As she settled into the rickshaw, she began to guide the driver toward Nanu’s house. Though she had hopes of landing the job, she needed her documents to present at the company, and those documents were safely tucked away at Nanu’s place. Since it was Sunday, her uncle and aunt customarily went out for grocery shopping in the evening, leaving Zara and Ali to let her in. They were just children and held a deep fondness for Minha. With her gaze fixed on the heavy traffic, her mind instinctively drifted back over the winding journey of her life. Following her mother's passing, her father had remarried. To Sadra Begum, Minha was of less consequence than a piece of discarded trash left gathering dust in some forgotten corner. Then Nanu had entered her life. She still remembered that day vividly: she had been standing on a stool before the kitchen sink, washing dishes, when a teacup slipped from her fingers and shattered as it hit the rack. Sadra Begum was nearby, cutting vegetables. Seeing the broken cup, she strode over, dealt Minha a stinging slap across the face, and launched into a harsh tirade of curses. Minha was sobbing uncontrollably, her small frame racked with hiccups. With a rough yank, Sadra Begum pulled her down from the stool and ordered her to sweep up the shards. In her panic, she stumbled and fell, pressing her bare palms right into the jagged pieces scattered on the floor. She cried out in genuine anguish, but paying no heed to the blood welling from her hands, Sadra shoved her by the arm straight out of the kitchen. Nanu, standing outside in the courtyard, had witnessed the entire scene. Catching sight of her, Minha bolted forward and buried her face in Nanu’s skirts. For a few long moments, Nanu stood frozen in shock, and then, without uttering a single word to Sadra Begum, she took Minha by the hand and brought her home. Bringing her away sparked a bitter feud between Nanu and her uncle, but Nanu stood her ground, refusing utterly to send the child back. Within a few days, things settled into a semblance of normalcy, yet her uncle’s cold demeanor toward her never softened. He never once spoke to her, making it abundantly clear with every gesture that he harbored a deep, consuming aversion to her very existence. This only served to embolden her aunt, who viewed her with sharp resentment. As long as Nanu lived, that house offered her a protective shelter, but the moment Nanu passed away, that sheltering shade vanished from above her head. The house itself had never been her refuge; it was Nanu’s living presence that had shielded her. The rickshaw came to a halt. The driver peered back at her through the rear-view mirror. She stepped out, instructed him to wait right there, and hurried toward the house. After knocking on the door, she paced nervously. True to her expectations, Zara was the one who opened it, her face lighting up with joyful surprise at the sight of her.
”Aapi... where did you go? I missed you so much. Why did you leave us behind?“ Soothing the child with gentle words, Minha made her way toward her old room. Ali came running out onto the veranda to greet her as well. Amidst the flurry of their affectionate chatter, she gathered her files containing the documents and picked up her laptop. As she stepped out of the room, her eyes caught on a white shawl resting neatly on the table beside the wardrobe. It was exquisitely embroidered—a delicate gift Nanu had bought for her. Whenever she headed off to university, she used to wrap herself in that very shawl. She paused for a solitary moment, then reached out, lifted the shawl, laid it gently atop her files, and walked toward the front entrance. After showering Zara and Ali with parting hugs and kisses, she whispered a soft Allah Hafiz and climbed back into the rickshaw. The two children stood side by side on the threshold, watching her with heavy, mournful eyes. She smiled and waved at them through the glass, but they didn’t wave back, nor did they smile. Tears welled in their eyes, and they were quietly crying. They were only children; holding back their emotions was simply too difficult. She kept a bright smile fixed on her face as long as they remained in sight—the instant they vanished from view, her smile collapsed. Tears streamed down her cheeks, soaking silently into the folded shawl resting in her lap.
... ♡ ۞ ♡ ...
At the breakfast table, she placed a freshly made omelet in front of Juweria.
