𝗠𝗮𝗹𝗶𝗸 𝗠𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻. 6:00𝗮𝗺

The sound of the front door unlocking echoed softly in the quiet house. Three men stepped inside, their shoes damp with morning dew.

"Aagaye aap sab namaz pardh kar"  a gentle voice called out.
(You all are back from Fajr?)

Dressed in a soft pink suit, her greying hair tucked neatly under her dupatta, Iqra Malik stood by the hallway with a warm smile. Her eyes, though touched by age, still sparkled with grace - Zarian’s mother.

“Jee Begum, hum aa gaye,” replied her husband, Zubair Malik, in his calm baritone.

He wore a cream-colored kurta pajama, his white beard trimmed neatly. “Kitni baar kaha hai aapse, intezaar mat kara kijiye. Apni namaz aadat karre aur so jaye.”
(How many times have I told you not to wait for me? Make it a habit to offer your prayers and go to sleep.)

"Mujhe Fajr ke baad neend nahi aati, aapko toh pata hai. Waise, Zayran kahan hai?” she asked, looking around.
(You know I can’t sleep after Fajr. By the way, where is Zayran?)

“Bhai apni biwi ke paas gaye hain, Ammi,” piped in a young voice with a teasing grin—Daniyal, the youngest Malik sibling, stood beside Zubair.
(Bhai has gone to his wife, Ammi.)

Before he could say more, the man beside him smacked the back of his head lightly.

“Ouch, Bhai! That hurts,” Daniyal whined, rubbing his head. “I meant to say Zayran Bhai went to meet Faris Bhai. They’re always together. Anyone could mistake them for husband and wife!”

Zarian, dressed in a perfectly tailored brown kurta that hugged his broad shoulders, gave his younger brother a stern look.

"You all sit and chat, I'm heading to bed." Daniyal yawned dramatically, turning away.

“Come here first,” Zarian said with a sly smile. “Recite some Quran with me.”

“Bhai, after I wake up. Promise. Right now, all I want is sleep,” Daniyal pleaded.

Zarian raised an eyebrow. “And how exactly do you plan on becoming an officer if you can’t even wake up properly?”

“That’s why I sleep so much, Bhai,” Daniyal replied with a straight face. “See, when I become an officer, I’ll be overworked and won’t have time to sleep. So I’m stocking up now.”

Zarian stared at him, unimpressed. “Acha? Ruk zara—”

“Ammi, help!” Daniyal laughed as he dashed off to his room. “Sorry, Bhai! Good night!”

Iqra and Zubair chuckled at the scene.

“Where’s my princess?” Zubair asked, still smiling.

“You know her,” Iqra replied fondly. “Prays Fajr, then crashes into bed like a log.”

“You both chat,” Zarian said as he walked off. “I’ve got some work to handle.”

𝗔𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲.
8:30 AM

Everyone was settled around the dining table.

“Zarian and Zayran, you both remember we have a function to attend today. They’re close family friends—no excuses. Especially you, Zayran. I don’t want to hear a word,” Iqra said firmly, her gaze resting on Zayran.

Dressed in a fitted black shirt with two buttons casually undone and his sleeves rolled up, Zayran sat with his coat draped over the chair. He looked up and replied calmly, “Ammi, we have an important meeting today. You can ask Zarian—I’m not trying to skip.”

“Ji, Ammi. Zayran’s right, it’s an important one,” Zarian added.

“Then finish your meeting before 7:00 PM and come to the function. I’m warning both of you—if you don’t show up, don’t bother coming back home either,” Iqra said, leaving no room for negotiation.

“Okay, Ammi,” they both responded in unison.

“Let it go, Ammi. If you send my brothers to functions, bechari ladkiyoun ki niyat kharab hojati hai inhe dekhe kar”.( Poor girls can’t help themselves when they see them.)
Maliha teased with mischief in her eyes.

She wore a crisp white top layered with an unbuttoned blue shirt and matching white trousers. “Why involve them in sin, poor souls that they are?”

Iqra narrowed her eyes on her. “You! Don’t give them any more excuses. With Zarian, maybe I can blame the girls—but with Zayran, it’s clearly his fault.”

“Oh pretty lady, would you care to elaborate?” Zayran smirked.

“Just look at Zarian—collar buttoned up, sleeves down. And now look at you—three buttons open, half your chest on display, and sleeves rolled to show off those veiny arms. If you flaunt like this, how can innocent girls resist?” Iqra said playfully.

Zayran awkwardly shifted in his seat, adjusting his sleeves.

“Ammi, you can’t comment on someone’s clothes like that,” Zayran defended while closing his shirt buttons.

