Before you start reading the first chapter, I want to introduce you to the characters so you don't get confused:

Salaar's Family:

Salaar's father's name is Zakir. (For now, that's his only family.)

Ayesha's Family:

Ayesha's grandmother is named Khatija. She has two sons: the eldest, Ayesha's father, Hussain, and another son, Ahmed.Hussain's wife is named Asma. Their children are Samira (the eldest daughter) and Ayesha.Ahmed's wife is named Sufiya. Their children are Ameena (the eldest) and Sasha.

Omar's Family:

Omar is Samira's cousin and soon-to-be husband. His father's name is Rahil, and his mother's name is Hisana.Omar is also Ayesha's second cousin. Hussain and Rahil are cousins.

That's all you need to know before the story begins. Let's start the story!

Ayesha's POV

"Yaar Apa, ap khud decide karlay na (Buddy, please decide for yourself)," I urged her, my tone tinged with a hint of frustration.

"Ayesha, mere se nahi ho raha hai, bata do na! (Ayesha, I can't figure it out, just tell me!)" she whined, her voice laced with desperation.

"To phir apnay shohar ko bollay na! I am not your Shohar! (Then tell your husband! I am not your husband!)" I reiterated, feeling the weight of the conversation settling heavily upon my shoulders.

"Ayesha! I am asking you one last time, please help me," She insisted, her plea echoing in the room.

"Samira Apa, even if I tell you, you will going to ask Omar Bhai anyway, then it's better to ask him, instead of wasting my time and yours too," I reasoned, trying to keep my patience intact despite the growing tension.

Before she responded, her phone was interrupted with the ringtone signaling a call from her soon-to-be husband, Mr. Omar.

"Ma'Sha'Allah! Kitni lambi umaar hai," I said with a playful smirk as she lightly smacked my head in response, a gesture of camaraderie we often shared. With a chuckle, she left the room to take the call, leaving me to return to my work, the brief interlude of conversation now behind us.

Maths! It's killing me! Allah, help me out, I muttered, the frustration in my voice mirroring the turmoil in my mind. Sitting at my desk, surrounded by textbooks and notes, I felt the weight of mathematical concepts bearing down on me like a suffocating blanket. Each equation seemed more complex than the last, leaving me grappling with the question of its purpose in the grand scheme of things. I mean, okay, it's a good subject, but only till addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division. After that, why? Why do we even need to learn this? What's the point?

As I pondered these questions, my thoughts drifted to my academic pursuits. In my second year of university, juggling a major in BTEC with a minor in psychology, I found myself torn between two worlds. Business, a field influenced by my father's legacy, beckoned with promises of success and stability, while psychology was something I was interested in.

With a sigh, I shook off the existential musings and refocused my attention on the task at hand. Okay Ayesha, let's get back to work, I whispered to myself, determination igniting a spark within me. The project loomed ominously, its deadline looming like a specter over my head, but I refused to succumb to its pressure.

Just as I began to immerse myself in my work, Samira Apa's voice broke through the silence, her phone on speaker, delivering unexpected news from Omar bhai. "Also, my friend is coming with me; he'll stay with me at your house." His words echoed in the room, shattering the fragile bubble of concentration I had painstakingly built. Confusion and curiosity mingled within me as I pondered the implications of Omar bhai's unexpected guest. Why would his friend stay with us? Did he not have the means to find accommodation elsewhere?

Pushing aside the questions for later contemplation, I forced my attention back to the task at hand, determined to conquer the challenges that lay before me, both academic and personal. With a renewed sense of purpose, I dove back into my work, the rhythm of my thoughts punctuated by the distant hum of uncertainty lingering in the air.

"Oh, that's fine; which one, though?" I heard my sister ask, her voice carrying a hint of curiosity. How many friends does Omar Bhai even have? I mean, sure, I know a few because he's technically my cousin from the UK and soon to be my sister's husband. WOW.