”Thank you.“ Juweria looked up at Minha with a radiant smile. Returning the smile with a slight, polite nod, Minha acknowledged her thanks and turned back toward the kitchen, only to freeze at the sound of approaching footsteps. Turning her head, she saw a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in a white t-shirt and blue jeans. Standing well over six feet, with a clear complexion and sharply chiseled features, he struck her at first glance as remarkably striking. All eyes at the table converged on him at once. Juweria shrieked with genuine delight and rushed toward him, throwing her arms around his neck and affectionately ruffling his hair.
”Bhai... you didn’t even tell me you were coming, yaar,“ she complained playfully.
”If I had told you, how would it still be a surprise?“ he replied, pulling her along with him toward the dining table.
”Ooh...“ Juweria rounded her lips in an exaggerated O, feigning shock at the surprise.
In response, he raised an eyebrow as if seeking confirmation. As the two of them settled at the table, Minha turned and retreated toward the kitchen. Another day was unfolding with the exact same familiar routine, demanding the repetition of daily chores. For a fleeting second, a sharp pang pierced her heart. Here was Juweria, claiming love and affection from everyone as her absolute birthright, gifted with every comfort in the world without ever lifting a finger; and then there was herself, who since childhood had accepted every single bite of bread like a burdensome favor. Even now, despite all her hard work, she was still surviving on someone else's charity. But the very next second, she mentally rebuked herself, offering silent thanks to Allah that though she had been left utterly destitute, He had provided her with shelter. Relief had arrived, albeit after a period of hardship, and Allah had opened a fresh path before her.
That night, as she sat in her room working on her laptop, Zahra burst in with a triumphant grin, excitement radiating from her every movement.
”Have you somehow stumbled upon the magical pouch of Amir Hamza that you’re looking this pleased?“ Minha asked with a warm smile.
”Oh, Minha... just look! Aaliyan sahib brought this coat especially for me.“ Beaming from ear to ear, Zahra held up the garment in front of her, her voice trembling with bubbling excitement. The sleek black trench coat was undeniably breathtaking.
”I’ll put it on and show you right now.“ Eagerly slipping her arms into the sleeves, she struck a dramatic model pose, channeling her inner Zendaya. Minha bit down hard on her lower lip, struggling desperately to swallow her laughter.
Zahra was well past thirty-five, yet she was thoroughly infatuated with Juweria’s sense of fashion, a fact that screamed from every single thing she did. Juweria often had Zahra snap pictures of her, and now, draped in that coat, Zahra was earnestly trying to mirror the exact poses she had watched Juweria strike. With one hand tucked behind her head and the other thrust deep into the coat's pocket, tilting her chin slightly to the right, she was the absolute picture of innocent enthusiasm. Minha dissolved into silent fits of laughter while Zahra continued her private fashion show unfazed.
”The last time Aaliyan sahib went to Dubai, he brought an identical coat back for Juweria bibi. So when he was packing for this trip, I told him, ‘Make sure you bring me one just like Juweria bibi’s,’ and look, he actually did! He’s such a wonderful man. He even brought chocolates specially for you. He’s truly kind—whatever I ask for, he always agrees, and he takes such good care of all the domestic staff,“ she babbled happily, gesturing toward a basket of chocolates resting on the cot.
”Oh, and Minha... Dawood sahib and Aaliyan sahib are asking for coffee. You know I despise that bitter poison, and I can never make it right anyway. So Dawood sahib specifically wants coffee brewed by your hands. Make two cups, one for Aaliyan sahib as well, and bring them over to the study room.“ Pausing her modeling routine, Zahra suddenly remembered her errand, and carefully folding the coat with exaggerated delicacy, she instructed Minha. Setting her laptop aside on the cot, Minha rose to her feet. She had just washed her hair earlier, leaving the dark locks loose without a clip; simply tucking stray strands behind her ears and draping a dupatta over her shoulders, she started on her way.
”Your hair is so gorgeous... actually, forget the hair, you look just like a living doll,“ Zahra blurted out impulsively. Minha offered a soft smile and slipped out the door. After quickly brewing the coffee, she made her way toward the study.
”Thank you so much, my child. I was craving coffee terribly, and coffee made by your hands is even better,“ Dawood sahib said, taking the cup from the tray. Minha smiled politely.
