.The soft, golden hue of the February morning filtered through the pale blue curtains of Sumaha's room. The world outside was calm, and the echoes of Fajr still lingered in the peaceful air. She had just finished revising a few difficult organic chemistry equations, sitting cross-legged on the prayer rug near her study table. Her Qur'an, closed with reverence, still glowed faintly in the light.
Now she stood in front of her full-length mirror, brushing her delicate fingers over the sleeves of her sky-blue lawn kurti, which had elegant white threadwork around the neckline and cuffs. The soft chiffon dupatta, edged with a pearl lace, was draped neatly over one shoulder. Her hair was tied in a loose, modest braid, tucked gracefully behind. A subtle pink tint on her lips and light kohl in her large doe-like brown eyes — she looked serene, fresh, and ethereal. Her nervousness, however, lingered like a shadow.
Today was the first day of her mids.
Downstairs in the dining room, her parents sat waiting. Her mother, Aila Malik, wore a pastel green silk kaftan with intricate white embroidery, her hair tied in a clean bun. Her father, Armaan Malik, was in his usual charcoal-grey crisp formal suit paired with a steel-blue tie, ready for office.
"Come daughter, sit," her father said warmly as Sumaha entered, pressing her dupatta in place and taking her seat quietly.
She took a few bites of the freshly toasted bread, sipping orange juice while her mother placed her hand gently on her head.
"Best of luck, my dear."
Her father smiled, "You've worked hard — Allah will help you through."
Sumaha nodded nervously, "Yes Baba, remember in your prayers…"
After a few more sips of her tea and some mutual smiles, Armaan got up, collected his laptop bag and car keys. "I'll see you later tonight. Good luck again, daughter."
"Bye, Baba," she replied softly.
Just as she turned toward the main door, a familiar voice called from behind.
"Hey, do you remember what day it is today?"
It was Zainab, the house maid. Now 22, she had grown up in the Malik house with her mother and had a sister-like bond with Sumaha. Her voice always carried a cheerful warmth, and today was no different.
Wearing a maroon kurta with black shalwar and dupatta tied loosely, she stood at the foot of the stairs, grinning.
Sumaha turned around with a half-laugh."How could I forget… I have an exam today."
Zainab rolled her eyes playfully. "I've heard about the exam, but today is special. Do you remember that?"
Sumaha chuckled knowingly. "Yes, I remember, Zaini. Of course, I do. But I'm leaving now or I'll get late."
"May Allah grant you success, my dear Sumaha," Zainab said, waving.
With that, Sumaha stepped out. The family's white Honda Civic stood ready outside. She sat in the back seat, the driver shut the door, and the car glided out of the driveway.
At the Malik Mansion...
On the first floor, Ahmed stood in the balcony, one hand on the black iron railing, the other holding his coffee mug.
He had just watched her leave — a vision in sky blue, disappearing through the main gates.
His expression remained still, but his eyes... those sharp, dark eyes had softened for a moment.
He murmured to himself:
""Today is… very special."
A knowing smile played on his lips.
He stepped back inside his luxury room, placed the mug on the shelf, and headed down to the dining area.
Ahmed was dressed in a white dress shirt, folded neatly at the sleeves, tucked into midnight navy tailored trousers. His hair was perfectly styled — slicked back, just enough volume to show his signature charm. His wrist bore a silver Tag Heuer watch and his scent lingered — Tom Ford Noir.
The dining table was already beautifully arranged: butter croissants, boiled eggs, fresh fruit bowls, almond milk, and a steaming kettle of kahwa.
He greeted his Grandfather , who was wearing a warm brown waistcoat over a cream kurta-pajama, looking fresh from morning prayers.
Hashir Malik, his father, wore a dark grey formal suit, his reading glasses resting on his nose as he glanced over some paperwork.
Ayesha Malik, dressed in a chiffon beige saree, looked elegant as ever, pouring kahwa for Granny.
