Life had begun to flow with a gentle rhythm, like a river that had finally found its course. After months of upheaval, uncertainty, and emotional crossroads, peace had nestled itself quietly within the walls of Salman Villa.

The much-anticipated family trip had been postponed—again. Mr. Salman and Mr. Hameed were deeply occupied with their upcoming business projects, their hands full with deals and deadlines. Mr. Ahmad too had taken solid ground in the city’s business circles. His days were split between expanding his new venture and overseeing the construction of their dream house—a project that had become a shared hope for the entire family.

Amidst this quiet busyness, the matriarch of the family, Amma Jaan, found her heart swelling with contentment. For the first time in years, she could see her children settled, and her grandchildren—each one of them—thriving. Their laughter echoed through the house once more, their youthful chatter bringing warmth to the very walls that had once witnessed silent heartbreak.

Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Mansoor had finally begun to rebuild from the ashes of their past. The insurance money had helped them restart their lives. With cautious optimism, they were constructing a new home for themselves. Until it was ready, they had rented a modest but comfortable place nearby.

Their children, Zubia and Khalil, were adjusting to the new surroundings with quiet determination. Both had secured admission in the same college where Waseem, Kashif, Hassan, Wasi, and Rehan studied—a lively group that had quickly become a circle of strength for each other. Zain and Zoya, on the other hand, had stepped into the rigorous world of medical college together. Though their schedules were tighter now, there was a silent companionship between them, a rhythm in their lives that only the two of them understood.

It was a time of rebuilding—of gentle beginnings and hopeful tomorrows.

But peace, like all things in life, often arrives before the winds shift again.

It was one of those golden evenings where joy seemed to hang in the air like soft perfume.

The lawn of Salman Villa had been lit up with fairy lights, soft golden and warm white, weaving around the trees and outlining the arches of the verandah. Tables were set neatly under the open sky, covered with white linen and delicate crockery. The scent of roasted spices wafted from the kitchen, mixing with laughter and music. The house echoed with celebration.

Mr. Salman was beaming with pride, his voice booming with happiness as he welcomed each guest. The long-awaited deal had finally been signed—a turning point in their business. It was a victory not just for him, but for the entire family.

Relatives and close friends gathered in cheerful clusters. Mr. and Mrs. Mansoor arrived shortly after sunset, their children Zubia and Khalil following behind, dressed simply but elegantly. Zoya’s college friends were also present, adding youthful laughter to the evening. The villa hadn’t felt this alive in a long time.

The hallway of Salman Villa was unusually quiet for a moment, with the gentle hum of voices coming from the garden below. Inside the house, the golden lights cast a warm glow over the cream-colored walls, and a soft breeze came in through the slightly open windows.

Just as the clock struck seven, two doors opened at the same time across from each other.

Zoya stepped out first, gently adjusting her long dupatta, unaware that someone was stepping out from the opposite side.

Zain, fixing the sleeves of his black waistcoat, looked up—and stopped.

Their eyes met.

Zoya wore a delicate peach and ivory shalwar kameez its soft fabric shimmering slightly under the lights. Her long hair was loosely curled, falling gently on her shoulders. A light touch of kajal made her eyes even more expressive, and a simple pair of jhumkas completed her look.

She looked like the soft glow of dawn—gentle, warm, and breathtaking without trying.

Zain, dressed in a deep black kurta with silver thread detailing and a perfectly tailored waistcoat, looked quietly elegant. His hair was neatly set, and he had that calm, serious air about him that always made him stand out without needing to speak.

For a moment, they both just stood there—watching each other.

There was no compliment. No teasing. Just… silence. And something quiet but powerful in their eyes.

Zoya was the first to look away, brushing a loose strand behind her ear, trying to steady her heartbeat.

“You look…” Zain began but stopped.

Zoya looked at him again.

“…ready,” he finished, softly.

She smiled slightly. “You too.”

They began walking slowly down the hallway, side by side. Not touching. Not speaking again. Just… walking.

But inside both of them—something had changed.

They had seen each other a thousand times.

But tonight… they saw something more.

Just as Zain and Zoya reached the staircase landing, they heard giggles from below.

“Zoya! Finally!” came Aiza’s voice, followed by Zeeniya and Hoorain rushing up to her.

“There you are! We’ve been waiting for you since forever,” Hoorain grinned, linking her arm with Zoya’s.

Zoya glanced at Zain for a brief second before turning to her friends, her voice soft, “I was just coming…”

Zain, meanwhile, had slowed his steps, watching her as she disappeared into the circle of her friends. Her laughter reached him—light, effortless—and something about it made his chest tighten without reason.

