City medical college

Ayeda sat in the corner of the college library, eyes glued to her laptop screen. Her fingers scrolled through the presentation one last time, checking each slide carefully. The topic was complicated—Neuroplasticity of the Brain and she had done her best to make it simple, understandable, and impactful. She wanted to make sure that even the non-medical audience in the hall could grasp the core message.

She wasn’t nervous, but focused—this presentation could determine her chances of getting the best internship under one of the country’s top neurologists. And Ayeda never did anything halfway.

While she was checking the slides, her friend Nida came and sat beside her.

“Kitni preparation kar rahi ho. Don’t you know the winner is already decided?”

Ayeda looked up at her.

“What do you mean?”

Nida rolled her eyes playfully and said,

“Kabhi toh kitaabon se upar dekha karo, Ayeda. Har waqt sirf mehnat mein lagi rehti ho.”
(Sometimes, look up from your books, Ayeda. You're always buried in hard work.)

Ayeda narrowed her eyes.

“Nida, clearly batao. Suspense kyun badha rahi ho?”
(Nida, speak clearly. Why are you creating suspense?)

Nida sighed and leaned back.

“The winner is already decided. Fiza’s winning. She's the trustee’s daughter. Sabko pata hai. Bas formality ke liye competition ho raha hai.”

Ayeda sat still for a second, staring at her screen.

“What about the ones who actually deserve it?” she asked, her voice soft but steady.

Nida shrugged.

“Unhe second prize mil jaata hai. Bas. Itna hi hota hai. Destiny, Ayeda. It’s already written.”

Ayeda looked at her, and for a moment, there was a silence. Then she smiled.

Nida raised an eyebrow.

“What? Why are you smiling?”

Ayeda closed her laptop and stood up.

“Because you just reminded me of something. Destiny ho ya na ho... ek cheez zaroori hai jo taqdeer badal sakti hai.”
(Whether destiny exists or not... there's one thing that's powerful enough to change fate.)

Nida blinked.

“Kya?”
(What?)

Ayeda smiled softly.

“Dua.”
(Prayer)

Without saying anything else, she picked up her bag and walked out. A few steps ahead, she turned into the small prayer room near the auditorium. Quiet, empty, peaceful.

She finished her two rakats and sat still for a moment. The silence around her matched the storm inside. Then slowly, with trembling hands, she raised her palms and whispered:

"Ya Allah...

Sab keh rahe hain ke winner already decide ho chuka hai,

par mujhe duniya ke faislon se zyada aapke faisle par yaqeen hai.

Aap jaante hain Maula…

ye sirf ek competition nahi hai,

ye mera pehla qadam hai us raaste par,

jahan main kisi ka dard kam karna chahti hoon

main ek achhi neurologist banna chahti hoon.

Aapko meri mehnat ka har pal yaad hai,

har wo raat, jab sab so rahe the

aur main aap se dua karte hue padhai kar rahi thi.

Aap jaante hain meri niyat kya thi

na naam, na shohrat—bas ek maqsad hai.

Maula... bas aapke ek "Kun" ki baat hai,

bas aapke ek ishare se sab kuch badal sakta hai.

Agar aapko lagta hai ke mujhe jeetna chahiye,

toh meri mehnat ka inaam de dijiye.

Aur agar abhi waqt nahi aaya.

toh mujhe itna sabr, itna hosla de dijiye

ke main kabhi haar se toot na jaun,

balki usse seekh kar aur behtar ban jaun.

Lekin Maula, aaj bas itna zaroor kehna hai—

meri mehnat bekaar na jaye.

Log kya soch rahe hain, kya decide kar chuke hain,

mujhe farq nahi padta...

kyunki meri taqdeer ka faisla sirf aapke haathon mein hai.

Mujhe apne kaabil bana dijiye,

aur jab main kaabil ho jaun,

toh mujhe mere haq ka silah de dijiye.

Ameen."