And Granny, in a light lavender wool shawl over her white clothes, had her rosary in one hand and smiled warmly at Ahmed.
""Come, dear son, have a seat. You're looking very fresh today."
Ahmed smirked and sat down."It's the effect of your prayers, Granny."
Everyone shared a few light laughs.
After breakfast, the routine picked up.
Dada jaan and Hashir left together in the family's black Prado SUV for the office.
Ayesha headed out for her NGO events.
Dadi went along too, saying she had promised to help her at today's women shelter event.
Ahmed, now alone, walked to his favorite matte black Range Rover, sunglasses on, jawline sharp under the sun, and drove off for his own busy day at the head office.
Back inside, only Deena — the oldest housemaid — remained, standing with a notepad, instructing the junior staff on how to clean the marble floors and fold napkins correctly.
The mansion now stood in calm elegance — a silent witness to emotions left unspoken…
But somewhere, the threads were beginning to pull.
MBS Towers – The heart of empire, the edge of emotions.
Inside the towering, glass-walled headquarters of MBS, the Maliks had already begun their day wrapped in tension and triumph — just like every day in the world of the powerful.
In the large boardroom on the 12th floor, Ahmed Malik sat at the center of attention. The conference table buzzed with whispers and anticipation, but he remained calm, focused — a picture of effortless charm and natural leadership. His sharp jawline, intense eyes, and precise movements commanded attention, and not just because of his position. There was something about Ahmed — something magnetic. A storm in silence.
He was delivering the final briefing for a long-anticipated deal with Hamdani Enterprises, a logistics and automation powerhouse.
"This system integration," Ahmed said confidently, pointing to the digital screen, "will not only speed up inventory tracking but give us real-time intelligence on cross-border shipments. That means quicker decision-making, tighter control, and faster profit turnover."
The room nodded. The senior executives exchanged impressed glances.
Then the doors opened.
Mr. Junaid, a man of stature and precision, entered the room with a controlled smile. He wore a crisp navy suit, carrying the aura of old wealth. Walking right beside him was Taaliya Junaid, stunning in a formal cream co-ord set, her heels clicking softly on the floor. Her short, styled hair framed her face, and her red lipstick contrasted elegantly with her pearl-toned outfit.
"Good morning," she greeted with a sugary smile, eyes pinned on Ahmed.
Ahmed responded with a crisp, neutral nod, not even standing up. "Morning."
Mr. Junaid stepped forward. "Shall we proceed, gentlemen?"
As the documents were signed and the deal closed, applause broke out in the room. The project had been locked — a multi-million-dollar smart logistics and digital warehousing collaboration. It was a milestone Ahmed had worked on tirelessly for months.
"You've done it," one of the directors whispered to another.
"Ahmed's brilliance. He's rewritten this game."
Even Mr. Junaid smiled proudly. "Brilliant job, young man."
Taaliya walked a little closer, her eyes scanning Ahmed with admiration.
"You were... flawless," she said, almost too softly.
Ahmed gave her a sharp half-smile, the kind that revealed nothing. "I usually am."
Before she could say more, he was already collecting his notes and walking away, leaving her blinking in the wake of his dismissal. Her lips tightened as she watched his back disappear.
Meanwhile, two floors down...
The mood was far less celebratory.
Armaan Malik stood opposite Hashir Malik inside the executive planning lounge. The air between them crackled with years of tension.
"You're still entertaining the Alvi Group?" Armaan's voice was low, but harsh. "Even after what they pulled two years ago?"
Hashir stepped closer, irritated. "It's business, Armaan. They're offering leverage we can't ignore. You always let emotions cloud your judgment."
"No, I let principles guide them," Armaan fired back. "You, on the other hand, would shake hands with the devil if it gave you a shortcut."
Hashir scoffed. "You always thought yourself holier-than-thou. Even Father couldn't convince you otherwise."