Zain had barely taken a few steps down the hallway when a voice came from behind, casual and amused.

“You’re staring again, bhai.”

Zain paused and turned to see Hassan, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, wearing a knowing smirk.

Zain raised a brow. “I wasn’t staring.”

Hassan chuckled, walking up beside him. “Of course you weren’t. You were just… watching her breathe.”

Zain let out a breath, clearly not in the mood. “You’re annoying.”

“Just observant,” Hassan replied lightly. Then, in a more serious tone, “You okay?”

Zain adjusted his cufflink, trying to keep his face neutral. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Hassan tilted his head. “You’ve been restless since morning. You barely said a word during lunch. And don’t think I didn’t see you searching for her the second you stepped out.”

Zain didn’t respond immediately. His jaw tightened a little.

“You know…” Hassan said gently, “It’s not a bad thing to feel something. Especially when it’s for someone who brings peace to you.”

Zain looked away. “I don’t even know what I’m feeling.”

Hassan smiled softly. “That’s how it starts.”

Zain turned his head sharply. “There’s nothing going on, Hassan.”

“Maybe not outside,” Hassan said quietly, “But there’s a lot happening inside you. And that’s okay, bhai. You’re allowed to feel something real. Even if you’re not ready to say it.”

Zain sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I just need some air.”

Hassan put a hand on his shoulder. “Go on then. Compose yourself, like always. But remember—some things aren’t meant to be hidden forever.”

Zain gave a faint nod, lips pressed together, and walked past him down the stairs.

As Hassan watched him go, a small smile tugged at his lips.

“Poor guy doesn’t even know he’s already falling.”

------'

The garden was bustling with voices, laughter, and light music, but Ruhi had quietly slipped away toward the side corridor of the house. She was looking for Alizey, but in her rush, she turned the corner too fast—only to bump straight into someone.

Her eyes widened in horror.

Rehan.

A paper cup in his hand tilted slightly, a few drops spilling near his wrist.

“I—I’m so sorry,” Ruhi whispered, eyes immediately lowered. She took a step back, her heart thudding.

For a second, she didn’t dare look up. Rehan had always been quiet… reserved. And a little strict too. He was older—five years older—and she’d often seen him scolding Wasi or Hooria in that same low, firm voice that made everyone fall silent.

She waited for that voice now. The scolding. The cold look. But it never came.

Instead, she heard the sound of a napkin being pulled.

And then, slowly, a hand reached out. A tissue appeared in front of her.

She blinked, confused.

“Don’t worry about it,” Rehan said softly. His voice—calm. Almost kind.

She slowly looked up and met his gaze.

His eyes weren’t cold. They were… quiet. Studying her, as if trying to say something he wasn’t used to expressing. Then, gently, he stepped aside to give her space.

“You’re not hurt, right?” he asked.

Ruhi shook her head. “N-no.”

He nodded once. “Okay. Go on.”

Still surprised, she stepped past him, glancing back once over her shoulder. He was already walking away, casually wiping the drops from his hand.

But her heart was still pounding—not from fear, but from something else. Something strange and new.

Because this wasn’t the Rehan she had seen before.

Maybe… just maybe… something in him was changing.

And when it came to her, his voice wasn’t firm. His eyes weren’t sharp. They softened. Gently. Silently.

And it scared her a little less each time.

------

Near the food counter, things were getting a little crowded. The aroma of grilled kebabs and creamy pasta had everyone drawn to the table. And right there—at the exact same time—Aaliyan and Alizey reached for the same bowl of chicken wings.

Their hands brushed.

"Hey!" Alizey narrowed her eyes. “Can’t you wait? You saw me reaching first.”

Aaliyan rolled his eyes, already holding a plate. “Please, I was standing here five seconds before you. It’s not my fault you walk like a snail.”

“Oh really?” she crossed her arms, tilting her head. “Funny how you always appear wherever food is involved. Stalking the biryani again?”

He smirked, picking up a wing with flair. “Biryani never betrays me, unlike certain drama queens I know.”

Alizey scoffed. “Keep talking, Mr. Hungry-Hippo. At least I don’t fight kids for the last chicken leg.”

Aaliyan leaned in slightly, lowering his voice with a teasing smirk. “Careful, Alizey. If you keep attacking me like this, people might start thinking you're obsessed.”

Her eyes widened. “In your dreams!”

He chuckled, clearly enjoying the chaos. “Every night.”

