Malik's Mansion.

8:30am.

Everyone was gathered at the breakfast table, except for Maliha and Daniyal.

Zubair glanced around and asked, “Begum, where are the kids?”

Iqra let out a sigh. “Pata nahi, kis nayi shararat ka plan bana rahe hain dono. Kabse awaaz laga rahi hoon, kehte hain ‘bas aa rahe hain,’ lekin aate hi nahi.”
(I don’t know what new mischief those two are planning. I’ve been calling out to them for so long, they keep saying ‘we’re coming,’ but they never actually show up.)

Just then, a voice rang out from the hallway, “Aa gaye hum!”
(We're here.)

Of course, it was Daniyal and Maliha but something was different this time. Their hands were full of brightly wrapped gifts.

Iqra narrowed her eyes. “Yeh sab kya hai?"
(What is all this?)

Daniyal answered casually, “Gifts.”

Zayran raised a brow. “Woh toh dikh raha hai, lekin kis ke liye?”
(That's obvious. But for whom?)

Maliha beamed with excitement. “Aaj pehli baar ayeda bhabhi se milne ja rahe hain na! Khali haath thodi ja sakte. Yeh sab unke liye!”
(Today, we’re going to meet Ayeda bhabhi for the first time, right? We can’t go empty-handed. All this is for her)

Zarian was about to take a bite but froze, her name hanging in the air like perfume. Her eyes flashed in his mind again those hazel storms of brown and gold and for a brief second, his lips curved into a smile. He quickly shook his head, trying to refocus on his food, but Iqra had already noticed.

A mother's eyes miss nothing. She saw that smile, subtle, hidden but full of meaning. Her heart swelled at the sight of her son finally dreaming for himself.

In her heart, Iqra whispered a prayer, soft and sincere:

“Ya Allah, mere bete ke dil ki har chaahat ko qubool farma. Is baar usne kisi aur ke liye nahi, khud ke liye kuch maanga hai. Uske haathon ko kabhi khaali mat lautana. Jis raaste pe uska dil chale, usmein sirf teri rehmat ho.”
(O Allah, please grant every wish of my son’s heart. This time, he hasn’t asked for something for someone else, but for himself. Never let his hands return empty. Wherever his heart leads him, let that path be filled only with Your mercy.)

Zubair cleared his throat and said, “Lekin hum sirf baat karne ja rahe hain, nikah padhwane nahi. No need to go with a whole gift shop. Pehle baat toh kar lein.”
(But we’re just going to talk, not to get married right away. No need to take along an entire gift shop. Let’s have the conversation first at least.)

Iqra nodded. “Bilkul. Pehle baat hogi, sab kuch final hoga, tab sab milne chalenge. Tum dono abhi nahi ja rahe. Samjhe?”
(Exactly. First, the conversation will happen, everything will be finalized, and then everyone will go to meet her. You two are not going to meet her right now. Understood?)

Maliha and Daniyal slumped into their chairs, faces falling like children denied candy.

“Ammi yaar... yeh kya baat hui,” Daniyal muttered.
(That's not fair)

Iqra raised a brow. “Pehli baat, hum tumhare ‘yaar’ nahi hain. Dusri baat, kaha na..next time promise.”
(First of all, I’m not your ‘yaar.’ Secondly, I already said… next time, promise.)

“Okay...” they mumbled in unison, lower lips out in a perfect pout.

Zarian, ever the big brother, noticed their disappointment. He pulled out his wallet and slid his ATM card across the table toward them.

“No limit,” he said with a smile.

Their frowns disappeared instantly, replaced with bright grins.

“You’re the BEST brother!” they squealed and jumped on him in mock gratitude, throwing playful glances at Zayran.

“Ruko... abhi batata hoon tum dono ko,” Zayran threatened with a grin.

Laughter echoed in the room, warm and soft like a promise.

And soon, they all left for Khan House, carrying silent hopes, hidden glances, and one heart that was beating just a little faster than the rest.

