The city lights flickered beyond the tall glass windows of the Malik estate, casting a dim glow across the darkened room. Ayhaan Malik sat in his spacious home office, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the polished wooden desk. His sharp jawline tensed as he reviewed the financial reports on his laptop, the numbers blurring together in his exhaustion.
The air carried the scent of fresh paper and the faint aroma of cologne that lingered on his crisp white shirt. His tailored suit jacket lay draped over the chair beside him, an unspoken testimony to his long hours at work. The room, furnished with sleek leather and dark mahogany, reflected the prestige of the Malik empire—a company built by his father, now resting in his capable yet burdened hands.
A gentle knock disrupted the silence. Ayhaan barely glanced up as the maid entered hesitantly, her presence almost insignificant in the grand scheme of his thoughts.
"Sir, dinner is served," she informed him softly, her voice carrying a respectful distance. "It might get cold if you wait too long."
For a moment, Ayhaan remained still, his dark eyes fixated on the glowing screen. The weight of responsibility pressed down on his shoulders, heavier than ever. He let out a quiet exhale, then simply replied, "I'm not hungry."
The maid nodded, accustomed to his detached demeanor. She hesitated, as if considering whether to say something more, but Ayhaan had already dismissed the moment.
Without another word, he rose from his chair, his tall frame moving with an air of silent authority. His steps were unhurried as he strode toward his bedroom, the soft click of his expensive shoes echoing in the vast hallway.
Before entering, he turned back slightly. "I don't want to be disturbed."
And with that, he stepped inside, shutting the door firmly behind him—sealing himself in solitude once again.
-----
Inside his dimly lit bedroom, Ayhaan loosened his tie and sat at the edge of his bed, rubbing his temples. Fatigue clawed at him, but sleep felt like a distant luxury. He exhaled heavily and leaned back, allowing his head to rest against the cool wood of the headboard.
His gaze flickered toward the dressing table. And then, he saw it.
A photograph.
An old college group photo sat in its frame, slightly tilted, as if waiting for him to notice it. His breath hitched as his eyes found her.
Zara Siddique
She was laughing, caught mid-motion, her eyes crinkling in a way that made something tighten in his chest. Unaware. Untouched by time in his mind.
She was the storm he never prepared for.
---
Ayhaan let out a frustrated sigh and placed the photo face down on the table. It didn't change anything. The past was the past. It had no place in his present.
He stood, running a hand through his hair before walking toward the window. The city lights flickered in the distance, mirroring the unrest in his mind. He had spent years building walls, constructing a life where emotions were controlled, locked away. Yet, one glance at her—just a frozen moment in time—was enough to make the cracks resurface.
A knock at the door broke his thoughts. He hesitated before responding, his voice laced with exhaustion. "What is it?"
"Sir, your father has requested your presence in the study," the butler's voice came through the door.
Ayhaan clenched his jaw. His father never requested; he commanded. And at this hour? It meant one thing—something important, something unavoidable.
He turned away from the cityscape, straightening his posture. Whatever it was, he was ready. Or at least, he had to be.
---
Ayhaan descended the staircase, his mind still clouded from exhaustion. The dim glow of the chandelier bathed the living room in a golden hue, casting long shadows on the walls. His father, Rehan Malik, sat in his usual place, exuding quiet authority, while his mother, Saba Malik, sat beside him, her expression unreadable.
He immediately sensed the weight in the air—something was coming.
"Ayhaan, sit," his father instructed, his deep voice carrying finality.
Wordlessly, he obeyed, lowering himself onto the couch. His fingers curled into his palms, bracing for whatever was about to unfold.
His mother broke the silence first. "Beta, it's time."
He raised an eyebrow. "Time for what?"
Ayesha exchanged a brief glance with Sameer before turning back to her son. "We've made a decision about your future."
Ayhaan's jaw clenched. He already knew where this was going.
"You've worked hard, built your name, but you can't stay alone forever," his father added. "You need a companion. A family of your own."
A knot formed in Ayhaan's chest, but he remained silent, letting them speak.
His mother reached for a small velvet box on the table. Instead of opening it, she hesitated, watching his face. "We've found someone… someone we believe is perfect for you."
Ayhaan exhaled slowly, pressing his fingers against his temples. An arranged marriage. He should have seen this coming.
Then, without another word, his mother pushed a photograph toward him.