She gasped, lightly slapping his shoulder with her napkin. “You’re impossible!”

“And you,” he said, stepping aside with a mock bow, “are slow. Now excuse me while I actually get my food.”

As he walked off, Alizey glared at his back—but a small, involuntary smile tugged at her lips.

Every time they fought, it ended the same. With banter. With teasing. With him making her angry—and then making her smile.

She hated how he always got under her skin.

He hated how her laughter echoed in his head long after the conversation ended.

They were enemies when it came to food, and maybe even in general.

But somewhere between the teasing words and the silent glances… something was growing. Something neither of them wanted to name.

Not yet.

------

The party was still in full swing—music floating through the air, laughter echoing in soft bursts, and golden lights dancing across the garden lawn like tiny stars.

Zoya stepped out from the crowd, her dupatta slipping slightly off her shoulder as she walked toward the side veranda, holding a small glass of lemonade. The chatter was getting loud inside, and she just needed a quiet moment to breathe.

Behind her, unnoticed, Zain had been watching. Not staring—never in a way that would make her uncomfortable—but just… aware of her presence.

He followed a few steps behind, not because he planned it, but because his heart did.

She stood there by the wooden railing, her eyes fixed on the lights strung across the trees. Zain stopped a little distance away, unsure if he should say something. But then she turned slightly and saw him.

She didn’t speak, just smiled softly—the kind of smile that didn’t need words.

Zain walked closer, standing beside her now, leaving a respectable distance. “It’s quiet here.”

She nodded, still looking ahead. “Better than the noise.”

There was a pause. A beautiful, quiet pause. The kind that only happens when two people don’t feel the need to fill silence with small talk.

Zain glanced at her. “You seem... thoughtful.”

Zoya gave a faint laugh. “Maybe I am. Sometimes it feels like everything is moving fast.”

He looked at her, carefully. “And are you okay with that?”

She turned to meet his gaze—calm, steady, soft.

“I think so,” she said. “Some things are not meant to be understood all at once.”

Zain nodded slowly, his eyes still on her. “Some things… are meant to be felt. Quietly.”

Their eyes locked for a second longer this time. Just enough to say everything they couldn’t speak.

Zoya looked away first, a gentle blush creeping into her cheeks.

Zain didn’t press further. He never did. That was what she liked—how he never rushed her, never demanded anything. Just… stayed close.

“I’ll go check if Hassan’s looking for me,” he said softly, stepping back.

Zoya looked at him as he turned, and quietly said, “Zain…”

He paused, glancing back.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?” he asked gently.

“For always being there… even when I don’t say it.”

He smiled—a small, honest smile that reached his eyes. “You don’t have to. I know.”

And just like that, he walked back inside—leaving Zoya standing there, her heart full of unspoken things… and a strange kind of peace.

--------

As the evening buzzed with warmth and laughter, the grand lawn of Salman Villa was alive with family chatter, children’s giggles, and the occasional clink of tea cups. Under the soft fairy lights strung across the garden trees, Mr. Salman spotted one of his oldest friends standing alone near the entrance.

With a welcoming smile, he walked over and extended his hand.

“Ah, Naeem bhai! I was wondering when you’d arrive.”

Mr. Naeem turned with a cheerful nod, “You know how Lahore traffic is. But I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.”

Just then, a young man appeared beside them—tall, with a calm posture and a polite expression. Mr. Salman raised an eyebrow in curiosity as he looked at the boy.

Mr. Naeem gestured proudly, “This is Subhan—my son. Got a bit late with his university classes, but I wanted him to meet everyone.”

Mr. and Mrs. Naeem both looked at Subhan with fondness that only proud parents carry.

“Assalam-u-Alaikum, uncle,” Subhan greeted, extending his hand.

“Walaikum-assalam, beta,” Mr. Salman replied, shaking his hand with warmth. “It’s good to have you here.”

A few moments later, Mr. Salman led the Naeem family toward the main seating area where his own family and guests were gathered. He moved with ease among the groups, stopping beside Zoya and gently taking her hand in his.

“These are my daughters, Zoya and Ruhi. Zoya beta, meet Mr. and Mrs. Naeem… and their son, Subhan.”

Zoya smiled politely and greeted them with a soft salaam. Subhan responded with a respectful nod, his gaze briefly meeting hers before flickering away. He didn’t linger.

Ruhi and Aaliyan also stepped forward to greet the guests. Aaliyan, always the energetic one, gave Subhan a firm handshake and said, “C’mon bhai, the real fun is over there with us cousins. Let me show you around.”

