Chapter 20 is up on stck

•••

"Eifa, jaldi se humare hair style kar dein, hume Khala ke sath jana hai!"

(Eifa, quickly do my hairstyle, I have to go with Khala!)

The door to the room burst open, and in rushed Sharfa, her voice carrying urgency as she plopped down on the floor beside Eifa's bed without waiting for an invitation. Her long honey-brown hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, gleaming under the warm bedroom light.

Eifa, momentarily taken aback by the sudden intrusion, blinked at her before sighing and setting her phone aside. Without a word, she reached for the hairbrush Sharfa had brought along.

As she ran the brush through the silky strands, she couldn't help but admire the smoothness of her cousin's hair. "Tumhare baal bohot achhe hain, Momo." she murmured, her fingers gliding effortlessly through the waves.

(You have really nice hair, Momo.)

"Tum na, steps mein haircut karwalo, suit karega tum par," Eifa suggested as she carefully styled her hair.

(You should get a step haircut. It'll suit you.)

"No!" Sharfa turned so abruptly that a few strands slipped from Eifa's fingers. She looked as if Eifa had just committed an unforgivable offense.

Eifa lightly tapped her head. "Seedhe baitho," she instructed, shaking her head at Sharfa's dramatics. With a pout, Sharfa obeyed, sitting straight again.

(Sit straight.)

It was strange-Sharfa, the one who always had something to say, now sat quietly, letting Eifa style her hair without a single unnecessary comment.

Finally, when Eifa was done, she handed her a mirror. "Lo, ho gaya."

(There, it's done.)

Sharfa tilted the mirror slightly, inspecting her reflection with quiet curiosity. Eifa had woven a delicate braid from the front, its intricate pattern framing the crown of her head before seamlessly merging into the rest of her hair. The rest of her long, wavy locks cascaded down her back in soft, honey-brown waves untouched and free.

A few rebellious strands had slipped loose, curling gently around her face, brushing against her cheeks. She reached up, tucking one of the loose strands behind her ear, only for it to slip forward again. A small smile tugged at her lips, "Long hair achhe lagte haina?" She asked as if seeking validation.

(Long hair looks nice, right?)

Eifa, nodding absentmindedly, agreed. "Haan, yeh toh hai." After Eifa, Sharfa had the longest hair in the family, reaching past her waist. And they did suit her.

(Yeah, that's true.)

But what Eifa failed to notice was the subtle sparkle in Sharfa's eyes-the kind that appeared when one holds on to a secret too dear to be shared.

Long hair had never been Sharfa's preference.

This fondness wasn't hers. It belonged to someone else. Someone whose every like and dislike was slowly becoming hers. Someone whose attention remained beyond her grasp.

•••

Kaif and Ayla were going to give wedding cards, and Sharfa was also going with them when she heard that they would be visiting Hamna Nani's house as well.

Now, sitting in the Baig Haveli lounge, her gaze darted around, restless and uncertain. Hamna, Kazim, Zinnirah, Kaif, and Ayla were in conversation, unaware of the quiet turmoil in their midst.

The warm glow of the evening sun bathed Baig Haveli in golden hues, its old stone walls now illuminated by the soft flicker of lanterns.

"Nani, hum bahar jaye?" Unable to hold back her impatience, Sharfa finally spoke up, glancing toward the door.

(Nani, can I go outside?)

"Haan, jao," Hamna granted permission without a second thought.

(Yes, go.)

"Momo, bahar mat jana, ghar mein hi rehna," Kazim interjected. He knew a city girl like Sharfa wouldn't be familiar with village ways, and her jeans and oversized t-shirt would only invite unnecessary stares from the locals.

(Momo, don't go outside, stay at home.)

"Okay," Sharfa mumbled distractedly, already pulling out her phone. She started typing a message to Aliyar, ready to tease him she was at his grandmother's house.

But before she could hit send, she collided hard into someone entering through the front door.

A sharp gasp left her lips. The impact sent a few strands of her wavy hair tumbling forward, falling across her face as she stumbled. Her phone slipped from her grasp, crashing to the ground. She would've fallen too-but before she could, strong hands gripped her waist, steadying her in place.

Deep blue eyes met intense green ones.

