One Week Later
Aleena's POV
The house buzzed with life that morning — the soft clinking of cups, hurried footsteps, and Dadi's voice echoing down the hall as she reminded everyone for the third time to please not forget the gift basket.
Dadu, on the other hand, looked like a man half his age — cheerful and impatient.
"I've been waiting for this day all week," he said proudly, straightening his coat in front of the mirror. "Rayyan and I used to meet every Friday before they left for London. Now, it feels like old times returning."
Dadi smiled indulgently. "Just don't over-excite yourself, Amin. You're still recovering."
He winked playfully. "From boredom, yes."
Across the hall, mom was fastening her earrings, her eyes flitting to me as I descended the stairs.
I'd chosen a beige dress with delicate threadwork, simple yet graceful, its muted tone matching the soft gold jewelry Dadi had insisted I wear.
But the moment Mama's eyes landed on me, her lips curved into that faint, cutting smile.
"Well," she said lightly, "someone seems to think we're going to a wedding, not a dinner."
I froze mid-step, the sting subtle but sharp.
"It's just a dress" I said quietly.
She tilted her head. "Of course. Just a dress."
Before I could respond, Dadu's voice carried from the other side of the room.
"She looks beautiful," he said firmly, a hint of reprimand in his tone. "And she's representing the Hadi family — it's good she took the effort."
His words made warmth bloom in my chest. I smiled faintly, and he returned it with a proud nod.
Meanwhile, Hana and Zayn were in their own world — bickering over who would sit by the window.
"You sat there last time!" Hana protested.
Zayn stuck his tongue out. "You didn't call it first!"
Dadi sighed, laughing despite herself. "You two behave today. Whoever stays quiet till we reach the Khans' house gets extra money from me. Understood?"
Their argument ended instantly. "Deal!" they both said, their eyes gleaming with sibling mischief.
Soon, the engines hummed outside.
We split into two cars — Dadu, Dadi, and I in one; Mama, Baba, Hana, and Zayn in the other.
The cool breeze from the half-open window brushed against my face as the city rolled past — streets glistening faintly from last night's rain, the air carrying that scent of renewal.
For a while, none of us spoke. Dadu was humming softly, Dadi occasionally scolding him for doing so while he should be resting.
And I — I found myself focusing on driving, trying to quiet the nervous flutter that had taken root in my chest.
It wasn't fear exactly — just a sense of something...
The Khan Mansion
The Khan mansion came into view just as the sun began to dip.
Its golden facade shimmered gently, framed by a sprawling garden filled with roses — white, pink, crimson, and even rare orange ones that caught the light like fire.
The faint scent of them lingered in the air as we stepped out of the car.
The doors opened before we could knock.
A woman, elegant and kind-eyed, greeted us with a warm smile.
"Welcome," she said. "I'm Ayesha — Sami's wife."
"It's lovely to meet you," Dadi replied. "It's been so long since our families met."
Ayesha Aunty ushered us inside with graceful hospitality. "Please come in, everyone's waiting."
The mansion was vast, yet homely — a blend of classic and modern elegance. Soft gold décor, cream curtains swaying in the gentle breeze, and chandeliers that bathed the space in warm light.
Then came Rayyan dadu — tall, dignified, with laughter in his eyes — and his wife, Bushra Aunty, followed by their grandchildren:
Zara, who greeted us with a bright smile; Adeel, his wife Inaya, holding their baby Zoya; Ikram and Noor, standing beside them.
Their warmth instantly filled the room. Everyone greeted one another, laughter echoing, the air thick with nostalgia and new beginnings.
And then —
someone entered.
He stepped in quietly from the adjoining hallway, dressed in a simple beige kurta that somehow looked effortlessly elegant. His presence carried a calm steadiness that seemed to draw every gaze in the room for a moment.
Dadu's face lit up. "Azlaan my boy! You've grown into quite the tall, handsome man. I barely recognized you!"
He smiled politely, his voice low and steady. "Thank you, sir. It's an honor to finally meet you again."