Before Subhan could respond, Aaliyan had already grabbed his wrist and began tugging him away toward the group of younger guests gathered near the refreshments table.

But midway there—chaos.

They bumped into someone coming from the opposite side. A plastic bowl slipped from a pair of nervous hands and flipped, sending red chili sauce splattering down Subhan’s wrist and soaking into the sleeve of his crisp black kurta.

Startled, Subhan looked down at the mess, blinking.

“What the—?”

He looked up to scold the person—only to freeze.

In front of him stood a girl in a deep green frock, her curly hair bouncing slightly as she caught her lower lip between her teeth in guilty panic. A tissue clutched in her hand, her eyes wide. Mischievous… nervous… and oddly, beautiful.

“Zubia Aapi, what have you done?” Aaliyan groaned, stepping back with a laugh.

Zubia looked between Subhan’s stained sleeve and his stunned face. “I didn’t do it on purpose! You two weren’t looking—and neither was I—so technically, it’s everyone’s fault,” she said in a flustered rush, then quickly offered him the tissue she had.

“Here—clean it with this. I’m really sorry.”

Subhan took the tissue from her hand, trying not to smile but utterly failing. “It’s… alright,” he said softly, the corners of his lips twitching upward.

Without another word, Zubia grabbed Hooria by the wrist and dashed off like a kid caught in mischief, disappearing into the crowd of guests. Her laughter trailing behind her made Subhan chuckle to himself.

“She’s something,” he muttered under his breath.

Aaliyan grinned, nudging his arm. “Welcome to the madhouse.”

Subhan smiled wider, looking down at the sauce-stained tissue in his hand—his introduction to Salman Villa couldn’t have been more unforgettable.

---
The soft murmur of conversations and the distant hum of laughter continued to flow through the halls of Salman Villa. Children ran around the house playing tag, and older guests moved in and out of the main sitting room, balancing cups of tea and plates of snacks.

But amidst it all, Zain stood quietly near the inner corridor, half-hidden behind one of the ornate wooden pillars of the central hall. His face unreadable. Hands tucked into the pockets of his white kurta pajama. He wasn't avoiding anyone—he just didn't feel like being seen.

His eyes, though… they betrayed him.

They were locked onto one thing. One person.

Across the room, he saw her.

Zoya stood beside her father, Mr. Salman, looking graceful and calm in her simple peach dress. Her hair softly curled at the ends, her dupatta draped casually yet neatly across one shoulder. He watched as Mr. Salman gently took her hand and introducing her to his friend and his family.

Zain’s eyebrows narrowed slightly. He already knew who they were—Mr. and Mrs. Naeem.

And then, he saw him.

That new guy. Subhan. Their only son.

Zain didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

He watched as Mr. Salman introduced Zoya to the Naeem family, her hand still resting in her father's, her voice polite and poised as she greeted them.

Zain couldn’t hear the words from this distance. But he didn’t need to.

It was just an introduction. That’s all.

Still… something stirred in his chest.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes darkening for a moment. He didn’t like it.

Not the way Zoya stood there looking so calm. Not the way Subhan nodded and looked at her, even if just briefly. Not the way her father’s voice, proud and affectionate, made that moment feel like something more than casual.

It wasn’t jealousy exactly—Zain didn’t allow himself that luxury.

It was… discomfort.

He looked down at the floor, then took a long breath, steadying himself.

“Get a grip,” he muttered under his breath.

From behind him, Hassan’s voice rang out from across the corridor, teasing as always: “Found a nice wall to sulk with?”

Zain didn't answer. He simply glanced at him.

Hassan walked over and followed Zain’s gaze for a second, then smirked knowingly. “Ah. So that’s what it is. The great Zain Ahmed, being replaced in slow motion.”

Zain gave him a hard look.

“She’s just meeting people. Don’t overthink,” Zain said coldly, turning away from the scene.

But Hassan wasn’t fooled. “Right. And I wear pink to weddings.”

He laughed and slapped a hand on Zain’s shoulder. “Feel what you feel, bro. You can’t fool me. Just don’t wait too long before you admit it to yourself.”

Zain didn’t respond. Instead, he looked one last time toward her.

She was smiling politely, her eyes kind and soft as always, and just for a second… she turned and glanced around. Their eyes met. Just for a heartbeat.

And then she looked away.

But that was enough.

Zain stood there in silence, knowing what he felt—but still not ready to say it out loud.