”Aaliyan has already gone back to his room, just drop his cup off in there,“ he added, noticing the second cup. Minha nodded in silent affirmation and turned back. She knocked gently on his door, and upon hearing permission, stepped inside. With earbuds plugged into his ears, he stood near the window engaged in a phone call. She walked toward him carrying the tray. Lifting his cup of coffee, he offered a slight nod and whispered a quiet thank you. Hearing those words, it struck her that she ought to have thanked him for the chocolates as well, but he was clearly busy. A wave of hesitation washed over her. Should she stay or leave? Twisting her fingers nervously, she stood trapped in a whirl of indecision. Aaliyan turned and looked at her again.
”Just hold for a second.“ Muting his microphone, he turned his full attention to Minha. At that exact moment, she lifted her gaze, locking eyes with him. Framed by thick, sweeping lashes over glass-clear eyes, biting her crimson lips, her face glowing like the morning light, she stood before him, ruthlessly twisting her long, waxen fingers as she stared at him. For a solitary heartbeat, he simply stared back. She was devastatingly beautiful.
”I... I just wanted to thank you for the chocolates,“ she managed to stammer out, finding her voice under his intense gaze.
”You are most welcome,“ he replied with utmost courtesy, prompting her to turn and walk away. He watched her retreat, lost in thought. She gently closed the door behind her and slipped out.
... ♡ ۞ ♡ ...
A new day dawned, the sun shining in all its blazing glory to illuminate the entire world, while time danced steadily on its homeward path. Standing in the center of Aaliyan’s room, she cast one final, critical sweep of her gaze. Everything was immaculate. It was nearly time for him to return, and she was anxious to finish and clear out before he arrived. What she had intended as a quick morning cleaning had dragged on all morning, bringing her right to the edge of his arrival time. She had just turned to leave when the door swung open and Saim stepped inside. For a terrifying fraction of a second, she froze in her tracks.
”Sahib... you?“ Her voice trailed off into silence as he advanced toward her, his gait unmistakably unsteady. Something was deeply wrong—and now he was standing directly in front of her—
”Do... do you need something?“ she asked, forcing her voice to remain as steady as humanly possible. His gaze remained locked onto her face.
”Hmm...“ he paused for a fraction of a second.
”You... I want you.“ Leaning down abruptly, he hooked a finger under her chin and forced it upward. Minha scrambled backward in a desperate panic, trying to slip past him toward the door, but he lunged, grabbed her by the arm, and shoved her forcefully backward. Minha barely managed to catch her balance. As he advanced again, she retreated step by step until her back hit the solid wood of the wardrobe. Her senses were spinning wildly, her mind completely blank. She couldn't find a single escape route. She tried to bolt, but her legs felt entirely paralyzed. She was trembling from head to toe. He was towering right over her, and she could feel the heat of his breath against her skin. Her knees buckled, and she sank slowly to the floor. Seeing her collapse, he dropped heavily to his knees right in front of her. Grabbing her hands, he tried to pull them toward his face. Minha fought frantically to yank her hands away, but her efforts were useless. Silent, helpless tears streamed down her face. Pulling her hands back with a sudden burst of strength, she let out a piercing, desperate scream.
The door stood ajar, and Aaliyan strode into the room. Taking in the scene before him, he froze for a single beat. The very next instant, he lunged forward, grabbed Saim by the neck, and hurled him backward. Already rattled by Minha’s screams, Saim wasted not a single second vanishing from the room. Aaliyan stepped closer, trying to offer words of comfort, but Minha was in no state to be approached; the closer he came, the more frantically she screamed. The next moment, the door pushed open and Dawood sahib and Azra Begum rushed inside, with Juweria peering anxiously from between them. The sheer condemnation in the looks they cast her way made him feel as though the ground beneath him was opening up. Though entirely innocent, he had been branded the culprit. He couldn't even speak up in his own defense, because right beside him, a trembling, disheveled figure with tear-streaked hair was sobbing uncontrollably. Juweria hurried forward, kneeling beside Minha to pull her into a tight embrace. Clinging to Juweria, Minha wept even harder, and Juweria gently lifted her and carried her away to her own room. Dawood sahib looked at Aaliyan with a gaze dripping with sheer fury, anger practically radiating from every pore of his body.