Armaan's eyes darkened. "Because Father always sided with you. Every time. No matter how wrong you were. That's why I left, remember?"
The air turned heavier.
"That day... four years ago... I was ready to walk out of the business entirely," Armaan said quietly, his voice laced with pain. "But Baba stopped me. He said me not to break the legacy."
"And yet you left Malik Mansion," Hashir snapped. "Because your ego couldn't stand that I was chosen over you."
"No. I left because your pride was destroying everything we stood for."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Two brothers. Two legacies. And a wall between them made of old battles.
In Haji Hamid Malik's private office...
The old man sat in his luxury chair — deep brown leather, his personal prayer mat folded beside the bookshelf. His tasbeeh slowly slipped between his fingers as he stared out the tall window.
He had heard the voices.
He knew the signs.
This wasn't a usual business disagreement.
It was the beginning of a fracture.
And this time... he wasn't sure he could hold the cracks together.
In the hallway...
Ahmed was walking toward the Chairman's office, files in hand, when he crossed paths with Armaan Malik.
For a heartbeat, time froze.
If we rewind the story a few years, things between Ahmed and Armaan Malik were warm — far from the cold civility they share now.
Armaan always wished for a son. But fate gave him only a daughter. That unspoken emptiness… he quietly poured into Ahmed, who became more than a nephew to him — his pride, his reflection.
And Ahmed? He loved Armaan Chachu even more than his own father Hashir. In fact, most of what Ahmed knew about business, he learned from Armaan.
He was always glued to his side — during board meetings, strategy sessions, and late-night planning over coffee.
But everything changed four years ago — when a fierce argument over a deal with Alvi Group shook the Malik empire.
Armaan wanted to separate the business, take control of his own share. He believed Haji Hamid Malik was always biased towards Hashir, and he'd had enough.
But Haji Saab didn't plead — he ordered: "This empire stays one. No division."
That night, with heartbreak in his chest, Armaan packed his bags and left Malik Mansion.
Since then, they had grown distant. And the arguments Hashir had with others in business? Never involved Ahmed. Maybe because today was different… or maybe, just maybe, the scars between them were still healing.
.....
Since then, the silence between them had grown louder with each passing year.
Today, however, something shifted.
"Congratulations," Armaan said, voice softer now. "You broke a tough deal today."
Ahmed looked at him. Something flickered behind his eyes. Surprise. Gratitude. And something deeper.
"Thank you, Baba," he said softly, the word slipping out naturally.
For a moment, Armaan just stared.
Then, in an instinctive gesture, Ahmed stepped forward and hugged him.
Armaan didn't move at first.
But then, his arms rose and he lightly patted Ahmed's back. A ghost of a smile touched his lips.
It wasn't a full reconciliation.
But it was a beginning.
Ahmed didn't see it — the way Armaan watched him walk away — but the emotion was there, quietly blooming.
Inside the Chairman's Office...
Ahmed knocked and entered with his signature smile — only to find his grandfather sitting quietly, tasbeeh in hand, a deep crease on his forehead.
"Dada?" Ahmed asked, concern immediately filling his face.
Haji Hamid looked up, trying to mask his emotions. "Come in, Ahmed beta."
"You okay? You look... tense."
"I'm fine, beta. Just... old bones and too many thoughts."
Ahmed walked forward, handing over a copy of the deal files. But his smile slowly faded as he sat down beside the man who had built the Malik empire with his own hands.
Something didn't feel right.
"Dada... is something wrong?"
Haji Saab didn't answer immediately.
But deep inside... he already knew.
The storm he had held off for years was finally knocking on the door.
.....
On the other hand
The atmosphere at the university was unusually tense. Students moved hurriedly toward the examination hall, papers clutched tightly in their hands, lips murmuring last-minute formulas, prayers, and panic.
Inside the large exam hall, everything was perfectly organized. Students were seated roll-number-wise.
