Zarian was near the gate when a voice called out behind him.

“Zarian bhai… suniye.”

He turned, and there was Zayran, striding toward him.

“Where are you going? Chaliye.”

Zarian shook his head, his voice low.

“No… I’m going back home.”

Zayran stepped closer, catching his wrist, his grip firm.

“Chaliye aap. Aapko pata bhi hai, andar kya ho raha hai?”

Zarian frowned, confusion flickering across his face.

Zayran’s voice dropped, each word heavy.

“Samad is not there. He’s… missing. He left a letter saying he had to go to the US. Urgently.”

The words hit Zarian like a sudden stop in the middle of a running stride. His breath caught.

Before he could ask anything, Zayran was already pulling him back inside.

The air in the hall felt heavier than the cold outside.

Ibrahim Khan sat in a chair, his head bowed, one hand gripping his forehead. Beside him, Zoya rested a hand on his shoulder, her face tense but quiet.

On the other side stood Iqbal and Aliyah, their expressions carved with worry. Aliyah clutched a crumpled piece of paper - Samad’s letter. Iqbal, however, wasn’t looking at the letter.

His gaze was fixed ahead, unblinking.

Zarian followed it… and saw.

Ayeda.

She stood there, fidgeting with her fingers, her hazel eyes darting between her family members. The worry on her face made her look smaller, almost fragile… yet there was something unreadable in her silence.

And in that moment, Zarian forgot how to breathe.

Soon, murmurs began to ripple through the hall like poison.

“There must be someone else… that’s why he left her.”

“They were so close, yet he didn’t tell them earlier?”

“He must have tried, but she didn’t listen.”

“Something must be wrong with her.”

“Whatever happened… no one will marry this girl now.”

The words cut through Zarian like knives.

For the first time in his life, he felt the urge to bury someone alive, six feet under.

His jaw locked, muscles rigid, and a dangerous heat flared in his blood. His eyes turned sharp, bloodshot with a rage he could barely contain.

Ayeda’s family heard the whispers too.

Iqbal’s eyes flicked toward Aliyah, then to Zarian. She squeezed his hand and gave a faint nod.

Without hesitation, Iqbal walked to Ibrahim, spoke quietly, and together they approached Zarian.

He was still staring at the gossiping crowd, anger radiating off him, when Iqbal’s hand landed firmly on his shoulder. Zarian’s eyes shifted to him, then to Ibrahim, waiting.

Ibrahim cleared his throat, his voice rough with hesitation.

“Zarian… I know what I’m about to ask is… unconventional. But the circumstances have left us no choice.”

Zarian frowned, unsure where this was going, but gave a slight nod.

Ibrahim’s next words hit like a thunderclap.

“Will you marry our daughter… Ayeda?”

For a moment, Zarian forgot how to breathe. His heartbeat stumbled, then pounded painfully in his chest.

Iqbal and Ibrahim’s eyes shifted toward Zubair and Iqra.

For a brief moment, shock flickered across their faces and almost stunned pause as if the world had gone still.

Then, slowly, a smile spread on both their lips.

Because they knew.

They had always known.

Their son might never have voiced it, might have carried it quietly in the depths of his heart, but this... this was a moment he had prayed for, dreamed of.

And today, Allah had written it in his fate.

But Zarian didn’t move. Couldn’t.

His gaze drifted to her.

Ayeda sat frozen, staring at her father with wide eyes and parted lips. Shock carved across her features but it didn’t last. It shifted, in an instant, into hurt.

And then, a single tear slid down her cheek.

The sight tore into him. A burning ache swelled in his chest. Every instinct screamed to go to her, to wipe away that tear and the pain behind it.

A gentle grip tightened on his hand.

His mother.

“You’re going to marry her, right?” Iqra’s voice was soft but urgent.

Inside, he wanted to shout yes. To tell everyone this was the moment he had prayed for. But the words were stuck in his throat, heavy and unmoving.

He looked at Ayeda again as if her eyes alone could decide his answer.

Slowly, he pulled his hand from his mother’s grasp.

Without a word, he walked toward the food counter. The entire hall watched him.

He twisted open a bottle of water, the crack of the seal echoing in the tense air, then bottle in hand he began walking toward Ayeda.

Ayeda’s face was bowed, her shoulders trembling ever so slightly. Zarian could almost hear the sound of her quiet sobs in the heavy air between them. Without a word, he extended the water bottle toward her.

She hesitated, lifting her gaze just enough for him to see her, eyes glistening, nose red, cheeks damp with tears. She didn’t move to take it.

“Drink it… Miss Khan,” he said softly, his voice more a plea than an instruction.

Her trembling hand finally reached for the bottle. She took a small sip, her eyes lowering again, and when she was done, Zarian took it back gently.

Then, after a beat of silence, he asked quietly, almost like he was laying his soul bare before her.