We all took our seats in the living room. The air was light, the conversation easy — full of laughter and kind memories.
Each of the Khan family members introduced themselves again, assuming I might not remember them from childhood.
I returned their smiles, polite but genuine. "It's lovely meeting you all again," I said softly. "Even if my memory has clearly betrayed me."
That earned a laugh or two, even from Mom — though faintly, as if unwilling to fully join in.
Hana and Zayn, ever the entertainers, introduced themselves in their own mischievous way — Hana curtsying dramatically, Zayn pretending to bow — earning affectionate laughter from everyone.
Then, Rayyan Uncle turned to me, curiosity in his eyes.
"So, Aleena," he began warmly, "Amin told me you work in data — data analysis, wasn't it?"
I straightened slightly, smiling. "Yes, Uncle. I'm a data analyst at an IT firm in the city."
His eyes lit up. "Impressive! That sounds complicated. You must enjoy working with numbers and patterns."
"I do," I replied. "I've always liked finding meaning in things others overlook — turning chaos into something that makes sense."
I smiled softly, realizing how formal that sounded. "Though it's not as grand as it sounds. Mostly spreadsheets and deadlines."
He chuckled. "Still, it's wonderful. The world runs on people who make sense of the unseen."
Dadu beamed beside me, pride written all over his face. "She's always been sharp — even as a child. Used to take apart her toys just to see how they worked."
The room filled with light laughter again, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like belonging — like the warmth of something I didn't realize I'd missed.
Then his grandmother leaned forward with a fond smile. "Do you remember our Azlaan? You used to play with him in garden whenever we visited."
My gaze dropped instinctively to my hands, fingers tracing the edge of my dress.
"I do, aunty" I said softly. "I remember."
She smiled and gestured gently toward him. "Well, this is our Azlaan."
I nodded politely without meeting his eyes.
It wasn't shyness — not exactly.
It was something quieter, deeper — a pull I didn't know how to name.
Something in the air seemed to shift the moment his presence settled near mine.
I felt his gaze for a brief second, calm yet searching, but I didn't dare look back. Not yet.
Just then, ayesha aunty's voice broke the soft silence. "I think it's time we move to the dining room. The food's getting cold," she announced briskly.
And just like that, the moment slipped — replaced by clinking dishes and chatter as we all made our way toward the dining table.
The dining hall of the mansion looked as though it had stepped out of a painting — elegant yet warm, with long, draped curtains framing tall windows that let in the soft amber of evening light.
A long wooden table stretched across the center, glowing under the chandelier's golden hue.
Delicate chains gleamed under crystal lamps, and the air was fragrant with the scent of saffron, butter, and freshly baked bread.
As we entered, I instinctively slowed my pace, matching my steps to Dadu's.
He walked carefully beside me, his hand resting lightly on my arm. Even though he insisted he was "completely fine," I couldn't help the small flutter of worry that tightened in my chest with each step.
He smiled at me knowingly. "Rose," he murmured softly, "if you hover any closer, people will think I'm the patient and you're the doctor."
I gave a quiet nod, pretending not to notice the affectionate glances from across the table — especially from Rayyan Uncle and his wife.
They seemed to watch us with that kind of gentle fondness that only comes from seeing something familiar — a bond that reminded them of their own years of love and care.
A few seats down, Mom was already conversing lightly with Bushra Aunty about old school friends, her laughter polite but distant.
Hana and Zayn were busy giggling at something under the table, until Dadi shot them a single look that silenced them immediately.
The clinking of plates and soft chatter filled the air as everyone took their seats.
I guided Dadu carefully to his chair before sitting beside him. The moment he settled, I felt my shoulders ease.
Across the table, Ayesha Aunty smiled warmly. "We've also prepared what you like, Aleena. You know, Dad was quite particular about the menu. He said you were a bit of a picky eater when you were little."
A ripple of laughter circled the table. I got little embarrassed.