(Ya Allah…
Everyone says the winner has already been decided,
but I trust Your decision more than the world’s verdict.

You know, Maula...
this isn’t just a competition
it’s my first step on the path
where I want to ease someone’s pain
I want to become a good neurologist.

You remember every moment of my hard work,
every night when the world slept,
and I studied while whispering prayers to You.

You know my intention—not fame, not recognition—just purpose.

Maula… it only takes one word from You, “Kun”,
just one signal from You, and everything can change.

If You think I deserve to win,
then please bless me with the reward of my efforts.
And if the time hasn’t come yet,
then grant me the patience and strength
so that I never break from defeat
instead, I learn from it and rise stronger.

But today, Maula, I just want to say
don’t let my hard work go in vain.
I don’t care what people think,
what decisions they’ve already made…
because my destiny lies only in Your hands.

Make me worthy, Ya Rab.
And when I truly become capable,
then grant me the reward I deserve.

Ameen.)

She opened her eyes, still wet with tears but there was peace in them now. She didn’t know what the day would bring,
but she knew Who was with her.

Auditorium

Everyone was settled in the auditorium, the murmurs fading as the announcer walked up to the stage. Adjusting the mic, he began with a welcoming smile.

“Good morning everyone, and thank you all for gracing this event with your presence. Today isn’t just about competition—it's about passion, effort, and the journey each student has taken to be here.”

He paused, letting his words settle before continuing.

“And now, it’s time to introduce someone who needs no grand introduction. A man who has become a symbol of determination, discipline, and quiet success. Someone who proved that hard work may take time… but when it pays off, it leaves the world speechless. Please welcome—Asia’s No.1 Businessman, Mr. Zarian Malik.”

Thunderous applause filled the auditorium as Zarian walked towards the stage with calm confidence. Dressed sharply, his presence alone commanded attention.

He took the mic and spoke briefly, his voice steady and composed.

“Thank you for inviting me. I wish all the participants the very best—give it your all, because effort never goes unrewarded.”

With that, he gave a slight nod and walked off the stage, taking his seat on the chief guest’s couch.

He didn’t believe in long speeches—Zarian Malik was a man of action, not applause.

As the ceremony progressed, one by one, participants stepped onto the stage to present their research. The presentations were categorized organ-wise—beginning with the sense organs, followed by lungs, kidneys, reproductive system, heart, and lastly, the brain.

Zarian sat upright, focused and attentive, marking each candidate on the sheet placed before him. Beside him, a panel of senior doctors were also scoring the performances.

As the event moved forward, only one final category remained: the brain.

It had fewer participants, due to the complexity of the subject. After a short break, the announcer called out the next name:

“Ayeda Khan.”

Zarian, who was still scribbling his remarks for the last candidate, froze for a moment. His heart skipped a beat.

No… it can’t be her, he thought.

Maybe it's someone else. Just a name. Just a coincidence.

But when he looked up, his silent hope shattered.

It was her.

The same Ayeda Khan he had once prayed to forget… standing on the stage, confident and calm.

Zarian’s gaze didn’t linger. He quickly dropped his eyes back to the evaluation sheet and whispered to himself,

“This is wrong… she belongs to someone else. Focus, Zarian… focus.”

But his heart refused to obey.

Her voice filled the hall—steady, clear, composed. A voice that calmed his nerves while somehow making his heart forget its rhythm.

Ayeda’s presentation was flawless. She made the most intricate neurological processes feel simple, relatable, and even fascinating. What was supposed to be the most complicated topic of the day turned into the most engaging one.

Eventually, even Zarian forgot the chaos inside his chest.

He was completely absorbed in her words, her clarity, and the way her mind worked.

As Ayeda concluded her presentation, her voice faded into silence.

A pause.

A long, deafening pause.

Her hands were cold, her breath caught in her throat. She could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

Did they understand anything?
Was it too complicated?
Was she clear enough?

Just when her anxiety was about to swallow her whole—

Clap.

A single, firm clap echoed through the auditorium.