“Aap… mujhse nikah karna pasand karengi, Miss Khan?”

She froze, her lashes fluttering in disbelief. Another tear slipped down her cheek.

“Rona mat… please,” his voice was low, steady, yet heavy with emotion. “Aap inkaar kar sakti hain… main kuch nahi kahunga… aur na hi kisi aur ko kuch kehne dunga. Yeh hum dono ki zindagi ka faisla hai… aur main yeh faisla akele nahi lena chahta. Main chahta hoon… yeh hum dono ka ho.”

He paused, as if weighing every word before letting it leave his lips.

“Mera jawab… haan hai,” his eyes glistened now, “lekin aap… apna waqt le sakti hain. Main yahi hoon. Aur agar… agar aap haan kahengi… toh main wada karta hoon… aapko sirf apna naam nahi, apni saari izzat, apni har dua, apna poora dil dunga. Har haq jo ek biwi ka apne shauhar par hota hai… wo sab aapka hoga.”

“Par ek baat zaroor yaad rakhna… aakhri faisla aapka hoga,” Zarian’s voice softened further, every word weighed with sincerity.
“Aapka faisla… mujhe apni khwahish se zyaada azeez hai.”

For a moment, the hall fell into a stillness so deep it felt as if the air itself had paused. His gaze lingered on her  not demanding, not pleading just… waiting, with the quiet patience of a man who would wait a lifetime if she asked.

And then, without another word, he stepped back and turned toward his family.

Ayeda’s family instantly surrounded her. The first to step forward was Ibrahim. His voice trembled as he spoke,
“Mujhe maaf kar dena, Ayeda… I’m sorry, bacha. Mere bete ki wajah se tumhe yeh sab sehna pada.” His eyes glistened, head bowed with regret.

Ayeda immediately reached out and held his hand. “Koi baap bhi apni beti se maafi maangta hai, bhala? Aur rahi baat Samad ki… woh hum dono ke beech ki baat hai, Taya Abbu.”

Before she could say more, a warm, familiar hand rested on her head. She looked up  it was her Abbu, Iqbal. His voice cracked slightly, “I’m sorry, bacha… tumhari zindagi ka faisla tumse bina pooche le liya maine… phir se. Zarian Malik se baat karne se pehle… mujhe tumse baat karni chahiye thi.”

This time, Ayeda couldn’t respond. Her heart felt heavy confusion, hurt, and something else she couldn’t name swirled inside her. She simply stayed quiet.

Her eyes wandered to where Zarian stood with his family, speaking quietly to his mother. And as she looked at him… memories flooded in.

How he had fought for her in college without caring for his own reputation.

How he had saved that little child from danger without hesitation.

How he had dropped her home safely that night without crossing a single line.

How he had cared for Brownie like his own.

And now… how he had just asked for her hand not as a right, not as a demand but as a request, giving her the power to decide, telling her that her answer mattered more than his desires.

Unknowingly, her lips curved into the faintest, quietest smile… one she didn’t even realize had formed.

She looked around at her family each face painted with worry, concern, and hope.

Taking a deep breath that seemed to steady her heart, she finally spoke, her voice soft yet certain,
“I… will marry him.”

For a second, silence reigned. Then, as if a weight had been lifted, their expressions broke into gentle smiles. Iqbal immediately pulled her into his arms, kissing her forehead with the tenderness only a father could give.

When Iqbal turned and told Zarian and his family, “Ayeda ne haan keh di,” their faces lit up with joy. But no one’s joy matched Zarian’s.

His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst; his lips curled into a smile so wide he almost feared someone would notice how his hands trembled.
It’s happening, he thought. It’s finally happening.

Daniyal and Maliha rushed to hug him, their voices bubbling with excitement. He hugged them back, still grinning, still not quite believing.

Then came Zayran no hug, no words at first. Instead, he began unbuttoning the sherwani he was wearing. Zarian frowned slightly, confused, but before he could ask, Zayran draped it over his shoulders and began fastening the buttons with slow, deliberate care.

Zarian’s eyes locked on his brother’s face, searching. There was something in Zayran’s quietness, in the way his fingers moved without hesitation. Finally, Zarian placed a hand on his shoulder and asked in a low, probing voice,
“Zayran… Are you behind all this?"

Zayran met his gaze, blinked once, then simply shrugged a half-smile tugging at his lips, the kind that said everything and nothing at all.

Zarian opened his mouth to press further, but before he could, his parents called out to him, their voices carrying the weight of the moment: “Zarian, beta… nikkah ka waqt ho gaya hai.”

The fragrance of fresh tuberoses hung heavy in the air, the flower partition between them swaying faintly as though the walls themselves were breathing with anticipation.