"Salaar, Salaar Ali Khan. I don't think you've met him; you will meet him soon," Omar Bhai said, still on the phone call. My sister left the room after tending to her skincare routine. Ma'Sha'Allah, are all the brides like this when they get married? I couldn't help but wonder. Don't they feel anxiety, nervousness, or maybe fear? What the hell am I even thinking? Ugh. Omar Bhai is our cousin, and it's a love marriage; why would she be scared? Why the hell am I even dwelling on those thoughts? I should focus on my math assignment, right? Right math, bullshit. Ayesha Siddique, you're dead.

After what felt like an eternity—two hours, to be precise—I was finally done. FINALLY. Gathering my files and other necessities, I made my way downstairs to where Baba was enjoying his evening chai.

"Assalamualaikum, Baba," I called out, the familiar greeting rolling off my tongue.

"Arey, Walaikumassalam! Mera beta. Kya baat hai?" He responded, his eyes crinkling in a warm smile.

"Can you check my assignment?" I asked, my voice tinged with a mix of hope and apprehension. I knew he wouldn't refuse, but as a Pakistani, showing respect to elders in even the smallest matters was ingrained in our culture—well, in the entire Asian community, actually.

"Yes, beta," he replied, his tone gentle as he accepted the papers I handed to him. I stood by his side, my fingers crossed in silent prayer, hoping against hope that there wouldn't be any mistakes. The last thing I wanted was for Mr. Siddique to ask me to redo the entire thing because of some overlooked errors. He wasn't strict with me, per se, but he had a penchant for perfection. Anything we did, it had to be PERFECT.

Baba emitted a thoughtful "Hmm," sending my heart into a frantic rhythm. Okay, brace yourself, Ayesha Siddique; he's found a mistake. Why didn't I double-check it again? But I swear, I've gone through it thousands of times! UGH.

Meeting his gaze with a nervous smile, I awaited his verdict. "There are some mistakes," he finally said, confirming my fears. Okay, I already knew that, Baba; your 'hmm' was warning enough.

"So—" Before he could continue, his phone rang. Perfect chance, Ayesha.

Seizing the opportunity, I swiftly retrieved my file from Baba, gathering everything into my arms. Leaning in, I whispered, "Baba, you seem busy; we'll talk later," and bolted upstairs before he could protest. I knew he'd ask me to wait, and I wasn't about to spend hours lingering there while he finished his call. NOPE. A big NO.

Returning to my room, I reached for my phone, instinctively launching into an Instagram scroll. The device buzzed in my hand, drawing my attention to the caller ID: Sasha.

"Hello, bestie," her voice greeted me, a familiar melody that never failed to bring comfort.

"Hey," I responded wearily, Sasha's presence a welcomed interruption to my solitary musings. Sasha. My anchor, my confidante, and my cousin—all rolled into one.

"Done with maths?" she inquired, her tone a mixture of sympathy and understanding. She knew me too well, a fact that never failed to astound me.

"Yeah, finally. What about you?" I asked, reciprocating her concern with genuine curiosity.

"Still knee-deep in it," she confessed, a weary sigh underscoring her words.

"Keep at it," I encouraged, a laugh bubbling up despite my fatigue. "Don't you dare laugh," she playfully warned, punctuating her words with a mock crying sound. Ah, dramatic Sasha, ever the entertainer.

I stifled my laughter, my expression softening into a smile. "Okay, when are you heading back?" I inquired, a flicker of anticipation igniting within me at the thought of her return.

"Tomorrow," she replied, before our conversation could delve any further, an interruption broke through the call.

She took a deep sigh, her voice heavy with resignation. "Ayesha, I'll call you; Ammi's calling me," she said, a sense of urgency creeping into her tone. I hummed in response, understanding the need for her to attend to family matters, and declined the call. Sasha, my cousin from my father's side, was more than just a friend—she was a lifeline, especially in the chaos of university life. Right now, she was in Karachi because of her Nani; she had fallen ill, and Sasha had rushed to her side to offer support to her mother. Now, with news that her Nani was recovering, a sense of relief washed over me. Sasha would be coming back to Lahore soon, and I couldn't wait to have her by my side again. But wait, when was Omar Bhai coming? Hmm, now there's a question worth pondering. I made a mental note to ask Apa about his arrival.