For a fleeting second, everything else faded. One gaze held an unspoken thrill, the other, impatience.

Before she could register anything more, he straightened her up, his grip firm but fleeting, and he stepped back, his hands dropping away as if he had touched something forbidden.

As soon as he let go, her hair swayed with the sudden motion, the long wavy locks cascading down her back once again. Some stray strands lifted slightly in the breeze before settling over her shoulders, still wild from the momentary chaos.

"Dekh ke chala karo," he muttered gruffly before walking past her without a second glance.

(Be careful while walking.)

Sharfa remained frozen in place, staring at his retreating figure.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, her mind clouded by the unfamiliar sensation blooming in her chest. This was new. This restlessness, this flutter, this feeling of being caught between a childish crush and something deeper.

Maybe it was her age-that fragile stage where fleeting infatuations could turn into something more without warning.

Maybe it was just him. Issam Baig.

The boy, who was once just her brother's best friend, had somehow become someone more.

Sharfa bent down to pick up her phone and followed him back into the lounge, slipping into the seat beside Ayla. But her focus wasn't on the conversation-it was on Issam, who was casually talking to others as if nothing had happened.

Not once did he look at her.

They had grown up together. She had watched Shahnan and Issam's friendship evolve over the years. Yet, now, he sat there as if she was just another face in the room, a stranger.

He had always been like that, never paying much attention to her.

"Bohot kaam karne lage ho tum toh," Kaif remarked approvingly when he learned that Issam had just come back from the fields.

(You're doing a lot of work these days.)

They had expected someone who had lived abroad to carry a certain distance from village life, but Issam blended in effortlessly. Dressed in a simple brown kurta pyjama, the fabric was slightly wrinkled from a long day. He carried himself with an ease that made him look every bit a part of Baig Haveli.

His jet-black hair, silver lining from pre mature grays, slightly damp from the evening wash, fell in careless disarray over his forehead, a few strands curling at the ends. The golden glow of the lanterns softened the sharp angles of his face, casting subtle shadows over his sharp cheekbones and the firm set of his jaw.

With the sleeves of his kurta pushed up to his forearms, revealing sun-kissed skin, he looked nothing like someone who had spent most of his life in America. Instead, he blended seamlessly into the very essence of Baig Haveli-rooted, effortless, and entirely at home.

"Bada ho gaya hai ab Issam," Zinnirah said with pride.

(Issam has grown up now.)

Ayla smiled, sensing an opportunity. "Bade ho gaye hain tab toh inke liye bhi ab larki dekh leni chahiye, kyu?" she teased, making Issam visibly uncomfortable.

(Since he has grown up, we should start looking for a girl for him, right?)

Sharfa's ears perked up. Her fingers curled into the hem of her shirt, her stomach twisting.

"Main bhi bhabhi se yahi kehti hoon, iske liye ab larki dekh leni chahiye," Hamna chimed in.

(I tell Bhabhi the same thing. We should find a girl for him now.)

"Dadi, please," Issam mumbled, clearly embarrassed.

But Kaif instigated the matter. "Aap log sari planning khud na karo, kya pata usne pehle se koi pasand ki ho."

(Don't do all the planning by yourselves. What if he already likes someone?)

Sharfa's breath hitched. She glanced at Issam, waiting-hoping-for some kind of reaction.

"Batao, Issam, koi pasand hai tumhe?" Zinnirah pressed.

(Tell us, Issam, do you like someone?)

Sharfa's leg bounced restlessly, an unconscious response to the anxiety curling inside her. As she puts her hair strands behind her ear.

"Aisi koi baat nahi hai," Issam answered firmly, his discomfort evident.

(There's nothing like that.)

Sharfa exhaled, but she couldn't tell if it was relief or something else.

But Zinnirah had turned serious, her voice gentler but no less determined. "Phir tum apni pasand bata do mujhe. Tumhare liye main yahi ki koi larki pasand karungi. Tum phir yahi rehna."

(Then tell me your preference. I'll find a girl for you from here, and you will stay here then.)

After losing her husband, Zinnirah only had Basim and his children left. But Basim lived abroad, tied up in his work, and she never pressured him to return. Issam, however, came back every vacation of his own accord. She wanted him to stay forever.