Outside the elegant doors of the Khan Mansion, Zubair knocked gently. A servant opened the door and led them to the hall, where they waited.

In less than a minute, Ibrahim and Iqbal stepped out. Their faces lit up with surprise and warmth.

“Zubair bhai!” Ibrahim said, embracing him. “Call kar lete, hum aa jaate.”
(We would’ve come if you had just called.)

Zubair smiled, “Baat zaroori thi, bhai. Call par nahi samne baith kar kehne wali baat thi.”
(It was important, bhai. Something that needed to be said face-to-face, not over a call.)

As they settled, Zoya and Aliyah joined in with warm greetings. They were old family friends their paths often crossing at weddings and events but their children remained mostly strangers to one another.

Zubair glanced at his son and said, “Aap mere bete Zarian ko toh jaante hi honge.”
(You must already know my son, Zarian.)

Zarian gave a gentle, respectful smile. Iqbal smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Inhe kaun nahi jaanta? Asia’s No.1 businessman, mashaAllah. Log tareef karte hain toh fakhar hota hai.”
(Who doesn’t know him? Asia’s No.1 businessman, mashaAllah. When people praise him, it fills us with pride.)

“Shukriya, Uncle,” Zarian replied softly.

Taking a steady breath, Iqra leaned forward. Her voice calm, but full of hope.

“Bhai sahab, baat ko ghumana nahi chahti. Mai apne bete Zarian ka rishta lekar aayi hoon, Aapki beti Ayeda ke liye.”
( I don’t want to beat around the bush. I’ve come with a marriage proposal for my son Zarian, for your daughter Ayeda.)

Silence.

A kind of stillness that feels like a pause in time. Words hung between them, unspoken. Measured.

Iqbal looked at Ibrahim. Then at Zubair. Then back at Iqra.

His words were careful. But they still cut like glass.

“I’m sorry... but we can’t accept this proposal.”

The ground didn’t shift but Zarian felt like it had.

His eyes dropped to the floor, blinking slowly. He didn't flinch, didn’t breathe out sharply, didn’t speak.

But something inside him… cracked.

He swallowed the burn rising in his throat and steadied his features, raising his eyes toward his mother. She was already looking at him, trying to read his silence. His lips curved ever so slightly as if to tell her: I’m okay.

But she saw the lie.

“Par... kyun?” she asked softly, almost afraid of the answer.
(But...why?)

Aliyah stepped in with the truth, “Ayeda ki shadi ka faisla ho chuka hai. Uska rishta Samad ke saath tay hai.”
(Ayeda’s marriage has already been decided. Her engagement is fixed with Samad.

Everything stopped for Iqra.

Her hands clenched into each other in her lap. She wanted to speak anything, something but the words wouldn’t come.

She just looked at her son.

The boy who never asked for anything.

The boy who smiled through storms.

Today, he had asked and she had no answer to give him.

Zubair, seeing the weight on her shoulders, stood with composure.

“Humein maloom nahi tha. Warna hum kabhi takleef nahi dete.”
(We didn’t know. Otherwise, we would’ve never troubled you.)

“Please,” Iqbal replied, “Don’t be sorry.”

As they turned to leave, the weight in the room grew heavier. No one spoke.

Zubair gave a polite nod, masking disappointment behind dignity.

Iqra, however, kept glancing at her son, at the way his shoulders stiffened but never slumped. At how his silence screamed louder than words ever could.

Zarian stood still for a moment, then turned to the Khan family with the same grace he always carried.

“Shukriya for your time,” he said softly, and began to walk.

Not a single crack showed on his face, but Iqra could feel it.

She had felt his heartbeat just this morning fast and nervous, like a boy with hope.

And now, there was only a calm so quiet, it scared her.

They stepped out of the house, the door closing gently behind them.

The air outside felt heavier than when they walked in like even the sky knew something precious had slipped away.

And none of them said a word on the way back.

When they reached the mansion, Zarian didn’t even wait for the doors to close behind him.

“I’ll be at the office,” he said flatly, not meeting anyone’s gaze.