--------

The party had finally ended, but inside Salman Villa, the celebration still lingered in the air like the soft scent of roses from the garden. It was nearly 1 a.m., yet no one looked tired. The cousins were sitting on floor cushions and sofas, still laughing over inside jokes, while the three brothers—Mr. Salman, Mr. Hameed, and Mr. Ahmad—sat with their wives and their mother, all gathered in the large, cozy hall.

Plates of snacks lay scattered on the table—half-eaten samosas, dry fruits, and the last remains of a fruit trifle someone couldn’t resist. The teacups were being refilled again and again as the mood remained light, happy, and full of warmth.

Just then, Mrs. Salman gently cleared her throat. Her voice was soft, but firm enough to silence the room.

Everyone turned to her, sensing she had something to say.

She exchanged a quick glance with Mr. Salman, who gave a subtle nod.

"There’s something we need to share," she began, her tone serious but smiling.

The chatter faded. Even the youngest cousins sat up straight.

"Mrs. Saeed is coming to visit us tomorrow," she said calmly.

A pause.

"She’s bringing a proposal… for Noor-ul-Ain."

Gasps and surprised smiles broke the silence. Noor-ul-Ain, Mr. Ahmad's graceful elder daughter, looked stunned.

"A proposal?" someone echoed softly from the cousins’ corner.

Mrs. Salman nodded again. "Yes. She has seen Noor a few times during family gatherings and she likes her. She wants to come with her son’s proposal formally."

Noor’s cheeks flushed as all eyes turned toward her. She lowered her gaze, trying to hide the soft smile that tugged at her lips, her fingers nervously playing with the edge of her dupatta.

The room buzzed again, this time with excitement. Zoya quickly leaned forward to hug her cousin, whispering something into her ear that made Noor giggle. Even Zain, seated beside Hassan, raised his brows in surprise and smiled gently at his sister.

Mrs. Ahmad placed her hand over Noor’s lovingly. "It’s just a visit, beta. Nothing will be forced. Only if you’re comfortable."

Noor nodded silently, her heart fluttering. Somewhere inside, the seed of a new journey had just been planted.

And the night continued—full of dreams, warmth, and the quiet beginning of something beautiful.

-------

The celebration was finally winding down. After the last cup of tea and a round of laughter, the cousins slowly made their way to their rooms. Zain and Hassan climbed the stairs together, their footsteps light from the joy still lingering in the air.

As they entered their shared room, Zain loosened the collar of his kurta and threw himself onto the bed with a sigh.

"What a day..." he muttered, resting one arm over his forehead.

Hassan grinned, shutting the door behind them and stretching his arms.

"I know right? But the biggest twist came at the end!" he said, plopping down on the chair near the desk.

Zain looked at him sideways. "You mean the proposal for Noor?"

Hassan nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly! Noor baji… shaadi… wow. Feels like we’re all growing up too fast."

Zain gave a small smile, eyes staring at the ceiling thoughtfully.

"She seemed nervous, but happy."

"She’s always been the graceful one," Hassan replied. Then, with a teasing glint in his eye, he added, "Unlike some people who still can’t accept what’s written all over their faces."

Zain turned his head, raising an eyebrow. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Hassan leaned forward dramatically. "You. And Zoya."

Zain instantly sat up. "Hassan…"

"What? I didn’t say anything!" Hassan laughed, holding up his hands. "But bro, you really think no one notices the way your eyes find her in a room full of people?"

Zain looked away, a faint red creeping up his ears.

"It’s not like that. I just... I care for her. She’s always been around... it’s natural."

Hassan stood, walking over to him and placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Zain, caring is one thing. But what you feel… it’s more than that. And that’s okay. You don’t have to fight it."

Zain didn’t reply immediately. He just looked down, thoughtful. Then whispered almost to himself:

"I don’t even know when it all changed."

Hassan smiled gently. "That’s how love works. It doesn’t knock. It just enters quietly and starts making a home inside you."

There was a silence, soft and honest. Hassan gave him a playful nudge.

"Just don’t take too long, or someone else might start noticing her the way you do."

Zain shot him a look, but his chest tightened at those words. His mind went back to earlier… Subhan’s presence, the way Mr. Salman introduced him to Zoya… and something within Zain had shifted.

He leaned back again with a deeper sigh.

"I don’t know what this is, but it feels like... if I don’t do something soon, I’ll lose something I never admitted I had."

Hassan patted his shoulder. "Then don’t wait for fate to spell it out. Sometimes, the heart knows before the mind does."

And with that, he turned away, leaving Zain to sit quietly with the truth slowly blooming inside him.