”Baba...“ he started, trying to offer an explanation.
”Come to my room,“ Dawood sahib snapped, turning on his heel. Azra Begum followed close behind, her eyes clouded with a bewildered mix of shock and sorrow. The moment they left, Aaliyan struck his own forehead in frustration, poured a glass of water from the bedside jug, and sat heavily on the edge of the bed, lost in grim thought.
... ♡ ۞ ♡ ...
Minha had managed to regain some composure. The moment she felt stable enough, she left Juweria’s room and returned to her own quarters. With her dupatta pulled tightly across her face, she lay curled up on her cot. Even at the sound of the door opening, she didn’t pull the cloth away; the approaching footsteps came to a halt just a short distance from her bed.
”My child... are you feeling alright?“ Hearing that voice, she bolted upright in a start, quickly straightening her dupatta as she sat.
”Y-yes... yes, uncle,“ she stammered disjointedly.
”My child... I am deeply ashamed. I never expected such behavior from Aaliyan. I never imagined that he would bring this kind of humiliation upon our household, but he must make amends for his actions. A simple apology is not enough. He tried to violate your honor, and now he alone must become the guardian of that honor. I have arranged your Nikkah with Aaliyan for tomorrow morning. If you have any objections, any issues, or any worries whatsoever, please tell me without a moment's hesitation. Or if you desire any other form of restitution, you may name that as well.“ She listened to his words in stunned silence, her mind completely blank. It felt as though her ears must have deceived her. They had witnessed the scene and assumed Aaliyan was the guilty party, but why hadn't Aaliyan offered them any explanation afterward? Confusion swirled inside her, leaving her utterly lost. Mistaking her silence for consent, Dawood sahib offered a few words of reassurance and left the room, while she sat frozen in shock.
She couldn't even fathom the idea of spending her life with a man like Aaliyan, yet she couldn't understand why he had stayed silent and refused to clear his name. She reasoned that perhaps he simply hadn't gotten the chance, and that by morning he would reveal the truth. Lost in these tangled thoughts, she didn't even realize when sleep finally pulled her into its quiet embrace.
... ♡ ۞ ♡ ...
Everything was unfolding completely contrary to her expectations. She had assumed that by morning Aaliyan would have told Dawood sahib everything, but nothing of the sort had happened. Instead, she found herself dressed as a bride in Juweria’s blazing red ensemble, while Juweria—ignoring all her protests—busily applied the finishing touches to her face in front of the vanity mirror. Makeup had always been Juweria’s ultimate passion, and whenever she got the chance, she spared no effort. Minha sat paralyzed, a bewildered spectator to this strange game of fate. Life had always been unpredictable and uncertain for her; she had meticulously planned her career, yet destiny had shoved her into a marriage—and with the most unexpected man imaginable. From the preparations straight through to the Nikkah ceremony, she had drifted along like a waxen puppet obeying Juweria's every command. To her, it felt like an absurd dream. She scanned Aaliyan’s face for even a flicker of regret or sorrow, but found none. Laughing and joking with Juweria, he didn't look remotely like a man forced into an unwanted marriage. The moment the ceremony concluded, she fled the room as fast as her legs could carry her, retreating to her quarters to change her clothes before collapsing onto her cot. She was utterly incapable of deciphering this twist of fate. She tried to peer into her future, but met only a blank wall; she had no earthly idea what was going to happen next. Zahra was practically vibrating with schemes to hustle Minha straight into Aaliyan’s bedroom, throwing herself into the effort, but Minha dug her heels in and refused to budge. How could she possibly go? Granted, a Nikkah had taken place, but modesty and shame still existed in the world!
... ♡ ۞ ♡ ...
