Ruhi entered the room while still talking on the phone, her tone brisk and a little louder than usual.
Minji sat cross-legged on her bed, laptop open, eyes moving quickly across assignment files.
Sofia yawned and stretched before saying, "How much longer? The first lecture is important — they'll form project groups today. We have to end up in the same one, Minji. It'll make everything easier."
Minji nodded without looking up, her voice calm but distracted. "I know. I just need to finish this file before we leave."
Ruhi ended her call, her expression a mix of curiosity and authority. "Zoya," she called out, raising her voice slightly. "Before going to university, you need to stop by the Admin Office. They checked the list — your student number still isn't active. Since you haven't fixed it yet, they called me as your roommate."
For a second, Zoya's hands trembled. It was barely noticeable — but she felt it. Her heart skipped, a silent shiver running through her. She took a slow breath, controlling herself, then looked at Ruhi as if nothing had happened.
"Oh… what do they want to ask?" she asked lightly.
Ruhi shrugged. "Don't know. You'll find out when you go there."
The room went quiet for a moment. Minji stopped typing, her eyes lingering on Zoya. Something about the situation didn't sit right with her. She couldn't understand why the admin would suddenly call Zoya — but her suspicion stayed behind polite silence. She was already a little distant from Zoya, but never showed it. She didn't want to ruin the peace of their shared apartment. Yet somewhere deep down, she knew — things between them had changed ever since Bamson went back to Jeon.J.
"I'll go with Zoya to the Admin Office," Minji said suddenly, closing her laptop with a soft thud.
Sofia looked up, surprised. "But today's first lecture is really important."
Minji hesitated only for a second. "I know. But I'll still go with her."
Zoya understood what Minji wasn't saying. Her mind began to race.
If this is about Bamson… if they found out anything… She didn't want to finish the thought. If the admin had called her about that, then everything would collapse — her friends' trust, her quiet disguise, everything. Especially Minji's doubt — it would turn into truth.
The girls ate a quick breakfast, exchanging small talk to hide their tension. Then, one by one, they left their apartment — third floor, a quiet corner of the student building. Zoya locked the door last, her hand cold against the metal.
At the bus stop, the chatter of other students filled the air. Ruhi, Hana, and Sofia kept whispering about class schedules, but Zoya and Minji stayed silent. Zoya looked straight ahead, her face calm, but inside her chest something heavy and painful pressed against her ribs. She had lost people before — she knew the sound of things breaking inside her. And this fear… it wasn't new.
Flashback: Pakistan — Years Earlier
"Mom, please listen to me."
Zoya's voice trembled, but she kept speaking. "I don't want to marry Yasir. You know we're completely different — our lifestyles, our way of thinking, everything." Her eyes glistened. "Mom, please… just this once, don't force me. You've always treated me like the unwanted child — and I never complained. I stayed quiet, even when it hurt. But now, please… this time, listen."
Her mother didn't speak at first. She just looked at Zoya with tired, angry eyes — the kind that held years of disappointment.
Before Zoya could continue, her sister's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"I swear, I'll never let my daughter even come near you when she grows up — I don't want her to become like you."
Zoya froze. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Her sister's words felt heavier than any slap. She stared at her in disbelief, trying to understand how speaking for her right had turned her into something shameful.
Then came her brother's voice — louder, harsher.
"You should be ashamed, Zoya! Refusing a marriage like this? You've lost all respect."
Her eyes blurred as tears welled up. She looked at both her brothers — both avoiding her gaze, both carrying that same look of disgust. The room suddenly felt smaller, suffocating.
"Mom," Zoya whispered, her voice breaking, "you're angry because I said no to your nephew. But you know he and I are not right for each other. We're two different worlds. I'm not refusing him, I just… don't want to marry anyone right now."
Her mother's patience snapped.
"Then when will you? Everyone your age is already married — even Pashma! You'll sit here forever, doing nothing?"
Zoya tried to hold her tears. "I just want to go abroad to study," she said quietly, almost pleading.
Her brother stepped forward, voice hard as stone. "You're not going anywhere. Stop dreaming nonsense. Get ready for the wedding."
Something inside Zoya finally broke. Her tone rose — not in anger, but in desperation.
"No! I won't!"
Her brother's face darkened. "Zoya—"
She looked at everyone's faces, just for hope — maybe someone would stand with her. But no one did. The only person who would have stood for her was no more — her father.
She took a step back but didn't lower her voice. "If I stay silent now, everything will end. I have to say it. I want to go — please, just let me study. I promise I won't break your trust. Please, don't make me live someone else's life."
Her mother turned away, her face unreadable. One by one, everyone began to leave the room — her brothers, her sister — all shaking their heads as if she had done something shameful.
Zoya stood there, her tears falling freely now. The sound of the closing door echoed like a verdict.
When she finally looked up, only her mother remained.
"Zoya," her mother said coldly, "stop this stubbornness. It will only ruin you."
Zoya sank to her knees, clutching her mother's feet. "Mom, please," she cried, "you know I'm not wrong. Please, don't force me. You know what I'm asking for isn't bad."
Her mother didn't move. She looked down — not with pity, but disappointment.
"You've already brought shame to this house," she said.
