The faint scent of jasmine candles lingered in the air of Zaina Khan's room. She sat cross-legged on her bed, her sketchbook sprawled open on her lap. Lines flowed from her pencil onto the page, forming the outline of a kurti with intricate floral embroidery. A flicker of excitement passed through her as she shaded the fabric details, but it faded quickly, replaced by the familiar whisper of doubt.

What's the point, anyway? she thought, staring at the sketch. I'll never actually make it.

Her fingers tightened around the pencil as she bit her lip. She glanced up at the photos on her wall—snapshots of her family smiling and celebrating their lives. Her mother, Zainab Khan, a world-renowned designer, posed in one picture with a model wearing her latest creation. Her father, Akbar Khan, stood in another, shaking hands with dignitaries at an international trade summit. Even her older brother Abbas seemed larger than life, flashing his charismatic grin alongside his stunning wife, Zehra, who had defied societal norms with her scarred beauty.

And then there was her. Zaina Khan: the shadow. The afterthought.

Downstairs, the sound of laughter and clinking dishes filtered through the closed door. Her father was cooking again—he always made her favorite dishes on her birthday. She heard Abbas's booming voice teasing Zehra and their mother's light laughter following his words.

It was a home filled with love and warmth, but Zaina felt like a stranger within it.

Azaan Khan was never one to sit still for long.

The dull thud of gloves hitting pads echoed in the gym as Azaan threw punch after punch. He bounced on his feet, light and agile, dodging and weaving as his sparring partner struggled to keep up.

"Take it easy on me, man," his friend groaned, dropping his hands.

Azaan laughed, pulling off his gloves. "Easy? Where's the fun in that?"

They exchanged a few more jabs—this time verbal—before Azaan grabbed his water bottle and sat on the edge of the ring. His phone buzzed beside him. A text from his mother:

Don't forget Zaina's birthday today. Be here by 6.

He smirked, shaking his head. His parents adored the Khans, and Zaina had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember. Though she was three years younger, their families' close ties meant they had practically grown up together.

To anyone else, Zaina was shy, reserved, and painfully unsure of herself. To Azaan, she was a constant challenge—a mystery wrapped in sarcasm and awkward charm. He enjoyed pushing her buttons, seeing her eyes flash with defiance whenever he teased her.

As he packed up and left the gym, he thought about her. The quiet girl with more to her than she let on.

The birthday celebration was small but vibrant.

The Khan family dining room was decorated with pastel balloons and fairy lights, casting a soft glow over the table laden with food. Akbar Khan stood proudly behind a massive platter of biryani, while Abbas hovered near the dessert station, stealing bites of kheer whenever his mother wasn't looking.

Zaina entered the room quietly, her long hair loose around her shoulders. She wore a peach-colored salwar kameez her mother had designed, its subtle elegance contrasting with her hesitance.

"Finally!" Abbas called out, breaking into applause. "The birthday queen has arrived."

Zehra joined in, clapping and laughing, while Zaina ducked her head, her cheeks warming. Her father stepped forward, holding out a plate of freshly fried samosas.

"For my favorite child," he declared, making Abbas feign outrage.

Zaina's lips curved into a small smile as she accepted the plate. Moments like these—where her family's love surrounded her—were the only times she felt safe.

And then Azaan walked in.

"Late as always," Abbas teased, clapping him on the back.

Azaan shrugged, holding up a small velvet box. "Fashionably late. But I come bearing gifts."

He approached Zaina and opened the box to reveal a set of delicate glass bangles, each one etched with intricate patterns.

"Happy birthday, Zaina," he said, his voice unusually soft.

Zaina blinked, surprised. She hadn't expected him to remember something so specific—she had once admired similar bangles at a market stall weeks ago, but she hadn't thought he'd noticed.

"Thanks," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Azaan leaned in, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "You're welcome. Try not to break them in the first five minutes."

Her lips twitched in spite of herself. "And you try not to ruin my birthday with your terrible jokes."

Their banter drew smiles from the others, but Zaina's momentary lightness faded quickly. She felt her phone vibrate in her pocket and slipped away to check it.

The world seemed to tilt as she listened to the voice on the other end of the line.

Zaina stood in the hallway, her hand gripping the phone so tightly her knuckles turned white.

"Don't make this dramatic, Zaina," her boyfriend's voice drawled, laced with annoyance. "You know you're not exactly... a catch. I've been patient with you for years. You should be grateful."

Her chest tightened as she struggled to process his words. There was laughter in the background—another woman's voice, soft and teasing.

"How long?" she managed to choke out.

"Does it matter? You're so insecure, it's exhausting. No one's going to put up with you like I did. You're lucky I stayed this long."

Her vision blurred with tears, but she refused to let them fall. She ended the call without another word and stood frozen in the hallway, the noise of the party muffled behind her.

Zaina reentered the dining room, her movements mechanical. Her family's laughter and chatter felt distant, like a scene in a movie she wasn't a part of.

Azaan noticed immediately. He stepped closer, his brows furrowing. "Hey. You okay?"

Zaina looked up at him, her vision clearing just enough to see the concern in his eyes. Her heart ached, and before she could stop herself, the words tumbled out.

"Marry me."

The room fell silent. All eyes turned to her, but Zaina only saw Azaan, whose expression shifted from shock to something unreadable.

"What?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Marry me," she repeated, her voice steadier this time. "I—I need to prove that I'm not what he said I am. That I'm not... useless."

Azaan's jaw clenched. For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze locked on hers. Then, a slow smile spread across his face, one that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Well," he said, his voice light, "I always knew you couldn't resist me."

The tension in the room broke with a nervous laugh from Abbas, but Zaina barely noticed. She felt Azaan's hand on her shoulder—steady, grounding.

"I'll marry you," he said simply. "But only if you promise me one thing."

Zaina blinked, confused. "What?"

"That you'll stop believing anyone who says you're not enough," he said, his voice soft but firm.

For the first time in years, Zaina felt something unfamiliar. Not love, not yet. But hope.