No one stopped him.

Not even Iqra.

Because what do you say to a boy who finally asked for something and returned with empty hands?

As they entered the mansion, the warm lights couldn’t mask the heavy air around them.

Daniyal and Maliha, who had been waiting in the living room, sat up eagerly the moment they heard the main door.

But one glance at Iqra’s face, and their excitement faded.

She didn’t say a word just quietly walked past them and into her room.

Zubair sighed and sat down, his expression calm but weary. With gentle words, he told them what had happened at the Khan house.

Daniyal and Maliha’s hearts sank.

Their brother, the one who never let them cry, who fulfilled their wishes before they even had to ask. Today, his one wish was left unanswered.

No one said it out loud, but their silence carried grief for the pain Zarian didn’t speak of.

All day, Zarian buried himself in work.

No one heard from him. No calls, no messages. Just silence and a locked door at the office.

He returned late at night, shoulders stiff and face blank. But Iqra hadn’t slept.

She was waiting, sitting at the dining table with a plate in front of her.

Zarian paused for a moment when he saw her. But without a word, he sat down.

She fed him herself, like she used to when he was little.. breaking the roti, placing each bite gently, patiently. He didn’t resist.

When he finished, she leaned forward and kissed his forehead.

“Allah ne jo faisla kiya hoga, behtar hoga.
Tumhe woh tumhari khwahishon se zyada ata karega… Inshallah.”
(What Allah has decided will surely be better.
He will bless you with more than you wished for… Inshallah.

Zarian looked at her, eyes soft with emotion, and kissed her hands.

“Inshallah,” he whispered.

Then he stood, walked to his room, and lay down on the bed. But sleep stayed distant.

The silence echoed too loudly tonight.

So he rose again, walked to the bathroom, performed wudu.

Returning quietly, he pulled out his prayer mat, placed it on the floor, and stood in the calm of the night…

He raised his hands slowly, fingers trembling slightly

Not with fear, but with the quiet ache of loving in silence…

And now, learning to let go.

His voice barely above a whisper, yet every word heavy with emotion:

"Ya Allah...

Apke faislon pe yaqeen hai mujhe,

Aap behtareen likhne wale hai.

Magar yeh dil hai, ya Rabb...

Ismein uska naam baar-baar goonjta hai,

Un aankhon ka rang, us muskurahat ki roshni,

Har cheez yaad aati hai.

Aaj aap se kuch maangne nahi aaya hoon

Aaj aap se kuch bhool jane ki guzarish karne aaya hoon.

Ya Allah...

 woh mere naseeb mein nahi,

uske khwabon ko mere zehan se mita de.

Uske zikr ko meri duaon se alag kar de.

Mujhe woh sukoon de

Jo kisi ka hone na hone se badalne na paaye.

Dil ke is bojh ko halka kar de,

Mujhe un yaadon se azaad kar de

Jinmein bas uska chehra basa hai.

Mujhe woh rasta dikha

Jahan main apki raza mein apni khushi dhoondh loon.

Bas aap rahe,

Apka noor rahe,

Aur woh itna kaafi ho jaye ke phir kisi ki yaad bhi zarurat na lage.”

Ameen.

("O Allah...
I have faith in Your decisions,
You are the One who writes the best destinies.

But this heart, O Lord...
It echoes with her name again and again,
The color of her eyes, the light of her smile
Everything comes back to me.

Today, I haven’t come to ask for anything,
Today, I’ve come to ask You to help me forget.

O Allah...
She is not written in my fate,
So erase her dreams from my mind.
Separate her mention from my prayers.

Grant me that peace
Which doesn’t change whether someone stays or leaves.
Lighten this burden in my heart,
Free me from those memories
In which only her face resides.

Show me the path

Where I can find happiness in Your will.

Let it be just You,
Let Your light remain,
And let that be enough for me
So much so that I never feel the need to remember anyone else again."

Ameen.

"Not every love story ends in love. Some end in sujood, between tears and surrender.”

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