Having slept fitfully and brokenly through the night, her head throbbed with a dull ache. Someone had tossed a heavy stone into the quiet ocean of her life, stirring up a chaotic turbulence. She had planned to go to the company for her interview today, but now her mind was hopelessly divided. Should she go or not? Her thoughts seesawed back and forth. She had no clue how Aaliyan viewed her now, and this sudden marriage—one she was entirely mentally unprepared for—meant that with just three whispered affirmations of consent, she suddenly found herself bound to Aaliyan, imprisoned within an unfamiliar boundary. After lingering sluggishly on the cot for five long minutes, she finally shook off the depressing fog, rose, and slipped into the bathroom.
As she pinned up her hair, she mentally prepared herself for the interview. Even though the Nikkah had brought her back to the servant's quarters, Aaliyan hadn't even bothered to come fetch her. She couldn't afford to take another gamble on dependency based merely on a piece of paper. Only two weeks remained until her two-month tenure was up. Wrapping her shawl around her, she gave herself one final, critical look in the mirror, picked up her files, and headed out the door.
... ♡ ۞ ♡ ...
After instructing his secretary to send the freelance girl inside, he dropped the phone and leaned back in his leather chair. He had been thoroughly impressed by the girl’s talent, which was why he had summoned her to work for his company. At the sound of a knock on the door, he interlaced his fingers and straightened up. A girl wrapped in a shawl stepped inside, struggling briefly with the door as it swung shut on its own. She lowered her gaze, then looked up—and catching sight of that face, he froze for a single, breathless beat. The next instant, he bolted upright and strode rapidly toward her. Gripping her arms firmly in his strong hands, he demanded with frantic anxiety:
”What happened? Are you alright? Did Saim bother you again? Speak to me—don’t be afraid, tell me everything.“ She could feel the heat of his breath against her skin. In his agitation, his fingers seemed to dig painfully into her arms.
”Where is that wretched man?“ Releasing her arm in a flash, he snatched his mobile from the desk, poised to call Saim.
”I... I came for the interview,“ she managed to force the words past her lips, wondering how many more shocking revelations awaited her today.
”Sorry?“ Aaliyan blinked, thinking his ears had deceived him.
”Your name, please?“ Dropping the phone, he stepped closer, standing just a short distance away.
”Minha Iftikhar,“ she murmured, keeping her gaze lowered as she gave a single-word reply.
”I am so sorry, Miss Minha, I mistook you for someone else,“ he said in an apologetic tone.
”Please, have a seat,“ he added, gesturing toward a chair.
”I apologize once again, I am truly sorry. The truth is, you are the exact spitting image of my wife. It sounds like a miracle, but I swear I’m telling the truth.“ He practically offered the explanation to soothe his own embarrassment. For a brief second, her breath hitched. With what fierce a sense of ownership he had called her his wife!
”Aaliyan...“ Aaliyan jerked his head up in surprise. Minha hadn't used any honorifics.
”I am your wife.“ Aaliyan lifted his gaze to look straight at her, but offered no immediate reaction; he simply stared, unblinking, as if trying to process the information without any knee-jerk impulses. Having finally regained her composure, Minha felt it was her turn to offer explanations. She set her file down on the desk and began to speak. From start to finish, Minha laid out the entire book of her life before him. He listened in absolute silence, without a single murmur of affirmation. His eyes remained fixed on her face—watching her lips move, catching the faint, fleeting smiles or the delicate furrows that occasionally marred her serene brow. When she finally finished speaking, she fell silent for a few moments, waiting for some reaction, but he just sat there in total stillness.
”I need to ask you something,“ she ventured. He lifted his gaze into her eyes, paying her his undivided attention, yet wrapped in an unusual, profound silence.
”Why didn’t you explain the truth to uncle?“ At her innocent question, a slow smile touched his lips.
”You’ll get your answer, but for that, you have to come have lunch with me first,“ he announced. Minha hesitated for a second, then nodded. She, too, had a lot left to say and hear. A short while later, they were seated across from each other at a restaurant, where he ate with a deep, focused relish, as if the food tasted remarkably different today.