Sumaha Malik sat on seat number 7 — dressed in a soft sky blue straight kurta with delicate white embroidery and a matching chiffon dupatta. Her face was calm yet focused, the soft glow of no-makeup beauty, with a light kohl outlining her almond-shaped eyes, made her look radiant even in exam stress. Her long hair was neatly tied back in a low ponytail to avoid distraction.
Jia Nadeem, her best friend, was seated on seat number 17.
Sahir, a decent and quiet boy, was on 27.
And at the very back, on 37, sat Aima Mujahid, visibly frustrated, scribbling nervously. Her friend was seated right behind her at 38.
The examiner, Sir Yasir Ishtiaq, a strict but fair professor in his mid-40s, stood at the center of the hall, watching everything with hawk eyes.
As soon as papers were distributed, silence settled like a cloak.
Sumaha bent her head and began writing immediately. Her pen flowed with elegance — line after line, page after page. She was prepared, calm, and laser-focused.
Aima, on the other hand, was clearly struggling. Her eyes flicked around. Nothing was sticking. She leaned slightly back to peek at her friend's paper — but Sir Yasir caught her red-handed.
"Aima Mujahid!" his voice cut through the silence like a blade.
Everyone looked up.
"Stand up. What do you think this is? A group discussion?"
Aima froze. Her face turned red with embarrassment.
"One more move and you'll be out of this hall. Understood?"
She nodded, lips pressed tightly. Her friend looked down, pretending she wasn't involved.
Meanwhile, Sumaha kept writing — unfazed, unaware. She was immersed in her world of equations and organic chemistry reactions.
As usual, she was the first to finish.
Five minutes before time, she calmly closed her paper, placed her pen down, and recited a silent Alhamdulillah.
When time was over, Sir Yasir collected the papers row by row.
Students started filing out.
University Cafeteria – Post Exam
The cafeteria was buzzing again. Laughter and chatter filled the air as students discussed the paper.
Aima, still burning with humiliation, sat on one corner, arms crossed, chewing on her straw angrily.
Meanwhile, Sumaha and Jia were beaming.
"I told you!" Jia grinned, popping a fry into her mouth, "I knew that question from alkyl halides would come!"
Sumaha laughed softly. "You were right, yaar! Good job guessing that!"
Jia nudged her playfully. "You'll top again."
Aima watched them from a distance, her jaw tight.
She couldn't stand Sumaha's happiness — that effortless grace, that calm, that perfection.
Scene: MBS Headquarters – Afternoon
Back at Malik Business Solutions, the high-rise was buzzing with movement.
Inside his sleek glass-walled office, Ahmed Malik sat at his desk, focused but visibly tired.
His hair was perfectly styled, and his charming face had a subtle sharpness today — an aura of mystery.
He was deep into reviewing a presentation when suddenly, he paused. A tiny smile played at the corner of his lips.
He leaned back in his chair and whispered to himself,
"Today is special…"
He quickly gathered his things, stood up with his usual quiet confidence, and walked out.
Just outside his cabin, Taaliya Junaid spotted him and hurried over, dressed in a wine-colored formal blouse tucked into high-waisted black pants. Her hair, cut just above the shoulders, was styled in loose waves. Her makeup was flawless, her perfume expensive.
"Ahmed," she called, strutting up beside him, "I was just coming to talk to you... it's important—"
But Ahmed, without even pausing, simply said, "Not now. I have urgent work. Maybe later."
And walked right past her.
Taaliya stood frozen. Her eyes followed him — watching his retreating figure with disbelief.
He hadn't even looked at her.
Is he smiling.
Her jaw clenched.
"Was that smile for someone else?" she whispered under her breath, faking a smirk to hide the sting.
"No… it can't be. He's probably off for work. Maybe a client."
She turned, flipping her hair, trying to act unaffected.
But the ache in her chest was undeniable.
....