Sharfa watched Issam's reaction closely, but his expression remained carefully neutral.

Her heart, however, was not.

Because if there was even the smallest chance of someone being Issam's choice, she wanted it to be her.

"Dadi, main toh abhi parhai kar raha hoon." Issam attempted to deflect, his voice casual as he leaned back slightly, but his words did little to shift the attention away from him.

(Dadi, I'm still studying.)

Then, almost instinctively, his gaze flickered toward Sharfa.

She was already looking at him.

There was something unguarded in her expression, something that made his grip on his own indifference falter for just a second. His features hardened almost immediately, his jaw setting in place, the easy nonchalance from earlier disappearing like a wisp of smoke.

"Lekin mujhe apki pasand se koi issue nahi hoga." Issam's voice was steady as he spoke to Zinnirah. But his words weren't meant for her alone.

(But I won't have any issue with your choice.)

Because even as he addressed his grandmother, his gaze didn't quite settle on her. It flickered, just for a fraction of a second, toward someone else.

Someone who sat unnaturally still, her fingers tightening into a fist, her eyes locked onto his as if searching for something in the words he had just spoken. "Haan, bas woh khas honi chahiye." A round of laughter followed his words, light and teasing, echoing off the old stone walls of Baig Haveli. Even Zinnirah, who had been the most serious about the matter, chuckled in amusement.

(Yes, she should be special.)

But amidst the laughter, Sharfa sat perfectly still.

She hadn't laughed.

Khas? What did that even mean?

•••

"Woh khas honi chahiye." Issam's words echoed in Sharfa's mind as she found herself standing unconsciously in front of the mirror.

(She should be special.)

She stands in front of the mirror every day, getting ready, but never before had she looked at herself with such scrutiny. Today, she was really seeing herself.

Her reflection stared back at her.

Woh aam thi-there was nothing special about her. Sharfa's eyes met her own in the mirror. Azure blue eyes. In India, they might have been considered unique, but she was American; there, these eyes were nothing out of the ordinary. If her eyes had been like Shahnan's, then perhaps there'd be something to talk about.

She ran her fingers through her hair. Her wavy, brown locks reaching her waist were soft, but again, there was nothing extraordinary about them. Kulsoom's hair had the same soft waves, and Azrin's hair shared the same shade of brown.

Sharfa then considered her height. Surely, someone as tall and broad as Issam would want a life partner who could stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder. But when it came to height, Sharfa had taken after her mother-she was short. If only her height were like Eifa's.

She then glanced sideways at her figure. Once again, there was nothing special. She was slightly plump.

Issam's words surfaced again, Woh khas honi chahiye, and with them, tears welled up in her eyes. She was so ordinary, she could never be Issam's choice.

Issam's words left a deep imprint on a heart that was still innocent, still unguarded.

•••

The soft golden fairy lights flickered to life against the grand walls of Khan Haveli, casting a warm glow over the sprawling estate. After years, wedding festivities had returned to the haveli, breathing life into its old walls. Laughter, the scent of fresh flowers, and the rhythmic beat of dholki songs filled the air, creating an atmosphere of joy.

Yet, beneath all that light, one person sat in shadows-detached from the happiness that surrounded him.

Tonight was not just the Mayoon but also the Mehendi ceremony. Traditionally, the two events were separate, but with everything happening so quickly, the family had decided to merge them into one grand celebration. With Zarrar's health being a growing concern, extravagant and prolonged festivities seemed unnecessary.

Kian, however, remained unimpressed.

He had initially thought Mayoon was meant only for the bride, but his resistance hadn't lasted long.

Ehan and a few of his friends had stormed into his room, and without waiting for his protests, they had hoisted him onto their shoulders, parading him out into the aangan like a victorious warrior-except he was anything but. The uproar of laughter that followed was deafening, much to his dismay.

Now, seated at the centre of the beautifully decorated aangan, Kian fisted tightly. The ceremony, meant to be a joyous tradition, felt more like a public spectacle to him. His glare deepened when someone smeared a streak of yellow paste across his cheek, making the crowd erupt into laughter.

Across the aangan, the women had their hands adorned with intricate henna designs.