Dadu chuckled, eyes crinkling with affection. "She was — always fussing over vegetables. Now, she barely eats enough for a sparrow," he said, his voice softening at the end.
Something in his tone made my heart ache faintly — a memory of lost appetite and long nights spent in quiet sadness flickering behind my smile.
But before the silence could stretch, Rayyan Uncle's laughter filled the room. "Well, now that she's here, she'll eat everything," he said warmly, patting Dadu's arm. "No one leaves my table hungry."
I smiled gently. "I will, Uncle. "
And true to my words, I did try everything.
The food was a masterpiece — butter chicken rich and velvety, tender kebabs that melted in my mouth, rice fragrant with saffron and roasted almonds, soft naan brushed with ghee.
The flavors carried something comforting — home, hospitality, and history woven together.
Across the table, laughter rose and fell in waves — the kind of laughter that fills the gaps between people who have known each other for years and those just learning to meet again.
Mom was talking animatedly now; Baba and Sami Uncle were discussing cricket; Dadi and Bushra Aunty were reminiscing about wedding recipes and stubborn husbands.
I mostly listened — smiling when spoken to, answering when needed — but my attention kept straying to Dadu beside me.
He looked happy, his eyes alight as he spoke to Rayyan Uncle, their conversation slipping easily between Urdu and English, their laughter echoing like echoes of youth.
Somewhere across the table, I felt a flicker — that quiet awareness of being watched.
It was faint, like a thread of air brushing past.
When I looked up briefly, my gaze almost met his.
He was listening to his grandmother, smiling politely, yet for one heartbeat, his eyes caught mine.
A quiet stillness passed between us — brief, unspoken, but enough to make my pulse skip before I looked away again, pretending to focus on my glass of water.
After dinner, everyone moved back to the sitting area for dessert and tea.
The air was lighter now — full of soft chatter, the clinking of teacups, the sound of Hana and Zara laughing together about some old-school memory.
That's when I felt something small brush against my dress.
I looked down — and there she was.
A tiny figure with big curious eyes and soft curls framing her chubby cheeks — Zoya, Adeel and Inaya's one-year-old daughter.
She looked up at me with the innocent wonder of a child discovering something new.
"Hey there," I said softly, crouching down. "What's your name?"
She blinked, then pointed at herself proudly. "Zoya!"
I smiled, unable to resist the charm in her voice. "Zoya? That's a beautiful name."
She tilted her head, studying me as if she was solving a puzzle. "What's vor name?" she asked, her tiny fingers curling around the fabric of my dress.
"I'm Aleena."
She tried to repeat it, but the word tangled adorably in her little mouth. "Elle!"
For a second, I thought I misheard her — until the entire room fell silent and then burst into laughter.
Bushra Aunty gasped, covering her mouth. "Oh my goodness! She said Elle! That's exactly what Azlaan used to call you when you were children!"
I blinked, startled, as laughter bubbled around the room.
Even Rayyan Uncle chuckled heartily. "History repeats itself, doesn't it?"
Dadu laughed so hard he had to wipe his eyes.
"See, Aleena? Even the next generation remembers your nickname!"
Zoya, delighted by the reaction, turned in my arms and called out proudly, "Azi!" — her little hand pointing toward him, who was standing near his grandfather.
And before I could say a word, she reached her tiny hands to him, motioning for him to come closer.
When he did, she giggled and pressed her hands against my cheeks.
"She iz Elle!" she announced solemnly, showing my face to him as though she'd discovered something magical. "Pletty!"
Everyone laughed again — the warmth of it filling every corner of the room.
my cheeks became hot, unsure where to look.
Across the laughter, I could feel his gaze again — quiet, steady, curious.
He smiled faintly at Zoya, then at Dadu's teasing remark — but his eyes lingered on me just long enough for my heart to trip again.
I turned away, focusing on Zoya's giggle.
The room around us blurred into laughter and conversation, but somewhere within it — beneath the noise and the warmth — something unspoken stirred.
A feeling that felt both old and new.
Like a memory trying to find its way back home.
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@authorlia._8
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