Zoya's hands slipped away. For a moment, she didn't even feel her own body — just a numbness spreading through her chest. She whispered, almost to herself, "I thought… you'd understand."
But the silence that followed was colder than any rejection.
Outside, she could hear laughter from the neighbors' children — bright, distant, alive. Inside, everything in her went quiet.
That day, when she left the room, her eyes were swollen, her face pale. It was the first tear of many. The first time she learned that even love could sound like anger, and family could feel like strangers.
And since that day, Zoya had carried that silence within her — a silence that still trembled every time someone said her name.
The Night Zoya Come Again To Her Mother
Zoya sat near her mother again — the same room, the same air heavy with memories.
Her voice was soft this time, not trembling, just tired.
"Mom," she said quietly, "sometimes I think I'll never ask Allah for a daughter… because I'm scared I might do to her what I've felt all my life. Maybe I'll hurt her unknowingly, just like I've been hurt. Because I'm your daughter, and someday my daughter might sit in front of me the same way I'm sitting in front of you now."
Her mother looked at her, startled. Zoya continued, her words flowing like a confession.
"But mom, I want to become like you too — because you're strong. You lived a hard life. Baba (father) was sick for years, and you worked to raise us, to educate us. You are a brave mother, and I want to be brave too. You are self-respecting — I want to be like that. You were strict, but your strictness kept us from losing our way. You are a good mother, mom. I want to be like you. I'll try to become a good mother like you — but I promise, I'll never ignore any of my children. Maybe you didn't mean to ignore me… maybe it just happened. I don't have any complaint, mom. I just have one request — please, let me go."
Zoya put her head on her mother's knees and cried silently. Her mother looked down at her, shocked, thinking — What does Zoya think about all of us?
A thought struck her heart — Did I really treat her unfairly, unknowingly?
Her mind began to wander back, searching through years.
She remembered one day — when Zoya had to pay her university fees.
That time, Zoya had said softly, "Mom, can you please ask my brothers to help? The fee is due in two days."
The money was ready in her mother's hand, but just then, her elder sister called — upset about her son's school fees.
Zoya saw her mother at the door and said gently, "Mom, I just need to pick the form. We can go now to pay the fee."
Her words stopped halfway when her mother replied, "Zoya, your nephew's fee has to be paid first. Your sister is worried. You know your brothers can't help right now. You'll understand, right?"
Zoya had forced a smile. "It's okay, mom. Give it to her. I'll manage. I still have two days."
Her mother left, but that day, Zoya cried quietly in her room. And it wasn't the first time.
Every time, it happened the same way — and every time, she stayed silent. She took advance payments from her tuition students to fill the gap.
Now, as her mother sat there, memory after memory came back —
how she gave Zoya's new clothes to her sister "so she could look good in her in-laws' house,"
how Zoya always massaged her feet every night before sleeping,
how she never complained, never said why me.
And suddenly, all of it — all those moments — fell heavy on her mother's heart.
Zoya had stood up and walked out quietly, wiping her face. But her mother remained sitting where she was, frozen in thought.
She wanted to understand — to remember every moment she might have ignored Zoya.
And by morning, she had decided something.
......
Zoya entered her small room, closed the door gently, and leaned against it.
For a moment, she just stood there — silent — until her strength gave way.
Sliding down, she sat on the floor, pulling her knees close and resting her head on them.
Her shoulders shook as the sobs came — deep, broken, filled with years she had never spoken of.
Between those trembling breaths, her lips moved, almost in gasps —
"يَا مُسَبِّبَ الْأَسْبَابِ، يَا مُفَتِّحَ الْأَبْوَابِ، أَغِثْنِي، أَغِثْنِي، أَغِثْنِي..."
Ya Musabbibal-Asbab, Ya Mufattihal-Abwab, Aghisni, Aghisni, Aghisni...
(O Causer of all causes, O Opener of all doors, help me, help me, help me...)
Each word came out between her hiccupped sobs,
as if her heart itself was breaking open — begging to be heard.
Then, slowly, the storm inside her quieted.
Only the sound of her uneven breathing filled the room.
At breakfast, as everyone sat around the table, she finally spoke — calm, steady, certain.
"Zoya," she said, "go with your brother today and get your passport made."
The room fell silent. Everyone looked at her — surprised, speechless.
Only Zoya saw it — the strange calm on her mother's face.
It wasn't regret. It was peace.
Zoya never really understood how it all happened — how the doors opened, from where, and through whose help. All she knew was that the day finally came when she set foot in South Korea.
She had applied for a scholarship at South Korea's universities but she give shocolarship of National University of Busan , and though she didn't receive a full one, the partial scholarship was enough to pull her across borders and oceans.
But life always asks for something in return.
To gain something precious, Zoya had to lose something dear.
Her mother stood by her side, silently watching her daughter step into a new world. But her siblings—the ones she had once fought and laughed with—cut all ties, as if her decision had drawn a line they could never cross again.
And yet, Zoya didn't look back. Because somewhere deep inside, she knew this was how destiny was meant to unfold.
She didn't know it then, but her real story was only beginning.
Fate had written her name not just in a new country, but in a new chapter—
and this time, it was going to be a story that would test her heart, her faith, and everything she believed in.
To be Continue...
Regards
ZK💌