Lahore
The city where every birck carries history, every street hums with the scent of life. Even in the biting cold of December, Lahore doesn't lose it warmth. The fog sat heavy over Anarkali Bazar that morning, swallowing sounds into a gentle hush. The golden light of Fajar crept over the domes of the Badshahi Mosque, touching them with the soft glow. Vendors pulling up the shutters yawned into the dawn, and the call to prayers still echeod faintly in the crisp air.
In one of Lahore's quieter neighbourhoods, the lanes were lined with old house ____their carved wooden balconies whispering stories of generations gone by. Inside a modest yet tastefully kept home, janat ul Mawia stood by her window, wrapped in a wool shawl. Her skin was fair with a pink glow from the cold, her features delicate enough to seem fragile. She was a kind of beauty that made one pause, not because she tired to be notice, but because she looked like some thing that belonged in a frame. Janat was a elder sister three sisters and one younger er brother a girl ___who had mastered the art of hiding her strom behind smiles. Life had taught her to be strong, but her heart still whispered soft duas in the quite of dawns. That morning her prayer was different. She had one thought her path with someone else's but the story faded like fog under the sun. Now, as she sat on her prayer mat and whispered to Allah :
"Ya Allah... agar woh meray liyay nahi... to mujhay us sy behtar ata kar. Asa jo meray liyay tahafuz bane"
She didn't know her prayer had already begun it's journey ___and that some where far away, a silent answer was walking towards her life.
Peshawar
Where the mountains stand like guardians, and the wind carries the scent of earth and wood smoke. Unlike Lahore's chatter, Peshawar's morning were quite, broken only by the faint creak of bicycle wheels in the distant azan. In Badaber,a rugged village on the out skirts, life moved on as its own slow pace. Here lived Arhan khan know to his friends simply as a___bad boy and a bike rider. "Tall, broad__ shouldered, and silent killer Hazel brown eyes. Arhan carried the kind of strength that didn't need to be announced . His skin was tanned from the years under the sun, his hand calloused of work. He was a man of few words, but his eyes___dark and steady ___had a weight in them, a promise of safety
with out ever speaking it loud. That, morning Arhan had risen before Fajr, offered his prayer in the mosque, and stepped out in the biting cold. His breath clouded with air as he walked through the narrow lanes of the boots crunching on forest. He didn't know that the fate was already written her name into some one's dua.
The Meeting It was a out side a mosque in Lahore
that it happened. Janat stepping out after Fajar with her shawl pulled her tight, saw him first a man she didn't know passing by. He was not dressed like some were from city his presence feel different.