•••

Eifa stepped into the aangan. Dressed in a deep green churidaar, the fabric clinging gracefully to her frame, she moved with an elegance, a silver tray of laddoos balanced in her hands. Her dupatta, an array of vibrant colors, cascaded over her shoulders, the sheer fabric shifting with each delicate step.

Her long black hair was woven into a simple braid, loose strands framing her face in soft waves. But it was her hazel eyes-lined with kohl, deep and luminous-that held an unspoken intensity, capturing fleeting glances without even trying.

She was focused on the tray in her hands, carefully weaving her way through the bustling courtyard, oblivious to the fact that a part of her dupatta trailed along the floor. The soft jingling of her bangles blended into the festive sounds around her, but then-she felt a slight tug.

Frowning, she turned, her brows knitting together in confusion, only to find Shahnan standing behind her, one end of her dupatta loosely caught between his fingers.

A small smile played on his lips.

Eifa narrowed her eyes. She gave her dupatta a firm tug, attempting to free it from his grasp, but Shahnan didn't let go. His grip was light yet unyielding.

"Chorho," she demanded, her voice quiet but firm.

(Let go,)

Instead of releasing it, Shahnan took a deliberate step closer, the warmth of his presence now brushing against her. "Agar aap khud se beparwah rahengi, toh mujhe hi dhyan rakhna hoga," he said, amusement flickering in his gaze. Then, without waiting for her response, he gently lifted her dupatta and draped it securely over her other shoulder, ensuring it no longer touched the ground.

(If you don't take care of yourself, then I'll have to take care of you.)

Eifa said nothing. Instead, she turned away, ready to walk off, but she had barely taken a step when he called her.

"Eifa, suniye..." She paused. Before she could fully turn back, Shahnan was already in front of her, blocking her path.

(Eifa, listen...)

Before she could protest, he smoothly took the tray from her hands and placed it on a nearby table. Then, without hesitation, he grasped her wrist and led her a few steps away from the crowd, toward the staircase, where the noise of the celebration faded just a little.

"Shahnan, yeh kya hai." Eifa's voice was edged with irritation. The urge to slap him right there burned in her veins, but before she could act on it, Shahnan silenced her-not with words, but with a simple gesture.

(What's this, Shahnan.)

From the pocket of his deep green kurta, he pulled out a delicate rosebud, its petals still fresh, as if plucked just moments ago.

"I'm sorry." His voice was softer now, almost hesitant.

Eifa, who had been brimming with anger, found herself momentarily stunned.

"Apke sath mera behaviour achha nahi tha kuch dino se," he admitted, watching her expression carefully.

(I have been mistreating for the past few days.)

Eifa blinked, still processing this unexpected shift. Since when did this boy start making sense?

"I'm sorry for that," he continued. "Main abse apko pareshaan nahi karunga."

(I won't bother you anymore.)

His sincerity made something in her waver. For the first time in days, he didn't seem like the stubborn, infuriating Shahnan she had come to expect. Instead, he looked like the boy she had always known and adored.

"Chalo, shukar hai tumhare dimagh se pyar ka bhoot utar gaya," she said lightly, taking the rosebud from his hand, signaling her forgiveness. Whatever their differences, their bond had always been different, and she didn't want to ruin it.

(Finally, the love obsession is out of your head.)

But her victory was short-lived.

"Maine aisa kab kaha?"

(When did I ever say that?)

Her smile faltered as she looked up, only to find Shahnan's deep gaze locked onto hers.

"I'm ashamed of my actions," he said, voice steady, "lekin maine aisa toh nahi kaha ke main pyar nahi karta."

(but I never said that I don't love you.)

Her fingers tightened around the rose.

"Pyar main apse hi karta hoon," Shahnan continued, his voice firm, certain. "Shaadi bhi apse karunga... lekin tab, jab aap mujhe apne kabil samjhengi."

(I love you,)

(And I'll marry you too... but only when you consider me worthy.)

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving Eifa standing there, staring after him.

What kind of boy was this?

Eifa didn't get the chance to dwell on Shahnan's words for long. The storm he had left behind in her mind was still raging, but before she could make sense of it, another force pulled her back into the chaos of the wedding.

