The Legal Rain in Islamabad: When Three Prisoners Lost the Match to Procedure

The rain that year washed away many things, but it did not wash away the memory of a summer. I stood in the corridor of the Chengdu stadium, watching the rain fall on the grass, and remembered a ruling just announced at the Islamabad High Court – where three prisoners had just lost a match with no spectators, but with a referee called legal procedure. On August 29, Justice Mohammad Asif of the Islamabad High Court dismissed three petitions from prisoners seeking private hospital treatment and family contact. They cited the precedent of Imran Khan – the PTI founder – who was allowed private hospital treatment and telephone contact with relatives by order of the Supreme Court. But the court drew a clear distinction: the right to private treatment is not a fundamental right, but a conditional privilege dependent on a medical board recommendation. From zero, I know that the dressing room door only opens when you dare to wait in the rain. Likewise, the private hospital door only opens when the medical board confirms that government hospitals lack the necessary facilities. The court set a strict procedural barrier – like a coach requiring players to pass a fitness test before stepping onto the pitch. Without a medical board recommendation, no privilege. The interesting part is how the court handled this situation, exactly like a small team facing a big team. Imran Khan had a Supreme Court order – a 'contract' with higher legal value. These three prisoners only had petitions at the high court – like a young player from a provincial academy, not yet with enough achievements to demand privileges. The court did not directly compare the two cases but set a common standard: the medical board is the gatekeeper. Three hundred days without applause, I heard the breathing of players more clearly in the empty stands. In this case, I heard the breathing of three prisoners – who may not have had skilled lawyers to argue that the medical board process itself could be unfair or non-functional. The court left the door open for future petitions if a medical board first determines that government hospitals cannot provide the required treatment. But the question remains: do medical boards actually operate independently and promptly? I write about the ball, but I keep the rhythm with the hearts of the people who kick it. In football, I have seen many players run ineffectively but still produce beautiful statistics. In the legal system, I see a process that can become a barrier – not because it is wrong, but because it can be abused to delay. The court made a legally sound ruling, but is it right with the justice that people feel? The last summer in the rain of Chengdu's pitch – I remember the final match of Chengdu Qbao, when the team dissolved because the owner fell into legal trouble. 15 players left one by one, and I recorded every moment. There was a young boy with nowhere to go; I quietly helped him find an amateur club. No one knew what I had done in the darkness for weeks. Like the Islamabad court, I understand that some decisions must be based on procedure, but there are also moments that require human flexibility. This ruling may be cited in future cases as a precedent. But it could also become a story about inequality – when the famous are treated differently, while ordinary people must wait. The court distinguished based on procedure, but public opinion may not see that difference. They only see Imran Khan receiving private treatment, while three anonymous prisoners do not. From zero to the Chengdu Rongcheng dressing room – I witnessed Li Ming, a 19-year-old boy trembling as he tied his shoelaces three times before stepping onto the pitch. He scored 7 goals in his first season, helping the team gain promotion. When the team was promoted, I went into the bathroom and cried alone. Not because of the victory, but because I knew how many challenges he had overcome to stand there. Likewise, these three prisoners may have overcome many challenges to bring their case to court – but they lacked one decisive element: a medical board recommendation. The court did its role correctly – maintaining procedure, not letting emotion influence. But in football, I learned that sometimes victory is not about following procedure, but about reading the match and adapting. Should the court have been more flexible in considering the specific circumstances of each prisoner? Or is rigid procedure necessary to prevent abuse? The rain that year washed away many things, but it did not wash away the memory of a summer. I stood in the rain in Chengdu, remembering Islamabad, and wondered: will those three prisoners ever be reviewed by a medical board? Will they have enough patience to wait like I waited in the rain for 300 days without spectators? I do not know. But I know that in football as in law, there are matches that cannot be won by emotion – only by thorough preparation and patient waiting for the door to open. I write about the ball, but I keep the rhythm with the hearts of the people who kick it. And my heart is still waiting – waiting to see whether the process is truly fair, or just a way to silence weak voices. Football taught me that every match has an ending, but the story never ends. This case may be closed, but the story of justice for those without a voice continues.