I made my way to Apa's room, the urgency of my inquiry propelling me forward. "Ayesha! Don't you know how to knock?" She scolded me as I entered.

"You're my sister; I don't need to knock. And besides, you're not married yet—soon to be, though—but still, you're not married yet. Furthermore, why do I even need to knock? Like, you're my sister, and even if you were naked, it wouldn't matter. We've seen each other naked quite a few times, so—" I rambled, my words tumbling out in a rush.

"Okay!" she exclaimed, cutting through my rambling with a deep sigh that sounded more like frustration. "Get to the point," she demanded, her patience wearing thin.

"When is Omar Bhai coming?" I asked, cutting straight to the chase.

"A day after tomorrow," Apa replied, her tone tinged with curiosity. "Why do you ask?"

"Nothing, just wondering because Sasha is coming tomorrow, and I'm going to the airport to pick her up," I explained, trying to sound casual despite the excitement bubbling within me.

"REALLY?" Apa exclaimed, her enthusiasm palpable. "Seriously, Apa? You're very excited to meet Ameena Apa, but you get irritated with your sister, like, seriously? I am your sister, you know that, right? I mean Ameena Apa is also your sister—our sister and she's better than you. And you—"

"I know, Ayesha, but I am four years older than—"

"Three and a half," I interjected, unable to resist correcting her.

"Same thing, and you're annoying, and I need someone my age, not a baby," she retorted, her words stinging like a slap. Did she just call me a baby?

"APA—" I began, but before I could utter another word, she stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind her. Jeez, why is she even my sister? Ameena Apa, the older sister of Sasha, also known as my cousin, was an integral part of our family dynamic. Not only was she Samira Apa's bestie, but she was also like a big sister to Sasha and me. Her and Sasha's absence left an unmistakable void, a dull ache that lingered in the air. I couldn't help but feel bored without her presence; her lively energy filled the room with laughter and chatter. I cannot wait until tomorrow, when Sasha will arrive, bringing with her the companionship I so desperately craved.

♡♡♡♡

As I sat at the dinner table with Baba, I observed as Ammi and Apa bustled about the kitchen, their movements a synchronized dance of culinary expertise. The tantalizing aroma of their cooking filled the air, promising a delightful meal to come.

Finally, Ammi and Apa emerged from the kitchen, their faces flushed with the exertion of preparing dinner. Ammi graciously thanked the worker for her assistance before settling into her seat beside Baba. Apa took her place next to me, her presence a comforting presence amidst the anticipation of the meal.

"Ayesha, you're 21 now. Learn something from your sister; she's on the brink of marriage," Ammi's words carried a hint of admonition; her concern for my development was evident in her tone.

"Nice food, Ammi," I offered, hoping to steer the conversation away from any potential lectures. But deep down, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of frustration. After all, she was Ammi, my mother; she knew me better than anyone.

Before Ammi could launch into another round of advice, Baba intervened with a chuckle. "Let's leave it, Asma. She's still young; she'll figure it out," he said, his words a comforting reassurance. I couldn't help but feel a rush of affection for him. I love you, Baba.

"Siddique Sahab, because of you, she's like this," Ammi said with a resigned sigh. She already knew that nothing would change. Baba would once again come to my rescue, and I wouldn't be learning cooking or doing household chores anytime soon. I mean, just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I have to learn, right? I know the basics anyway, and it's not like I'm moving to a country where I'll need to master cooking and housekeeping. I'll get around to it eventually, maybe after my bachelor's. After all, I still have years ahead of me.

"Ayesha, beta, I'm free right now. Send me a copy of your math assignment on WhatsApp, and I'll check it for mistakes," Baba said, his offer a welcome relief.

I nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Baba. I will," I replied with a smile.

"Omar is coming a day after tomorrow, and Ahmed is coming tomorrow," Baba informed Ammi. Ammi's face lit up with pleasure. "Oh, that's good news," she responded. Ahmed was my uncle, my Chachu, my father's only brother, and Sasha's and Ameena Apa's father.