Ahmed's sleek black Range Rover came to a smooth stop in front of the university gates, the afternoon sun casting soft golden light over the glass panels. He pulled out his phone, his thumb instinctively tapping the contact saved with four adorable emojis: 🐣🦢🕊🎀. A small smile played on his lips.
Inside the campus, Sumaha's phone buzzed. The screen lit up: "Angry Bird calling…" Her heart fluttered. She had a slight idea why he might be calling, but she didn't know he was right outside.
Ahmed (in a low, calm voice): "Hello..."
Sumaha (on the other end): "G Ahmed."
Ahmed: "How was your exam?"
Sumaha: "Alhamdulillah, it went very well."
Ahmed (smiling deeper): "Alhamdulillah," he echoed warmly. "I knew you'd ace it."
Sumaha smiled , her eyes softening.
"Okay now, come outside," he added. "We have something important to celebrate, remember?"
Sumaha (calmly): "I'm surprised you remembered today."
Ahmed (chuckling softly): "I always remember. How could I not?"
Sumaha: "Alright. I'm coming."
Ahmed: "I'll be waiting."
Back at the university, Sumaha hung up and turned to Jia, giving her a quick goodbye. Meanwhile, across the courtyard, Aima was watching from a distance. The shine of Ahmed's SUV, the way he opened the door for Sumaha, the way girls whispered and looked at him — it burned something inside her.
Aima (in her heart): "Even I'm his cousin too. He's never even said salaam to me. Someone should remind him I study here too."
As Sumaha settled in the passenger seat, Ahmed — ever the gentleman — closed the door for her and walked around to take the driver's seat. On campus, Ahmed wasn't just another face. He was a sensation — known on Instagram, whispered about in classrooms, and silently admired by most.
Inside the car, the atmosphere was light.
Ahmed: "So... ready to celebrate?"
Sumaha (smiling slightly): "Of course. How could I forget Coco's birthday?"
Ahmed: "You're not the only one who remembers everything, you know."
They stopped at an elite bakery on the way — La Délice, known for its luxury chocolate cakes and French pastries. Without asking, Ahmed bought her favorite rich Belgian chocolate cake, along with a few other treats. He knew her preferences better than anyone.
Soon, they arrived at Armaan's bungalow. As they stepped inside, Sumaha's eyes widened. The lounge had been decorated beautifully — a soft pastel theme with pink and cream balloons, fairy lights, and a small banner that read: "Happy Birthday, Coco 🐾".
And there she was — Coco.
A gorgeous white Persian cat dressed in a soft pink bow and a tiny pearl-studded tiara on her head. Her fur was immaculately brushed and shimmered under the lights. She was the heart of this mini celebration.
Ahmed leaned down to gently lift her into his arms.
Ahmed (stroking Coco): "My royal girl... looking like a queen today."
Aila walked into the lounge, smiling at the setup.
Aila: "Beta, how was your exam?"
Sumaha (smiling respectfully): "Alhamdulillah, very good, Ammi."
She greeted Ahmed politely but with the same calm detachment she always maintained.
The celebration began. The cake-cutting moment arrived, with Coco's paw held between both Sumaha's and Ahmed's hands—their hands briefly touched. Ahmed noticed how focused she was on Coco, not even realizing the softness of that touch. But he did.
Everyone clapped and laughed as the candle was blown. Zaini, the bubbly housemaid who was like a sister to Sumaha, chuckled:
"Your Highness, could you look at your other kids too?" Zaini teased as she walked in, shaking her head with a grin.
Everyone chuckled. Ahmed laughed too, because he knew exactly what she meant. Sumaha treated her pets like actual children.
Sumaha (laughing): "They're not pets, they're my babies."
Ahmed (joining in): "Don't worry, she takes better care of them than any human being."
It was true — every pet Sumaha had ever owned had been a gift from Ahmed.
Coco, the majestic Persian, gifted last year on her birthday.
A pair of Australian parrots — Snow and Berry.
Two elegant white swans in the backyard pond.