“Okay, okay! My handsome boy, I surrender,” Iqra raised her hands and laughed.

“Zarian, at least try to find someone you like at the function today. Please?” she added with hope in her voice.

“If you’re inviting me for that, Ammi, I’m not coming,” Zarian replied flatly.

“What’s this, Zarian? I sent you so many pictures—you rejected all of them. Today, I want you to meet someone. You don’t like photos? Fine. Meet in person.” Iqra insisted.

“Ammi, you know I don’t like all this. Just send the pictures, I can’t meet anyone face to face,” Zarian said, still composed.

“Not happening! Until you lift your eyes from those files and look at the world around you, no one’s ever going to seem right to you,” she said, exasperated.

“Haww, Ammi! You’re asking bhai to look up at girls? Allah commands men to lower their gaze and you’re telling him to look?” Daniyal said with fake shock.

“Exactly, Ammi! You’re making my innocent brother commit a sin. Tauba tauba, may Allah forgive you,” Maliha added, dramatically.

“Bas karo tum dono! Warna yahii se pardhega ek ulte haath ka thappad and then you’ll understand the difference between sin and virtue. You’re grown up now, teaching me what’s right? If you had found someone yourselves, I wouldn’t have to do this!” Iqra snapped, standing up and leaving the table.

Zarian got up and gently back-hugged her. “Theek hai, Ammi. Just like you want—I’ll be there. Now please, have your breakfast,” he said softly, kissing her forehead.

With that, Zarian and Zayran picked up their files and left for the office.

𝟕:𝟎𝟎 𝐏𝐌
Malik Enterprises, Office Cabin

Zayran stepped into Zarian’s cabin, already a little annoyed.

“Zarian, let’s go! Ammi's been calling for ages. I swear your phone’s always on silent.”

Zarian looked up from his laptop—he was in the middle of an online meeting with someone.

“Sorry, didn’t notice,” Zayran whispered apologetically.

“It’s okay, sit. It’ll be over in ten minutes max,” Zarian replied, eyes still on the screen.

Ten minutes later, Zarian finally shut the laptop with a tired sigh.

“Chalo, let’s go.”

Just as they grabbed their coats, Zayran’s phone rang again. He glanced at the screen and groaned.

“Zarian, Ammi ka call hai again. You better pick it now—I already faced her full mood swing once today.”

Zarian picked it up.

“Ji Ammi, we’re on the way. Bas nikal rahe hain,” he said quickly, keeping his tone calm.

After ending the call, both brothers headed to the car and drove toward the venue.

𝑨𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒖𝒆

They had just stepped out of the car when Zarian’s phone rang again. This time too—it was their mother. He picked up with a small smile.

“Ammi, we reached. Haan haan, yahin hain abhi.”

As they walked toward the entrance, suddenly—bump.

A soft gasp escaped as someone collided into Zarian’s arm—barely a touch, but enough to still the world for a breath.

“Oh—I’m so sorry!” said a voice, delicate but rushed.

He looked down.

She stood there in a flowing red frock, full sleeves brushing her wrists, a matching scarf covering her hair. Her face was visible—soft features framed delicately, but it was her eyes that held him captive.

Hazel. Deep, doe-shaped. A storm of brown and gold with flecks of green at the edges—bold yet innocent—like poetry held hostage behind lashes. Unflinching. Unapologetic. Unaware of how they were shattering something inside him.

Zarian didn’t speak. He just stared, heart thudding—caught between awe and something dangerously close to surrender.

A word slipped from his lips, almost like a prayer.

“MashaAllah…”

Low. Intimate. As if the word wasn’t meant for her at all—but for the creator above those sky who made her, the moment that brought her, the fate that dared this collision.

“I was just in a bit of a hurry… so sorry,” she said again, voice softening—then turned, walking away with careful grace.

But he didn’t move.

His gaze dropped.

There..
Near his shoes—was a golden bracelet. Fragile. Feminine. A charm shaped like a crescent moon, hugged by tiny stars.

He knelt. Picked it up gently, as if it was something sacred. His fingers lingered on the metal.

He didn’t call after her.

Didn’t ask her name.

Didn’t even blink.

He just stood there, motionless. The bracelet now tucked away in his pocket—like a secret not ready for the world to know. And in his silence, something had already begun.

Zayran continued walking until he noticed Zarian had stopped in his tracks. He turned back.

“Kya hua? Why are you standing like a statue?”

Zarian didn’t answer.

Zayran rolled his eyes and walked up to him, shaking his shoulder lightly.

“Bhai, where are you lost?”

Zarian blinked, came back to reality, and muttered, “Nothing,” before starting to walk again.

"Sometimes, life changes not in storms… but in the gentlest bump of a stranger."