Apa interjected, clearing her throat before speaking. "Baba, Omar's friend, is also coming with him and will stay with us until the wedding," she explained.

"Oh, I see. Farooq mentioned that Omar's friend would be joining them," Baba acknowledged. Farooq Uncle was Baba's cousin, Omar Bhai's father, and soon to be Apa's father-in-law.

Baba nodded reassuringly. "Alright, we'll take care of it," he affirmed.

I planted a gentle kiss on Ammi's and Baba's foreheads before heading upstairs. Just a habit of mine.

After we finished dinner, I retreated to my room. Sending Baba my assignment, I set my phone aside just as Apa entered.

"What's up, Apa?" I inquired, curious about her sudden appearance.

"I want to sleep with you tonight. Tomorrow, Ameena will come, and then I'll sleep with her. So, make room," she declared, her tone as commanding as ever. Seriously, her authority knew no bounds. With a resigned sigh, I scooted over to make space for her, and she settled in beside me.

I glanced over at her, noticing that her eyes were fixed on the wall, lost in thought. What could she be pondering now? "Apa, what's on your mind?" I ventured.

"Nothing much, just worried about how I'll fare in the UK. It's quite a distance from Pakistan, you know?" she confessed, her concern evident in her voice. And I couldn't help but empathize with her apprehension.

"Apa, don't worry, you'll be fine. Trust me, and besides, Omar Bhai said he'll take you to Pakistan frequently so you wouldn't miss us. He really loves you, and I can see that; trust me," I reassured her. She offered me a small smile, nodding in acknowledgment.

Apa's phone buzzed, breaking the momentary silence. She glanced at her phone, a curious expression crossing her face. Who could it be at this hour? Probably Omar Bhai, no doubt. I couldn't resist peeking over her shoulder to see for myself, and sure enough, it was a photo from him, showing him packing with a playful grin. Apa couldn't help but giggle, and I felt a rush of warmth knowing that Omar Bhai was marrying my sister.

"Look at this, Ayesha," she said, showing me one of the pictures Omar Bhai had sent. It was a selfie of him with a man standing behind him, both enjoying ice cream. The man had a surprised expression, as if he didn't realize Omar Bhai was taking a photo, yet he still managed to look incredibly handsome—wait, what?

Apa scrolled through the pictures, some featuring the mysterious man, while others were Omar Bhai's selfies. For some reason, my heart yearned to gaze at him a little longer. He didn't appear Pakistani at all—maybe just a tad.

"Who's he?" I inquired, unable to shake off my curiosity.

"Oh, he's the one coming here with Omar, his friend," Apa replied casually. The news strangely brought a sense of unexplained happiness, but I pushed those thoughts aside and simply nodded. "He doesn't look Pakistani," I remarked.

"His father is Pakistani, but his mother was British," Apa explained. Was? What did she mean by 'was'? Before I could question her further, she excused herself, saying she'd be right back, and disappeared into the bathroom, still engrossed in her phone.

Deciding it was time to call it a night, I resolved to get some rest before picking up Sasha from the airport tomorrow.

♡♡♡♡

"Baba, let's go," I said, and Baba nodded in agreement. Today, Ahmed Chachu, Sasha, Ameena Apa, and Sufiya Chachi were arriving, so we were heading to the airport to pick them up. Apa joined us as well; Ammi wasn't alone, she was accompanied by workers and my elegant Dadi.

"Assalamualaikum, Khatija Begum, kaisi hain aap? (Assalamualaikum Khatija Begum, how are you?)" I greeted Dadi as I settled beside her, while Apa was still getting ready.

"Walaikumassalam, meri beti. Theek, tum batao?" she replied, planting a kiss on my forehead.