"Yaar, Eifa, you're unbelievable." Ehan's voice cut through her daze, bringing her back to reality. "Waha sabne dance shuru kar diya aur meri partner yaha hai."

(Everyone over there has started dancing, and my partner is here.)

Before she could protest, he had already taken her hand, ready to pull her toward the celebration. But then, his eyes landed on the delicate rosebud still cradled in her fingers.

His brow lifted in curiosity. "Isko aise hi liye rahogi kya. Lagalo na."

(Are you going to keep holding it like this? Just put it on.)

Ehan knew how she loves adorning her hair with flowers during Eid and other special occasions. Seeing the rose in her hand, he simply assumed she had picked it for the same reason. Without waiting for her response, he plucked it from her grasp and carefully tucked it into her hair.

Eifa barely reacted. Her mind was still tangled in thoughts of Shahnan, of the weight of his words, of the unsettling certainty in his voice.

"Ab chalo," Ehan said, lacing his fingers through hers as he pulled her toward the aangan, where music and laughter filled the air. Everything was loud, vibrant, alive.

(Now come on.)

And yet, inside her, a different kind of noise raged-one that had nothing to do with music or laughter.

She let out a slow breath, pushing away the lingering thoughts and shaking her head slightly as if to rid herself of the invisible heaviness pressing on her chest. Then, with a small smile, she clapped her hands together, this time with genuine energy.

She wasn't a dancer, but that didn't matter. The happiness around her was infectious, and she allowed herself to enjoy it, just like everyone else.

The music swelled, and the lyrics rang through the air:

"Sohni kitti soni aaj tu lagdi ve..."

Someone from the crowd had pulled Shahnan into the dance. Caught off guard, he stumbled slightly. And in the next moment, he bumped right into her.

It was a fleeting touch, barely more than a brush of shoulders, but it was enough to make her freeze.

"Bas mere sath yeh jodi teri sajdi ve..."

Shahnan looked at her.

Eifa's joy flickered, disappearing as quickly as it had come.

For a heartbeat, everything else faded. The music, the laughter, and the celebration, it all blurred into the background as she found herself caught in his gaze.

Before he could say anything, she stepped back, breaking the spell, breaking the moment, and disappeared into the crowd.

The music had barely shifted to the next song when, without a warning, heavy drops splashed onto the warm ground.

For a moment, there was only stunned silence.

"Barish?" Someone exclaimed.

(Rain?)

Chaos erupted.

The beautifully decorated aangan, filled with laughter just moments ago, turned into a scene of hurried movements as guests scrambled to find shelter. The girls, especially, rushed to save their clothes, lifting their embellished dresses and holding dupattas over their heads in a desperate attempt to shield themselves. The vibrant cushions and food trays were quickly abandoned as everyone dashed toward the corridors and verandas, leaving the once-lively space nearly empty.

Eifa stood under the veranda, pressing herself against a pillar as she wrung out the ends of her dupatta. The scent of water mixed with lingering turmeric in the air, but something else caught her attention...

The water running down wasn't rainwater. It was tinted yellow.

A horrified gasp came from one of the guests. "Barish... haldi wali hai?"

(Rain... is it turmeric?)

"Momo!" All heads turned toward Ayat, who stood near the entrance, arms crossed, her piercing gaze searching the crowd.

The culprit didn't take long to reveal herself.

Behind Hanan's towering figure, a tiny face peeked out. Sharfa, her guilty eyes darting between her mother and the yellow-streaked rainwater.

"Humne nahi kiya." She declared, her voice slightly too high-pitched to be believable. But the mischievous glint in her eyes gave her away.

(I didn't do it.)

Hanan sighed, glancing down at his daughter, who had all but glued herself to his side. "Momo," he said in a warning tone, though amusement was barely concealed in his voice.

Sharfa, knowing her father was her safest shield, clutched his kurta tighter. "Dad, seriously, humne sirf idea diya tha, baki kaam Nomi aur Kullu ne kiya." she said, blinking innocently.

(Dad, seriously, I only gave the idea, the rest of the work was done by Nomi and Kullu.)