A pair of rare peacocks that danced every morning like a fairytale.
Even Aila, who had never been fond of pets, had finally given in — only for her daughter's joy. Maybe because she knew Sumaha had no siblings, and these little creatures filled her world with affection and distraction.
The evening melted into warm conversations, dessert, and soft laughter. Just as the sky turned indigo, Armaan Malik arrived home — late on purpose. He had been avoiding Ahmed for years now, ever since that old rift, but today he couldn't avoid a celebration happening in his own home.
He quietly joined the table. Dinner was served, and as they all ate together, Armaan — unexpectedly — spoke.
Armaan: "By the way, Ahmed cracked a major deal today. I'm proud of him."
Ahmed blinked, caught off-guard. But inside, he was glowing. He had waited years to hear these words from his Chachu.
These words had been locked in his imagination for years. And now, finally, they were real.
Sumaha (genuinely): "Wah... Ma Sha Allah."
Aila: "Good, beta. Keep shining."
Ahmed smiled — softly.
Later, as everyone said goodbye, Ahmed gently handed Coco back to Sumaha, their fingers brushing once more. She was still focused on Coco, brushing her fur, thanking him politely. No hint of anything more.
Ahmed took a last glance at her. Those calm eyes, her peaceful presence... it was all so quiet, yet so magnetic.
He whispered softly, "Allah Hafiz," and left.
Moments later, his SUV rolled into the driveway of Malik Mansion. Inside, the TV lounge was warmly lit, and Dada, Dadi, and Hashir were relaxing together. Ahmed walked in with that usual calm, his steps silent, his mind still lingering somewhere between Coco's tiara and a pair of long-lashed brown eyes.
....
Back at Malik Mansion, the evening had settled into calm warmth. In the grand TV lounge, lined with vintage photographs and soft golden lamps, Ahmed was sitting beside Dadi, flipping through the photos from earlier that day on his phone.
She was dressed in a pastel pink chiffon shalwar kameez with a white lace dupatta draped gracefully over her silver hair. Her eyes lit up with every picture he showed — the cake, the decorations, Coco's birthday tiara, and the bright laughter on Sumaha's face.
Dadi (smiling fondly): "Ma Sha Allah... Sumaha looks so lovely today."
Ahmed couldn't help but smile softly.
But as he swiped to the next picture — the one where Armaan stood beside Coco, holding her paw. Dadi's expression shifted. Her eyes lingered too long, and then silently, they welled up with unshed tears.
Her voice lowered as memories came rushing back.
Dadi (softly):
"Since the day he left... he does call now and then, and we do meet at family functions... but does anyone ever ask this mother how it feels to live away from her beloved son?"
Ahmed's smile faded slightly. He glanced at her with silent empathy.
She continued, pain surfacing beneath her graceful voice.
"Even today, sometimes I still hold it against Hajji Saab… Why didn't he stop Armaan that day? Why didn't he ask him to stay?"
"Dadi, don't be sad," Ahmed said softly, sitting beside her and placing a reassuring hand over hers. "I'm here, na? I'll fix everything… I promise."
A few moments later, her expression began to ease, the storm in her eyes settling.
Ahmed had a way of lighting up her mood, just like always.
She soon began telling him about today's work with the NGO — the events, the people, the stories.
And he… he just sat there quietly, listening with full attention, as if her words were the most important thing in the world.
But then Dada's voice broke the silence from his armchair.
He had just glanced over at Ahmed's phone — and paused at a picture that had Ahmed and Sumaha sitting beside each other, with Coco in their lap. Ahmed, laughing. Sumaha, looking softly at Coco. The image was warm, innocent... and silently intimate.
Dada (smiling):
"You two look perfect together. May no evil eye ever touch my children."
That single sentence made Ahmed freeze for a breath. It was as if someone had read straight into his heart, peeled back the layers he hid so carefully. His heart fluttered quietly, but he controlled the rush of feelings and simply smiled as everyone else chuckled at Dada's sweet remark.