"Apka safar kaisa raha?" I inquired, curious about Dadi's journey. She had traveled from Islamabad, where she had gone to spend time with her sister, who had just welcomed a new addition to the family. Dadi had arrived this morning, and I couldn't help but wonder why so many members of my family were traveling on the same day. It was quite a coincidence. Soon, Apa descended the stairs, and after bidding farewell to Dadi, Baba, Apa, and I headed to the airport.

"Chalay, bete, main Waseem ko apne sath lekar ja raha hoon, tum dono aa jao," Baba instructed, and we both nodded in agreement. I took the driver's seat; I knew how to drive, but Apa didn't because she was scared of... well, I wasn't exactly sure what she was scared of.

Baba's car led the way, with Apa sitting beside me in the passenger seat.

Soon, we arrived at the airport, and their flight landed shortly after.

"SASHA!" "AYESHA!" We exclaimed simultaneously, embracing each other tightly.

"Finally, you're here," I said with a smile, genuinely happy to see her. I greeted Chachu and Chachi as well. Baba left with Chachu and Chachi in the car, while Sasha took the seat beside me as I resumed driving. Ameena Apa and Samira Apa settled in behind us.

"Okay," Ameena Apa began, "Omar Bhai is coming tomorrow, so what are your plans?"

Samira Apa let out a deep sigh before responding, "No plans yet, but Ayesha and I are planning to go and pick them up from the airport," she said. Wait, what? When was this decided?

"Apa, I didn't say anything about that," I protested. We had never discussed me going to the airport to pick them up.

"Ayesha, come on. Baba can't drive because of his leg injury, and we only have one driver. You're the only one who can drive, and Ahmed Chachu will be driving the other car," Apa explained, causing me to groan inwardly. It's not that I hate driving, but they're arriving in the evening, and I was hoping to have some "me time" at that hour. If Baba hadn't forced me to learn how to drive, I probably never would have.

I nodded, grasping the situation. "Who else is going?" I inquired.

"Well, of course, me, Baba, and you. Ameena, will you go?" Apa directed her question to Ameena.

"Of course!" Ameena Apa responded enthusiastically. "Sasha?" I turned to Sasha for her input.

"When everyone else is going, then yes, count me in," she replied, and I nodded in agreement.

"But wait, how will we all fit? I mean, they'll have their luggage and everything, and there are quite a few of us," I voiced my concern.

"We have two cars, and both are spacious. The other one is smaller, so Waseem Uncle will drive that one. Ahmed Uncle will accompany Baba in one car, and you'll drive the other," Apa reassured us. "So, we'll make it work; don't worry."

Well, I hoped her assurance was enough. I think it will be. We continued chatting for a while longer; Ameena Apa couldn't resist teasing Samira Apa about her impending marriage. Soon, we arrived home and greeted everyone.

♡♡♡♡

Night had descended, and the aroma of dinner filled the air. We gathered around the table, ready to eat.

Baba cleared his throat, commanding our attention. "Farooq is arriving tomorrow, and Omar's friend is accompanying him. He'll be staying with us," Baba announced.

"Who is he, Bhai?" Ahmed Chachu inquired.

"It's Zakir's son, Salaar," Baba explained. "He's a good lad, but due to family matters, he's a bit reserved. I want all of you to treat him well. He's like our own, and I expect all four of my daughters to ensure he feels at home. This is his first visit to Pakistan, although he's familiar with a few things."

Ahmed Chachu's words echoed in the room, "Indeed, he seems quite charming. But, Bhai, I had warned Zakir not to marry her."

Baba sighed, "True, but now that it's done, let's not dwell on it. The poor boy has endured enough. It's best not to broach such topics in his presence. He has already faced many hardships. None of you should inquire about his family. Let's just ensure he feels welcome," His voice carried a weight of concern, casting a solemn atmosphere over the room.

As we all nodded in agreement, my mind raced with questions. Salaar's enigmatic aura intrigued me. What could be the family issue? Why was everyone tiptoeing around him? Baba's worried expression only deepened my curiosity. He had always been easygoing with Samira Apa and me, allowing us the freedom to make our own choices. But I had never seen him this somber when discussing someone. It ignited a longing within me to unravel the mystery surrounding Salaar. Who is he, really?