"Here," she said softly. "Take a look."
Ayhaan hesitated before reaching for it. But the moment his eyes landed on the picture, his entire world shifted.
Ayhaan almost laughed at the irony.
He had spent years trying to forget her. And now, fate had brought her back to him—wrapped in tradition, bound by expectation.
But could he accept her again?
He leaned back slightly, the photo still in his hand, eyes fixed on the woman who had once shattered his heart.
"I don't want to marry yet," he said quietly, voice calm but firm.
His mother looked at him, disappointment flickering in her eyes. But before she could speak, his father interrupted, his tone leaving no space for resistance.
"This isn't just about you, Ayhaan. It's about legacy. Responsibility. You've had your time. Now it's ours to decide."
Ayhaan's gaze hardened, but he said nothing.
"You'll meet her," Rehan Malik continued. "And once you do, you'll understand why we chose her."
Understand? He already did. All too well.
But this wasn't about understanding. It was about surviving the storm he thought he'd escaped long ago.
Ayhaan didn't respond. He simply placed the photo back on the table, his fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary. Then, without a word, he rose to his feet.
His mother called his name softly, but he didn't turn back.
With his jaw clenched and his thoughts a tangled storm, Ayhaan walked away—his footsteps silent against the polished floor—as he headed back to the only place that still felt like his own.
His room.
_____ _____
The glow of the laptop screen was the only light in Arshiya's small but cozy apartment. She rubbed her tired eyes, staring at the blinking cursor on the job portal. Another rejection.
With a sigh, she shut the tab and leaned back, her fingers tapping restlessly on the desk. She had done everything right—aced her degree, built her skills, sent out countless applications—but the silence from companies was deafening.
Just as she was about to shut her laptop, a notification popped up.
"Congratulations! You have been selected for the final round at Zian Enterprises."
Her breath hitched. Z .Tech Innovations Her dream company.
She clicked the email open, her heartbeat racing. This wasn't just an interview. This was her chance—a door to the life she had always wanted.
For a moment, she sat still, her fingers trembling slightly over the keyboard. The offer letter felt surreal, like a dream slipping through her fingers.
A slow smile crept onto her lips.
Tomorrow, her life could change forever.
Arshiya's hands trembled with excitement as she grabbed her phone. Without a second thought, she dialed Zara's number.
The phone rang twice before a warm, familiar voice answered.
"Assalamu Alaikum, Arshiya," Zara greeted, her voice slightly muffled by the clinking of utensils.
"Wa Alaikum Assalam, Zara!" Arshiya nearly squealed. "Guess what?!"
Zara, who was stirring a pot on the stove, smiled at her friend's excitement. "Let me guess… You finally learned how to cook?" she teased, turning down the flame.
"Very funny," Arshiya huffed. "No! I just got an email from Zian Enterprises—I got selected for the final round!"
There was a brief pause before Zara gasped. "SubhanAllah! That's amazing, Arshiya!"
Arshiya grinned, pacing around her small living room. "Can you believe it? My dream company! This could change everything!"
Zara wiped her hands on a kitchen towel, leaning against the counter. "I never doubted you for a second. You worked hard for this, and now Allah is opening doors for you."
Arshiya let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "I just had to tell you first. You always believed in me, even when I doubted myself."
Zara's voice softened. "And I always will."
"Now tell me," Zara broke the moment with a playful tone, "what are you wearing to impress your new boss?"
Arshiya laughed, feeling lighter than she had in weeks.
Arshiya rolled her eyes playfully. "Leave it! Now tell me, what are you making?" she asked, plopping onto her bed.
Zara chuckled, stirring the pot. "Just some chicken curry. Why?"
Arshiya huffed dramatically. "You still haven't made Gajrela for me! I told you almost a week ago!"
Zara let out a guilty sigh. "I'm really sorry, Arshiya. I've been too busy with work. But I promise, I'll make it soon!"
"Promises, promises," Arshiya muttered, pretending to sulk.
Zara smiled. "Fine! To make it up to you, let's video call. I have something even more amazing for you than Gajrela!"
Arshiya perked up, intrigued. "Really? Alright, I'm waiting!"
"Okay, I'm disconnecting now. Pick up when I call!" Zara said, already switching to video mode.
Arshiya's curiosity sparked. "It better be good!" she teased before the line went dead.