Just then, Deena walked in.
Deena:
"Ahmed Baba, Ayesha Ma'am is calling you to her room."
Ahmed gave a quick glance toward Hashir, who raised an eyebrow playfully.
Hashir (grinning):
"Better go, son. Looks like you're about to get a class."
Ahmed chuckled slightly, adjusted his sleeves, and walked toward his mother's room.
In Ayesha's Room
Ayesha, dressed in her elegant navy blue kaftan with silver embroidery, was on a call. As soon as she hung up, she turned her sharp eyes toward the door.
Ahmed (entering):
"G Ammi?"
Ayesha (straightforward):
"You picked up Sumaha from university today."
Ahmed (thinking): Wow, straight to the point… at least warm-up questions honi chahiyein.
He walked in further and sighed.
Ahmed:
"Yes, I did."
Ayesha:
"Why?"
Ahmed:
"It was Coco's birthday. I picked her because we planned a small celebration at home. Nothing more. Is there a problem, Ammi?"
Ayesha leaned back slightly. Her voice became calmer, but colder.
Ayesha:
"The driver told me Armaan usually picks her. You're not her driver, Ahmed. I don't want to see you doing her chores again."
Ahmed stiffened.
Ahmed:
"Has someone said something to you? Please tell me who's feeding you this nonsense."
Ayesha:
"No one dares say anything to me. But I know everything."
Ahmed's eyes narrowed. He knew immediately who must have called — and it only confirmed his suspicion.
Ayesha (continuing):
"Just understand that I don't want to see this again. You're not her assistant. Is that clear?"
Ahmed stayed quiet, swallowing every word he wanted to say. Every argument, every emotion. Then Ayesha added:
Ayesha:
"Also, tomorrow is Nooray's birthday. You're coming with me."
Ahmed:
"Ammi... you know I don't enjoy such events. Please…"
Ayesha:
"Oh? You can go to a cat's birthday, but not my niece's?"
Ahmed thought silently: Coco's birthday was just an excuse. The real reason was the sparkle in her eyes.
He looked away.
Ahmed:
"I already have plans, Ammi."
Ayesha:
"Cancel them. I'm not arguing. You will go with me tomorrow, and I won't hear another word."
She turned her face away, final in her decision. Ahmed didn't argue. Instead, he stepped forward, kissed her forehead gently, and said with a soft voice only reserved for those he loved:
Ahmed:
"My dearest Ammi. Good night."
He left her room quietly.
Behind him, Ayesha sat still for a few seconds... her eyes following the door he had closed.
Ayesha (to herself):
"What you're planning…Ahmed...I'll never let it happen."
Later That Night – Ahmed's Room
Ahmed entered his room, heart heavy but his face calm. He was wearing a grey cotton night suit, crisp and perfectly fitted, with his initials "A.M." embroidered in fine thread on the left chest pocket.
He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the screen of his phone. The latest notification?
Aima Mujahid.
He rolled his eyes.
Ahmed (murmuring):
"Speak of the devil, and the devil appears."
He ignored the message and placed the phone aside.
Next, he opened his medicine drawer. He took out a white tablet, poured himself a glass of water and swallowed it.
The truth?
Ahmed had a mild allergy to bird & animal fur.
He sneezed often after holding Coco or spending time with the swans or parrots. But he never told Sumaha.
Because her happiness… was more important than his comfort.
Wiping his face, he stepped out onto the balcony.
The sky was dark, the stars scattered lazily. Across from him was Sumaha's balcony — the light was off.
He smiled faintly.
Ahmed (softly):
"Must've fallen asleep... finally."
He leaned back against the railing, sipping the last of his water.
For the first time today, his mind felt still.
No meetings. No pressure. No interference.
Just one thought...
Her peace was his peace.
With that, Ahmed stepped back into his room, pulled the curtain closed, and drifted into a quiet sleep...
...