A collective gasp rippled through the gathering as Nomi and Kulsoom-previously unnoticed-suddenly found themselves under everyone's scrutiny.

So, this wasn't just an unexpected downpour. This was a well-planned mischief.

Momo, Nomi, and Kulsoom had orchestrated the perfect moment to unleash their prank, ensuring the water mixed with haldi so that everyone would be drenched in it.

Ayat narrowed her eyes. "Bohot achha idea tha na." she asked, stepping forward.

(It was a great idea, wasn't it?)

Momo scratches her ear. "Achha tha toh waise. Aur humne toh kaha tha elders chale jaye tab karenge... par yeh Nomi, yeh sunte nahi hain." Sharfa pointed at Nomi, whose eyes widened in shock. "Inhone abhi kar diya on. Beizzati kharab kardi humari."

(Yeah, it was a great idea. And I had planned to do it after the elders left... but this Nomi, he never listens.)

(He turned it on now. He totally ruined my embarrassment.)

Nomi was already dodging Azlan's deadly glare, and now he had Momo framing him. Panic set in, and his gaze darted around, searching for safety.

Rubab!

Without hesitation, he edged closer to her, practically trying to blend into her shadow. Meanwhile, Kulsoom realized she was next and she took the smarter route and slipped behind Kazim and Hamna, hoping their presence would shield her.

Amidst scolding, Hanan shook his head and crouched slightly to Momo's level. "Achha kiya, aise sabko ek sath haldi lag gayi." he reasoned with a light chuckle.

(It's good though, everyone got haldi at once.)

Ayat's head snapped toward him. "Masha'Allah, beti ulte seedhe prank karti hain aur baap unhe defend karte hain." She was upset about Kian's function being ruined.

(Masha'Allah, the daughter plays crazy pranks, and the father defends her.)

Hanan smirked, utterly unbothered. "Beti kiski hai."

(Who's daughter she is.)

Ayat opened her mouth to argue, but before she could, Ayla, standing nearby, shaking water from her sleeves, interrupted. "Aap bhi zyada mat dato, sirf Hanan ki hi nahi, apki bhi beti hai." She grinned at Sharfa. "Aur yeh Chota Hanan toh ghar ki rounak hai. Issi bahane sabko haldi lag gayi."

(Don't scold her too much, she's not just Hanan's daughter, she's yours too.)

(And this little Hanan is the life of this house. At least everyone got haldi because of this.)

Now that the "rain" had stopped, probably because the haldi-infused water had finally run out.

"Mujhe toh yeh batao tum log ne yeh kiya kaise," Kabir asked, clearly impressed. Ehan made a face.

(Tell me, how did you all even pull this off?)

If it had been him pulling such a stunt, his father wouldn't have been amused. Instead of being impressed, Kabir would have scolded him right there in front of the guests without a second thought.

"Woh, humne na..." Nomi was just about to spill the details when he caught sight of Shyra's sharp glare. She had also discreetly elbowed Kabir, silently warning him not to encourage the kids any further.

(Well, we....)

Sharfa, wisely, stayed quiet, still half-hidden behind her father. But the small, victorious smile she hid did not go unnoticed.

If nothing else, Sharfa had certainly made Kian's function unforgettable. And as for the storm raging within her, she had tamed it long ago.

She was not someone who stayed serious for too long. She remembered things, but she never let them weigh her down. Even Issam's words hadn't left a mark on her. But for how long...

•••

Jab Aangan mein Shahzain ki entry hui thi, toh mujhe kuch logo ne kaha tha ki agar Khushi aunty na hoti toh Shahzain aur Nigaar ki story achhi banti (👉🏻👈🏻)

Phir Rubab ki shadi ke time kisine kaha ki Shahzain aur Saleha ka bhi couple ban sakta tha (😶) Aur main soch rahi thi, agar sharar na hoti, toh Shahzain kitne logo ke sath ship hota ab tak? 🤣

Jaise abhi Momo hoti hai🤭 (Shahzain ki poti haina.) Lekin aap log kaise bhool gaye Momo beti kiski hai, aur uska bhai kon hai? Aise kaise usne pehle se kisi ko na kiya ho pasand 🌚

Khair, how's the update? Do vote and comment

-Ufaq