Little did she know, Zara's news was about to change everything.
Zara adjusted her phone, propping it up against the spice jar as she wiped her hands on a kitchen towel. The video call connected, and Arshiya's excited face filled the screen.
"So? What's this amazing surprise?" Arshiya asked, raising an eyebrow.
Zara grinned and lifted a neatly folded white gown into view. "I've brought you something special. I'll parcel it soon, but for now, just take a look at this!"
Arshiya's eyes widened the moment she saw it. She gasped, pressing a hand to her forehead. "Oh Khudaya! Zara, this is so beautiful!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with awe.
The camera shifted as Zara smoothed out the fabric, revealing delicate embroidery—intricate floral patterns swirling like poetry on the soft white fabric.
"When did you even make this?" Arshiya asked, still in disbelief.
Zara shrugged, smiling. "Just in my free time."
Arshiya shook her head, still mesmerized. "No doubt, Zara. You should be a designer instead of an engineer!"
Zara laughed, "Maybe in another lifetime! For now, software codes are my embroidery."
Arshiya smiled, still unable to take her eyes off the gown. "Well, I can't wait to wear it!"
Zara chuckled, eyes gleaming with mischief. "So, do you like it, Arshiya? If yes, then no worries—I'll make you one just like this for your wedding!"
Arshiya shot her a playful glare, folding her arms. "Bas, ab zyada mat bol. Let's get back to work. I'm not marrying this easily, okay? You go for it!"
Zara laughed, shaking her head. "Fine, fine! I'll save the bridal gown for later. But remember, when the time comes, I want full credit."
Arshiya smirked, her voice teasing. "Deal. But till then, let's focus on surviving work first."
Arshiya glanced at the time and smiled gently.
"Okay, I'll disconnect now. It's time for Salah."
Zara nodded through the screen, adjusting her hijab.
"Sure. Are you done with yours?"
Zara gave a soft smile.
"Yes, just now Alhamdulillah."
Arshiya's expression softened.
"Good. Talk to you later, Zara. Dua mein yaad rakhna."
Zara replied warmly.
"Always. Allah Hafiz."
With a final smile, the screen faded to black—leaving behind a quiet warmth in both their hearts.
_____ _____
Zara tucked her dupatta neatly over her shoulder and walked softly to her Baba's room. The hallway carried the faint aroma of ghee and cardamom from the kitchen.
Peeking through the half-open door, she called gently,
"Mamma ji, Baba... dinner's ready. Serve kar doon?"
Her voice was laced with warmth and care—soft, respectful, the kind that made a house feel like home.
Sameer replied from inside,
*"Haan beta, bas wuzu karke aa rahe hain. Tum tayar rakhna sab."
Sameer's voice followed,"Shukriya, Zara. Allah tumhein khush rakhe."
Rihana Siddique opened her arms with a loving smile the moment she saw Zara.
Without hesitation, Zara stepped into her embrace, hugging her tightly—her eyes briefly closing in the comfort of familiarity.
"Meri pyaari Mamma..." she whispered with a playful grin,
"Aap par toh meri jaan bhi qurban hai."
Sameer chuckled softly, cupping Zara's face with affection.
"Bas is dua mein hamesha khush rehna, meri bacchi."
Zara grinned as she adjusted the tray in her hands.
"Well then, let's go first and eat something! I made Baba's favorite dish today."
Her Mamma, Rihana Siddique, smiled proudly.
"You always know how to win hearts, Zara."
Just as Zara stepped toward the dining room, her father, Sameer Siddique, gently stopped her.
"Zara beta... I need to talk to you about something important."
Zara paused, her smile faltering for a moment. Then, with a half-laugh, she placed a hand over her stomach.
"Baba,please... let's talk after dinner. I'm starving!"
Sameer chuckled, nodding softly.
"Alright. But don't think you can escape this talk forever."
Zara winked playfully, already making her way toward the dining room.
"Let me eat first, then I'll be all ears."
They all settled around the dining table, warm light casting a gentle glow across the room. The aroma of freshly cooked food filled the air—spices dancing through the atmosphere like memories woven into every bite.
Zara served the dishes lovingly, placing extra portions on her Father's plate.
"Try this first, Baba," she said with a proud smile. "I made it just the way you like."
Sameer Siddique took a bite, his eyes widening slightly.
"Zara... this tastes just like your Nani used to make."