”You didn’t answer my question.“
”I will, just finish eating peacefully first.“ He turned his attention back to his plate. Minha nervously twirled her spoon against the rim, impatience stamped plainly across her features. Smiling as he watched her, Aaliyan wiped his hands with a napkin.
”Alright, so what were you asking?“ With his eyes locked onto her face, he made her the absolute center of his universe, leaving her flustered.
”Why didn’t you tell uncle the truth?“ she asked hesitantly.
”Let me pose a counter-question. If you were in my shoes, and fate handed you a gorgeous princess as a surprise gift, would you be foolish enough to refuse her?“ Minha looked up, startled. A captivating smile played across his lips. She couldn't sustain the heavy gravity of his gaze for long and quickly averted her eyes toward the window. A deep blush blossomed across her cheeks, and her lips trembled slightly as she bit down on them to hide her embarrassment. He kept his eyes anchored to her face for a few more moments, holding her captive within the circle of his gaze.
”Come with me,“ he said, rising from his seat.
”Where?“
”Just come on... I’ll show you,“ he replied, scooping up his coat. She followed him out. After a short drive, he parked the car in front of a shopping mall and hopped out, leaving Minha to sit inside battling a profound sense of boredom. He returned roughly fifteen minutes later.
”I am so, so sorry... you must have been terribly bored?“
”No... not at all.“ Sensing the genuine annoyance in her tone, he chuckled. Instead of starting the ignition, he turned toward her, holding her gaze, and slid something out of his pocket.
”So, Miss Minha! While I was entirely willing and consenting in this marriage, I wasn't so sure about you. That’s why I want to ask you now: Do you want to be my partner for the rest of your life?“ Extending one hand toward her while holding a diamond ring that gleamed like the break of dawn in his other hand, he looked intently into her eyes, waiting for her answer. Minha’s heartbeat spiked wildly and erratically. Her heart felt as though it might burst straight through her chest; a hot wave of blood rushed entirely to her face. With burning cheeks, she placed her trembling hand into his. He gently slid the ring onto her finger, holding her hand softly. The moment the ring was on, she sat up straight, practically glowing with shyness. Aaliyan smiled, drinking in the sight of her for a brief second before calmly turning his attention back to the steering wheel.
... ♡ ۞ ♡ ...
”Tomorrow on my way back from the madrasa, I’m going to bring you some jamun. They are fully ripe now, these amazingly sweet-and-sour jamun.“ Babbling away in his own rhythmic chatter, Ali was telling three-year-old Azan all about it. Minha had formally adopted Ali, and he now lived with them permanently.
”Jamun?“ Azan looked up at Ali with wide-eyed innocence.
”Yes, jamun,“ Ali replied casually, settling down beside him on the sofa.
”What are those?“ Azan asked innocently.
”You’ve never eaten jamun?“ Ali’s shock was absolute. In his world, if *he* knew something, it was mandatory for everyone else to know it as well. He began scrambling for words to explain.
Minha handed a cup of coffee to Aaliyan, who was standing by the window staring out at the scenery. Pressing her head gently against his chest, she, too, let her eyes feast on the vibrant landscape outside. Across the sky drifted soft clouds of pale pink and light blue, while here and there a rich, muted violet seemed to bloom in the quiet air, as if a master painter had carefully blended his colors and brushed them across the canvas of the sky. Truly, Allah’s creation was a masterpiece to be envied. Aaliyan wrapped his arms securely around her. Suddenly, life had grown profoundly peaceful. Leaving behind the paralyzing fears of the future, she had finally begun to live in the sweet, comforting reality of the present.
”Well, you see, they’re round like tomatoes, they have a skin on top like plums, and right in the middle there’s a stone just like a mango!“ Ali tried his absolute best to explain jamun using the most relatable terms possible. Whether Azan understood a single word of it was entirely Azan’s personal problem.
A faint smile tugged at the corners of Aaliyan’s lips. Taking a slow sip from his cup of coffee, he sat back and simply enjoyed the innocent debate between Ali and little Azan.
