ :

geo sherni ❤️

2024-05-25 03:12:22

82

ghulammustafa4655 :

:سیاست کا سلطان عمــــــــران خان✌️❤

2024-06-25 12:52:48

85

شیخ زہیب ❤️🥰 :

sharni🥰

2024-05-26 19:02:25

14

Hamza Mehdi Jutt :

She’s working 🙌

2024-05-25 18:15:21

88

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#рекомендации @Inga Miller665

#рекомендации @Inga Miller665

現代では姿を消した12のアルファベットを書いてみた #アルファベット #英語

現代では姿を消した12のアルファベットを書いてみた #アルファベット #英語

#cejour-là

🖤🖤 ___________________________________ #wallpaper Rika always noticed the empty desk at the back of her classroom. It was an ordinary desk, scratched and worn like the others, but no one ever sat there. The teacher never called a name during attendance, and when Rika once asked her classmates about it, they shrugged. “It’s just an extra desk,” one said. But why keep an empty desk when every other seat was full? Rika’s curiosity grew. She began to watch the desk during lessons, feeling as though something unseen lingered there. Sometimes, she thought she saw the chair move slightly or a shadow flicker at the corner of her vision, but every time she looked, the desk remained still. One evening, Rika stayed late to finish decorating for a school event. The corridors were eerily quiet, and the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the classroom dimly lit by a single flickering bulb. As she stood on tiptoes to hang a banner, she heard it: the faint sound of a pencil scratching against paper. Rika froze. Slowly, she turned toward the empty desk. There was no one there, but on the desk, a pencil rolled to a stop. “Hello?” she called, her voice shaky. No answer. She stepped closer, her heart pounding. The notebook on the desk, which had been blank earlier, now had something written on its top page: “Help me remember.” Rika’s hands trembled as she flipped through the notebook. Most of the pages were blank, but the last few were filled with fragmented words and phrases: “The rain... the umbrella... forgotten... still waiting.” The air around the desk grew colder, and a faint whisper reached her ears: “You see me.” Spinning around, Rika saw her. A girl, faint and shimmering like mist, sat at the desk. She wore the school uniform, her long hair damp as though she’d just come in from the rain. Her eyes were wide and pleading. “Who are you?” Rika asked, her voice barely above a whisper. The girl tilted her head, her expression one of sorrow. “I… don’t remember.” Rika felt a pang of sympathy. “What can I do?” The girl gestured to the notebook. “Write it. Write what you see.” Rika hesitated but sat at the desk and picked up the pencil. Slowly, she began to write down the fragments from the notebook, weaving them into a story. She wrote about a girl caught in a storm, running through the school gates, her umbrella forgotten as the rain drenched her. She wrote about the girl’s longing to be noticed, her regret for the things left unsaid. As Rika wrote, the girl’s figure became clearer, her form solidifying. Her expression softened, and a small smile touched her lips. When Rika finished, she looked up. The girl stood before her, fully visible now. “Thank you,” she said, her voice steady and warm. Rika smiled back. “Do you remember now?” The girl nodded. “Yes. I remember who I was. And now, I can

🖤🖤 ___________________________________ #wallpaper Rika always noticed the empty desk at the back of her classroom. It was an ordinary desk, scratched and worn like the others, but no one ever sat there. The teacher never called a name during attendance, and when Rika once asked her classmates about it, they shrugged. “It’s just an extra desk,” one said. But why keep an empty desk when every other seat was full? Rika’s curiosity grew. She began to watch the desk during lessons, feeling as though something unseen lingered there. Sometimes, she thought she saw the chair move slightly or a shadow flicker at the corner of her vision, but every time she looked, the desk remained still. One evening, Rika stayed late to finish decorating for a school event. The corridors were eerily quiet, and the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the classroom dimly lit by a single flickering bulb. As she stood on tiptoes to hang a banner, she heard it: the faint sound of a pencil scratching against paper. Rika froze. Slowly, she turned toward the empty desk. There was no one there, but on the desk, a pencil rolled to a stop. “Hello?” she called, her voice shaky. No answer. She stepped closer, her heart pounding. The notebook on the desk, which had been blank earlier, now had something written on its top page: “Help me remember.” Rika’s hands trembled as she flipped through the notebook. Most of the pages were blank, but the last few were filled with fragmented words and phrases: “The rain... the umbrella... forgotten... still waiting.” The air around the desk grew colder, and a faint whisper reached her ears: “You see me.” Spinning around, Rika saw her. A girl, faint and shimmering like mist, sat at the desk. She wore the school uniform, her long hair damp as though she’d just come in from the rain. Her eyes were wide and pleading. “Who are you?” Rika asked, her voice barely above a whisper. The girl tilted her head, her expression one of sorrow. “I… don’t remember.” Rika felt a pang of sympathy. “What can I do?” The girl gestured to the notebook. “Write it. Write what you see.” Rika hesitated but sat at the desk and picked up the pencil. Slowly, she began to write down the fragments from the notebook, weaving them into a story. She wrote about a girl caught in a storm, running through the school gates, her umbrella forgotten as the rain drenched her. She wrote about the girl’s longing to be noticed, her regret for the things left unsaid. As Rika wrote, the girl’s figure became clearer, her form solidifying. Her expression softened, and a small smile touched her lips. When Rika finished, she looked up. The girl stood before her, fully visible now. “Thank you,” she said, her voice steady and warm. Rika smiled back. “Do you remember now?” The girl nodded. “Yes. I remember who I was. And now, I can

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