Zara's face lit up.
"That's the biggest compliment I could get!"
Rihana Siddique chimed in, scooping rice onto her plate.
"She's inherited more than just looks, Sameer. She's got the soul of the family in her hands."
Zara blushed, lowering her gaze humbly. For a moment, everything felt still—safe, and full of love.
_____ _____
Dim light bathed the lavish yet solemn space in soft amber hues. Zian Ali sat alone on the plush couch, facing a large projector screen flickering with old photographs. Laughter frozen in frames, a little boy with bright eyes held between his smiling parents… and a girl—tiny, gleaming, her arms flung around his neck.
The room was silent except for the soft hum of the projector.
Just then, the door creaked gently. Kaka, the old butler, entered carrying a tray with dinner and a glass of fresh juice.
"Zian Babu, kuch toh kha lijiye," he said softly, placing the tray down on the coffee table.
Zian didn't look away from the screen.
"Kaka..." his voice was low, strained with a weight he'd carried for too long.
"You knew my family... right?"
Kaka stood still, his eyes dimming with the same ache. He lowered his head in silence.
Zian gave a short, hollow laugh.
"Come on, Kaka. You raised me... after Mom and Dad, you were the only one left who never let me break."
He looked back at the screen. One photo lingered. The girl's smile.
"But still, that question haunts me. Where is she? Where could she be now...?"
Kaka hesitated, then whispered,
"Chhoti munh badi baat, Zian Babu… par aap khud ko kyun itni taqleef dete hain? You know it well—she must be gone, just like your parents. It's been sixteen years..."
Zian turned sharply, pain flashing in his eyes.
"No."
He stood, eyes blazing with emotion.
"She's not gone. I know she's alive. Somewhere. Living. Breathing. And I'll find her, Kaka. No matter what."
Without another word, he walked away, steps echoing through the quiet mansion as he headed to his room.
Kaka stared after him, sorrow deepening the lines on his face.
"Zian Babu… maaf kijiye… kam se kam khana toh kha lijiye. Tabiyat theek nahi hai aapki..."
He sighed and called toward the hallway,
"Khana aapke kamre mein bhej deta hoon."
_____ _____
The dining table had been cleared, the warmth of dinner now replaced by the weight of unspoken words. Zara sat across from her Parents, her hands resting in her lap, fingers unconsciously clutching the fabric of her dupatta.
Her heart drummed against her ribs, but she kept her expression neutral.
Sameer Siddique sighed, intertwining his fingers. "Beta, we wouldn't have brought this up if we weren't sure. We've thought about it a lot. He's a good man. A respectable family. And we believe he would be the right person for you."
Zara swallowed. "Who is he?"
A small smile played on Mamma Ji's lips as she reached for a folded piece of paper beside her. She slid it across the table, stopping just before Zara's hands.
Zara hesitated, then picked it up.
It was a photograph.
One look at it, and the air in her lungs thinned.
She blinked. Once. Twice.
Her fingers stiffened around the edges of the picture.
The world around her blurred as her focus zeroed in on the man in the photograph.
Dark eyes. Sharp features. A face she had once known too well.
Zara's throat dried. She forced herself to look up.
"Him?" she whispered.
Sameer Siddique nodded. "Yes, beta. Ayhaan Khan."
Zara didn't breathe for a second.
Ayhaan.
Memories crashed over her like an unrelenting tide.
She had spent years burying them—locking them away in the deepest corners of her heart.
And now, here he was again.
A name from the past, returning as her future.
She placed the photo down, her hands trembling. "Baba !… I—"
Her Mamma Ji gently squeezed her hand. "Think about it, beta. We won't force you. But… sometimes, life brings people back for a reason."
Zara stared at the photograph, unable to look away.
Fate had never felt so cruel.
_________
Ayhaan sat at the edge of his bed, fingers laced together, his elbows resting on his knees. The silence of his room pressed in from all sides, broken only by the distant hum of city traffic.
His father's words from earlier still echoed in his mind.
> "We've sent the proposal. They'll be speaking to her tonight."
He exhaled slowly, staring at the floor as if it held answers.
"She's going to find out now," he murmured to himself.
Would she laugh? Cry? Reject it outright?
Or worse—would she say yes out of duty, not desire?
He leaned back, running a hand through his hair, guilt and confusion battling behind his eyes.