♡♡♡♡

After dinner, Sasha retired early, exhausted from the journey. Alone in my room, my thoughts gravitated back to Salaar Ali Khan, the enigmatic newcomer. Why did everyone seem so guarded around him? The air seemed thick with unspoken concerns, leaving me restless and curious. Yet, there were no answers to be found, no one to quench my growing curiosity.

With Salaar's impending arrival tomorrow, my mind buzzed with anticipation. Perhaps then, amidst his presence, the veil of mystery surrounding him would begin to lift. Until then, all I could do was wait and wonder, pondering the secrets that lay beneath his quiet facade.

The one and only question in my mind was, "Who was he?"

Hey Hibsters!!

I'm super excited to share the first chapter of my novel with you! Can't wait to hear your thoughts, suggestions, and all that good stuff. I'll be honest, I'm a bit nervous too. This is actually my second novel, but I haven't published the first one yet (long story, we'll skip that). I'm feeling really positive about this one, but if it doesn't go well, I might delete it and take a break from writing. Fingers crossed and In'Sha'Allah, it gets the love it deserves! I've got more stories brewing in my head if this one takes off! And also, for fun, I'll be adding extra scenes in my novel, like you know in K-drama they add at the very end? Like that, so please don't forget to read that!

I'll be posting the chapters on ScrollStack four days before Wattpad. I'm doing this because I want to help my family financially. We're okay, but it's my dream to contribute. So please, please, please support me by buying the chapters on ScrollStack!

If you have any comments or want to chat, hit me up on Instagram. I'd love to hear from you. Thanks so much for your support. I'll do my best not to disappoint you. See you soon, In'Sha'Allah! Take care!!

Author Hibsie
♡♡♡♡

Added scene from the narrator's perspective:

Ayesha and Sasha were sitting in Ayesha's room, surrounded by the warm hues of the late afternoon sun streaming through the window. Ayesha's room was a blend of chaos and comfort, with books and art supplies strewn about, reflecting her creative spirit.

"Why are you so interested in him?" Sasha asked, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. Ayesha made a face, half annoyed, half amused, as she replied, "Me? Interested in him? See, Sasha, he may be a little good-looking, but that doesn't mean I'm interested in him or that all the girls have to revolve around him. I'm just curious about him. I've never seen Baba this worried and concerned for someone." She tried to explain, though deep down, Ayesha knew Salaar was more than just 'good-looking'—but her ego wouldn't let her admit that.

Sasha chuckled, a knowing look on her face. "Whatever, not gonna lie, I was shocked too when Taya Jaan said he was worried. But Ayesha, please don't do anything rash. You're a crazy-headed girl who can do anything."

"I just don't take bullshit from anyone, especially someone who could hurt my family. But Sasha, I'll try my best to keep my composure with him," Ayesha told her firmly. She was fiercely protective of her family and wouldn't tolerate anyone causing them harm.

Sasha nodded, understanding. "I know you, Ayesha. But you know, I heard Baba talking about them with Taya Jaan quite a few times. He has his family issues and everything, so probably that's why Taya Jaan is asking us. He doesn't say anything this seriously without a reason."

"Sach mein? Maine kabhi nahi suna, (Did they? I've never heard them)," Ayesha said, surprised by the revelation.

Sasha tilted her head, laughing. "Tum hamesha apne hi nashe mein rehti ho, tumhe apni khud ki khabar nahi hoti, (You're always in your own world, you don't notice anything)," and laughed. Ayesha rolled her eyes, smacking Sasha's back lightly. "umse to bas bakwas karwalo, (You just love to talk nonsense)."

"Acha chalo chodo (Okay, forget it). Let's watch a good drama," Sasha said, changing the subject. Ayesha nodded, agreeing. She grabbed her laptop and handed it to Sasha.

Sasha clapped her hands in excitement. "This one," she said, playing the drama.

"Thora idhar kari zara (Move it a bit this way)," Ayesha said, adjusting the laptop to her side so they could both watch comfortably.

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.