Zarian was heading towards his office, lost in routine thoughts, when his phone buzzed.

He picked it up and switched to speaker mode — it was his PA, reminding him about an important deal. The call ended with a formal “Thank you, Mr. Malik.”

But that name "Mr. Malik" pulled him into a memory he was desperately trying to forget. Ayeda.

Her voice, her presence, her stubborn gratitude… everything came rushing back for a second.

Before he could fall too deep into thought, a knock tapped gently on his car window.

A little boy stood there, his arms full of roses, hope gleaming in his eyes.

Zarian rolled the window down with a soft smile. “Bhaiya, le lo na,” the boy said eagerly.
(Bhaiya, please take it)

“Kya karunga mai lekar?” Zarian asked lightly, amused.
(What will I do with it?)

The boy grinned innocently. “Apni biwi ya girlfriend ko dedena… jisse mohabbat ho. Khush ho jaayegi.”
(Give it to your wife or girlfriend… the one you love. She’ll be happy.)

That word "mohabbat" echoed again. And this time, it stung a little.

Shaking his head with a faint sigh, Zarian said, “Thik hai, dedo.”

He took all the roses, thinking he'd give them to his mother and Maliha later.

The signal turned green. The boy flashed a toothy grin and began to run across the road. But in the blink of an eye, a speeding car came out of nowhere.

Zarian’s heart stopped.

The child was flung into the air and landed brutally on the road, just feet from Zarian’s car.

Zarian jumped out instantly. But as soon as he reached the boy, his legs froze.

Blood was flowing from the child’s head, his half-open eyes flickering in pain. The notes he was holding were now soaked in crimson.

Zarian’s breath caught but only for a second.

He rushed forward, gathered the boy carefully in his arms, and placed him in the passenger seat. He fastened the seatbelt, hand shaking slightly, then called his PA in urgency.

“I want a neurosurgeon ready in ten minutes. Tell the hospital to prep the OT now.”

Exactly ten minutes later, Zarian’s car halted in front of the hospital.

Without waiting for help, he picked up the unconscious child again and ran inside.

The hospital staff, already informed, had everything ready.

Zarian gently laid the child on the stretcher. Nurses moved swiftly. The boy was taken into surgery.

Zarian stepped back, hands stained with blood and worry in his eyes.

He paid the full amount at the counter and signed every required document without hesitation.

Zarian sat silently on the cold metal chair outside the operation theatre, his eyes fixed on his hands — stained with dried blood. His fingers, usually steady and firm, now trembled faintly.

He pulled out his phone and called his PA.

“Cancel everything today,” he said in a low, steady voice, and hung up.

His face was calm — eerily calm — but inside, his mind was spiraling. The image of the boy lying on the road replayed again and again. His small body. His hopeful eyes, the bright smile he'd flashed while selling those roses… and then, just seconds later — blood, silence, stillness.

Nurses rushed in and out of the corridor, now on high alert. After all, the child wasn’t just a case anymore — he was Zarian Malik’s responsibility now.

Two hours passed.

The light above the OT finally turned off, and a doctor stepped out. Zarian rose to his feet  not with panic, not with desperation  but with a quiet hope that hadn't left his heart.

“He’s out of danger,” the doctor informed, pulling off his mask. “He’ll regain consciousness in about 24 hours.”

Zarian closed his eyes for a second, exhaling deeply. Finally...

“You saved his life, Mr. Malik. If you hadn’t brought him on time…”
Saying this doctor walked away.

“Alhamdulillah... Allah apka lakh lakh shukr,” Zarian whispered, his eyes still closed.

Around him, quiet murmurs floated through the hallway.

“Zarian Malik saved that child.”
“He stayed here for hours.”
“He paid for everything…”

Standing a few feet away, a girl in a white coat was silently listening — her heart unusually still.

A soft smile found her lips before she even realised it.

It was Ayeda.

Her internship had just begun at this hospital, and fate, as if playing its own games, had brought her here today. She hadn’t planned to stop. She hadn’t even expected to see him. But something about his stillness… about the way the chaos around him didn't touch the storm in his eyes… made her pause.

Without thinking, her steps moved forward — slow, hesitant — as if her heart was walking ahead of her.

Zarian felt it.

That pull.

The kind that doesn’t come from footsteps or shadows but from a presence that your soul recognises long before your eyes do. He turned slowly.

Hazel eyes.

The same ones he had fought to forget buried under logic, distance, and discipline.

But today… they were smiling at him.

Not with pity.

Not with awkward formality.

But with something genuine.

Something warm.

Something that melted into him before he could build another wall.

Ayeda stopped a little away from him.

She looked around for a second — memories of whispered accusations and weightless rumours still echoed in her ears  but today, she decided not to let fear win.

She looked at him with quiet honesty in her eyes, and in a voice barely above a whisper, she said:

“I really admire you... I hope I become as good a human being as you someday, Mr. Malik.”

And just like that… she walked away.

No dramatics.

No expectations.

Just truth — simple, brave, and unadorned.

Zarian didn’t stop her.

He didn’t say a word.

But his world did.

The weight on his chest, the ache he had long silenced, all paused.

In the middle of bloodstains and guilt… in the middle of pain he wasn’t allowed to feel… her presence had brought something rare.

Peace.

Like someone had put his heartbeat back in place — just by showing up.

A soft, rare smile curved on his lips.

He looked down at his hands — still stained with dried blood — then at the hallway where she had vanished like a calm breeze after a storm.

And as if whispering a truth he could no longer fight, he exhaled — not like a man defeated, but like a man who had finally surrendered:

“Ab aap sirf meri pasand nahi…
mohabbat ban chuki hain, Miss Khan.”

Khan mansion
Ayeda was sitting in the hall, surrounded by her family — laughter, music, chatter echoing from every corner. The entire house buzzed with excitement, preparations in full swing.

After all, it was a wedding they'd dreamed of for years — her wedding.

Dates were fixed. Functions decided. Jewellery boxes opened. The sparkle of gold and the weight of tradition danced all around her. Her mother, Aliya, was lovingly making her try necklace after necklace, smiling with teary eyes — a mother’s joy and ache blending into one.

But Ayeda... she felt like her breaths were getting smaller.

The room, though full of love, was closing in.

She gently excused herself, rose from the sofa, and made her way to the terrace — her silent escape from everything that suddenly felt too loud.

The breeze hit her face like a quiet comfort.

Standing under the open sky, she closed her eyes for a long moment, letting the wind kiss her skin, letting the noise fall away. And then, with a breath that felt heavier than it should’ve been, she whispered the name she shouldn’t:

"Mr. Malik..."

A small, bittersweet smile touched her lips.

She looked up at the stars — calm, distant, constant — and said softly, almost like a silent prayer,

“He truly is a good man, Allah…”

A soft silence followed. Her smile, once present, slowly faded as a quiet thought crept in,

“Par aksar jo log sab ke baare mein sochte hain… unhein samajhne wala koi nahi hota.”

Her eyes remained fixed on the sky, shimmering with prayers unsaid.

And then, softly  with all the sincerity of a heart that felt too much, she whispered:

“Please… take care of him.

Send someone into his life

someone who understands his silence… and heals what he never speaks of.”

And with that, she stood there in silence not as a bride-to-be, not as a girl burdened with decisions
but as a heart, quietly hoping the best for the one she could never claim.

She prayed for someone to care for him...

Unaware that the one she was praying for — was him,
and the one he was praying for — was her.

___________________________________________