> Zara Siddique... after all these years, are we still written in the same story?
He looked toward the window, where a faint breeze moved the curtain like a ghost passing by.
"She won't be happy about this," he whispered.
And yet... deep down, a quiet part of him hoped.
Just hoped.
__________
Zara sat on the edge of her bed, the phone still in her hand, the screen frozen on the image just sent by her Mamma.
A photograph.
His photograph.
The world around her dimmed. The chatter of her Parents from the living room became a distant murmur. The ticking of the clock on her wall slowed, stretching time.
Her fingers hovered over the screen, hesitant to zoom in—as if doing so would somehow make it real.
> Ayhaan.
The name echoed in her mind like a forgotten melody returning on a lonely night. He looked different. Sharper jawline, matured eyes, a kind of weariness she'd never seen in the boy she once knew.
Her heart thudded—louder than she'd expected.
She slowly set the phone down on the bedside table and leaned back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling like it might offer some divine clarity.
> This can't be real. Not him. Not again.
There was a knock at her door—gentle.
It was her mother Rihana.
"Zara beta... may I come in?"
Zara straightened herself, brushing invisible thoughts off her lap. "Yes, come in."
Her Mamma's entered quietly, closing the door behind her. She walked over and sat beside her, eyes searching her face.
"You recognized him, didn't you?"
Zara didn't answer right away. Her gaze stayed locked on the photo lying facedown on the table now.
After a pause, she whispered, "Why him?"
Her Mamma placed a soft hand over hers.
"Maybe… this is how your story was always meant to return."
Zara turned her head slightly, her eyes holding back questions, memories… and something dangerously close to hope.
Zara clutched the edge of her dupatta as if grounding herself to something tangible. The emotions she had kept locked away for so long now stirred freely, cracking through the composure she'd worn for years.
She finally spoke, her voice low, like the truth was too delicate to be said aloud.
"Mamma… he must hate me now."
Her Mamma's brows furrowed with concern, but she said nothing—giving Zara the silence she needed to continue.
"I don't know what to do. I'm not ready for this. Not this way…" Her voice wavered. "We were… engaged already, right? I knew that. But I had no face to the name. And when I found out—" she paused, swallowing hard, "—it was him, it all felt like some cruel twist of fate."
Her mother blinked in confusion. "Wait, what do you mean? You knew Ayhaan?"
Zara nodded slowly, the weight of memory softening her voice. "Back in university… we knew each other."
Rihana's eyes widened slightly, shifting in realization.
"He proposed once. But I said no."
The silence between them thickened.
Mrs.Rihana's tone sharpened just slightly in disbelief. "You rejected him?"
Zara looked down at her hands, now clenched tightly in her lap.
"I didn't know he was the one I was engaged to since childhood. I only knew I was promised to someone… and that was enough for me to say no to him. I didn't want to betray that bond—no matter how vague or distant it felt."
Her Mamma sat still, absorbing every word.
"And now?" she asked gently.
Zara's voice cracked around the truth:
"Now… I'm afraid it's too late. Maybe he's moved on. Maybe he hates me. I wouldn't blame him."
Her Mamma leaned in, brushing a gentle hand over Zara's hair.
"Zara beta, life always finds its own way back. And sometimes, love returns in the most unexpected form."
Tears welled up in Zara's eyes, but she blinked them away before they could fall.
Her Mamma sighed, folding her hands in her lap as she looked at Zara with love.
"You were young, Zara. You made a decision with the right intentions. No one can fault you for that—not even Ayhaan."
Zara looked away, her throat tightening. "But what if it's ruined now? What if I lost him before even knowing he was mine?"
"If something is truly yours," Rihana said softly, "it finds its way back. Even through pain. Even through rejection."
Zara exhaled, long and quiet, her eyes flickering to the moonlight outside the window. It looked so still. So distant.
"What do I do now, Mamma?"
Rihana stood, gently placing a kiss on Zara's forehead.
"You don't have to decide anything tonight. Sleep, my child. Let your heart breathe before it speaks."
Zara nodded slowly.
As her mother left the room, closing the door behind her, Zara remained seated on the edge of her bed—eyes still on the window.
A single tear slipped down her cheek, quiet and uninvited.
She whispered into the night, "I didn't choose this… but maybe… neither did he."
And then, silence. A soft breeze stirred the curtain.
The room settled.