Zarian sat with his palms resting on his knees, but his fingers… they wouldn’t stop trembling. Across the veil, he could feel her presence soft, quiet, and unbearably close.

When his eyes lifted to the qazi, his breath caught.

It was him.

The same elderly man from the mosque… the one who had looked into his soul and said,
"Yeh jo tumne kiya hai… yeh mohabbat nahi hai. Yeh… ishq hai."

The qazi’s eyes crinkled in a knowing smile, and without another word, he began.

“Zarian Malik ibn-e-Zubair Malik, kya aap Ayeda Khan bint-e-Iqbal Khan ko, jo apne wali ke ijazat se aapke nikkah mein di ja rahi hain, mahr rupiya bees crore naqad ke badle mein qubool karte hain?”

The words were simple. But to Zarian, they weren’t just words they were a test, a vow, a life laid bare. His chest rose and fell unevenly.

“Main unhe khush toh rakh paunga na?” his mind whispered.

And in the silence between heartbeats, his heart answered soft, certain “Haan.”

“Qubool hai,” he said, his voice steady, even though his soul shook.

The qazi repeated the question.

This time, a faint smile curved Zarian’s lips. “Main unki har khwahish poori kar paunga?"

Again, his heart replied “Haan.”

“Qubool hai.”

And for the third time

"Meri mohabbat kabhi kam toh nahi hogi na?"

And his heart firm, unyielding whispered back, “Bhool gaye? Mohabbat nahi… ishq karte ho. Aur ishq kam nahi hota… sirf badhta hai.”

A tear slipped from his eye, but his voice was unwavering. “Qubool hai.”

Then came her turn.

“Ayeda Khan bint-e-Iqbal Khan, kya aap Zarian Malik ibn-e-Zubair Malik ko, jo aapke wali ke ijazat se aapke nikkah mein liye ja rahe hain, mahr rupiya bees crore naqad ke badle mein qubool karti hain?”

Ayeda’s lashes trembled. She did not think of her family. She did not think of the crowd. She thought of him, the man who had given her a choice when no one else had. She remembered his words,

“Yeh hum dono ki zindagi ka faisla hai… aur main yeh faisla akele nahi lena chahta. Main chahta hoon… yeh hum dono ka ho.”

Her lips parted.

“Q…qubool hai.”

The qazi asked again.

Zarian had not been her first choice. But somewhere between his silences and his stares, his unspoken care and stubborn patience… she wanted to make him her last and her forever.

Again she remembered his words,

Aap inkaar kar sakti hain… main kuch nahi kahunga… aur na hi kisi aur ko kuch kehne dunga.

Her voice was firmer. “Qubool hai.”

And for the final time

Ayeda’s fingers tightly curled up in her lap. Today, she was not just marrying him… she was choosing to take him from na-mehram to mehram, from stranger to the safest place she knew.

“agar aap haan kahengi… toh main wada karta hoon… aapko sirf apna naam nahi, apni saari izzat, apni har dua, apna poora dil dunga. Har haq jo ek biwi ka apne shauhar par hota hai… wo sab aapka hoga.”

“Qubool hai.”

The qazi’s voice faded into the hum of blessings, but for Zarian and Ayeda… the world had already shifted.

Iqbal’s eyes shimmered, and a single tear slipped down his cheek. He turned to Aliyah, voice thick with emotion.

“Dekha Aliyah… kaha tha na, jab aansu apna rasta dhoondh lete hain, toh allah ke  faisle badalne mein der nahi lagti. Dekho, faisla badalte der nahi lagi.
Agar aaj bhi mujhe sari duniya se ladna padta apni beti ke liye, main taiyaar tha… lekin mujhe pata hai, agar yeh aaj nahi hota toh woh Rab koi aur tareeqa dhoondh leta Ayeda ko Zarian ke naseeb mein likhne ka.
Banda dusre bando se ladhai kare toh samjh aata hai… apne rab se lardhne lage toh bewaqoofi ki inteha lagti hai.”

Across the garden, Zarian was hugging his family one by one, the joy in his smile making his eyes glisten. When he reached Zayran, he pulled him into a tight embrace, his voice choked as tears streamed down her face,

“I don’t know what you did… but thank you.”

Zayran’s lips curved in a knowing smile. “Bhai… maine kuch nahi kiya. Sab kuch Allah ne kiya hai. Main toh bas ek zariya bana.”

The air in the garden was filled with warm laughter, soft murmurs of mubarak ho, and the quiet rustle of the evening breeze through the flower arches. Families met, hands clasped, hearts lighter than they had been in a long time.

Near the edge of the garden, under the soft glow of fairy lights, Zayran stood with his hands in his pockets. Beside him, a lady stood quietly. Without looking at her, he said softly, almost like an afterthought,

“Thank you… aunty.”

Then he turned to look at her and his eyes met her face and there stood zoya (samad's mother).

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