Her eyes widened slightly, almost in disbelief.

The applause was steady, confident—certain.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

She looked in the direction of the sound.

It was Zarian Malik.

Standing.

Composed.

His hands moving in applause, eyes still fixed on the slide behind her—not on her. Almost like he was trying to keep this moment strictly professional, respectful… distant.

But he had been the first.

The first to acknowledge her work.

The first to break the silence that had almost broken her.

And that was enough.

Within seconds, the rest of the auditorium followed his lead.

The hall erupted in applause. Cheers. Whistles. A standing ovation.

But for Ayeda… it was that first clap that grounded her.

That brought a strange calm over her storming nerves.

She exhaled—slowly. Her body finally relaxed.

She looked towards Zarian once again not with admiration, not with affection.

But with quiet gratitude.

The kind you give to someone who unknowingly lifts a weight you didn’t realise was too heavy to carry alone.

Moments later, the announcer returned to the stage—it was time to declare the winners.

The best candidates would be given opportunities to train under top doctors in their respective fields.

Zarian was invited to come on stage and present the awards.

One by one, winners of Sense Organs, Lungs, Kidneys, and Heart were announced.

Then came the final category: Brain.

Zarian picked up the last result sheet. But as his eyes scanned the name written in bold at the top—he paused.

His eyebrows furrowed slightly.

And he looked toward the panel of senior doctors and faculty, confusion flickering across his face.

Something… wasn’t right.

Zarian walked down the stairs with quiet authority, his gaze steady, steps firm. He stopped in front of the faculty table.

The moment he reached, every faculty member instinctively stood up. The hall buzzed with whispers, eyes darting between him and the sheet of winners in his hand.

Without a word, Zarian slid the paper across the table.

The name at the top: Fiza Sultana.

The name everyone in the auditorium had expected to hear.

Except him.

The principal adjusted his glasses and asked, “What’s the issue, Mr. Malik?”

Zarian looked directly at him, calm but unflinching. “Don’t you think there’s a mistake? We all witnessed the presentations. We all stood in applause for one name. Yet, it’s not at the top?”

The principal smiled dismissively. “But she’s in second place, isn’t she?”

Zarian’s jaw clenched. His voice dropped lower—firm, laced with quiet fire.

“Then why not first?”

A pause.

“It’s not a big deal,” the principal replied, his tone casual. “Both top students will go under the same neurologist. It’s just a position.”

Zarian tilted his head, voice steady but dangerous.

“No… It matters. You know it does.
That’s why you gave that girl the first position.
If you’ve invited me here as chief guest… then allow me to show you what I stand for.”

He turned and strode back toward the stage. The murmurs grew louder.

Taking the mic, Zarian looked at the crowd and spoke with conviction that echoed through the hall:

“The winner of the Brain Category is… Ayeda Khan.”

A stunned silence fell across the auditorium.

Everyone knew what had just happened.

Ayeda sat frozen in her seat, unable to move. She had seen everything. Heard everything. For a second, her heart struggled to believe it.

But then, something clicked.

A quiet, peaceful smile formed on her lips. She looked up and whispered to herself,

“Alhamdulillah… Mujhe aapke har faisle par yaqeen hai.”
("Alhamdulillah… I have complete faith in every decision You make.")

As she walked toward the stage, Zarian stepped aside and added one last thing—his words for everyone, but his eyes never lifted from the ground:

“When I say I believe in hard work, I mean I stand by those who don’t bend to pressure, who fight with honesty and dedication.

The ones who may not have connections, but have faith—not in people, but in the One who created people.”

With that, he stepped down.

Ayeda accepted her award, but her gaze lingered not on the trophy, but on the man who chose integrity over influence. She didn’t know him personally.

But today… she knew the kind of man he was.

And now, she wanted to thank him—not for the award, but for the respect.

He was trying to end the story.
She was unknowingly writing the next page.
What happens when goodbye meets grace?

___________________________________________