Author's POV
The golden light of morning filtered through the sheer curtains, spilling warmth across the marble floor of the Khan residence. The house was alive with soft clinking sounds — the shuffle of plates, the scent of freshly brewed tea, and the comforting rhythm of an ordinary day beginning.
In the dining hall, Azlaan sat across from his grandparents, dressed neatly in a pale blue shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His posture was straight, his expression calm — but his mind, as always, was elsewhere. His Dadu was reading the newspaper, adjusting his glasses every few minutes, while Dadi buttered toast with the meticulous care of someone who had done it the same way for forty years.
"Azlaan, have some more omelette," His Dadi said, sliding the plate toward him.
"I'm fine, Dadi," he replied, offering her a faint smile. "Already had enough."
Rayyan folded the paper and leaned back in his chair, watching his grandson with eyes that had seen much and understood more. "You say that every morning," he said, his tone half amused, half reproachful. "One day, you'll realize success doesn't run away if you eat properly."
Azlaan chuckled softly. "I'll keep that in mind, Dadu."
Dadi hid a smile behind her cup of tea. She had seen that same quiet restraint in her husband once — the calm surface hiding restless depths.
After a few minutes, Rayyan reached for his phone, squinting at the screen. "Hmm. Haven't spoken to Amin in a few days," he murmured. "Let's see how that old man's doing."
Dadi raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching. "Old man? You're the same age."
"Difference is, I still act young," Rayyan said with a mock tilt of pride. He winked at Azlaan. "Your Dadi doesn't like it, but I'm the youngest sixty-five-year-old in this city."
Dadi laughed under her breath. "If you say so."
Rayyan dialed the number, the phone pressed against his ear. As the call connected, his face lit up.
"Assalamualaikum, Amin bhai!" he greeted, voice rich with affection and mischief. "Still alive, I see! I was beginning to think old age had finally caught up to you."
From the other end came a hearty laugh — Amin, warm and familiar. "Waalaikumassalam, Rayyan! Still as dramatic as ever. Old age hasn't caught me yet — but looking at you, I'd say it's chasing us both."
Dadu's laughter filled the room. "Ah, chasing maybe — but you're the one who's slowed down! Look at me — fit, fresh, and still walking every morning."
"Fit?" Amin teased. "You mean that slow stroll of yours around your garden? That's not walking, that's sightseeing!"
Even Azlaan smiled, quietly watching the exchange. There was something grounding about their friendship — the kind of bond time couldn't weather.
Dadi leaned toward Azlaan and whispered conspiratorially, "They'll argue about who's fitter for another ten minutes before your Dadu remembers why he called."
Sure enough, after a few more rounds of laughter and affectionate insults, Rayyan cleared his throat, his tone shifting — gentle, but purposeful.
"Amin bhai," he began, "I actually called for something a little more serious."
There was a brief pause on the line. "Oh? What is it, Rayyan?"
"I wanted to ask you something," Rayyan said, his voice steady but warm. "And I hope you won't mind."
"Rayyan," Amin replied without hesitation, his tone softening, "You're my oldest friend. If you ask me for something, how could I ever mind ?Tell me."
Rayyan smiled — that knowing, patient smile that held both affection and gravity. "It's about our grandchildren."
There was a rustle on the other side — a chair creaking, perhaps, or Amin sitting up straighter. "Our grandchildren?" he repeated.
"Yes," Rayyan said, glancing briefly at Azlaan, who looked up from his cup, brows knitting. "I wanted to speak to you about Aleena."
The name hung in the air — soft, deliberate, charged with meaning.
Dadi stilled her hands, watching her husband with quiet anticipation. Azlaan's heartbeat quickened ever so slightly, though his face remained unreadable.
Amin's voice came through the line, surprised but curious. "Aleena?"
"Yes," Rayyan continued gently. "You see, I've been thinking for a while now. Azlaan's grown — stable, responsible, but alone for too long. And Aleena... she's a good girl. I've heard only good things — kind-hearted, strong, respectful. I think they'd suit each other well."
He paused for a breath, smiling faintly. "To be direct, Amin bhai — I like Aleena for my Azlaan."
For a moment, there was silence. The kind that hums with unspoken emotion.
When Amin finally spoke, his voice was softer — touched with disbelief and something like awe. "Rayyan... you won't believe this."
Rayyan raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"
Amin let out a quiet chuckle, full of wonder. "I was thinking the very same thing. Just last night, after dinner, I told my wife — if there's anyone I could see Aleena with, it's Azlaan. I've known your boy since he was a child. Steady head, clean heart — and though he hides it well, he's gentle too."
Rayyan's grin deepened. "Well, I suppose great minds still think alike."
"They do," Amin said with a soft laugh. Then, his tone grew more thoughtful. "I'll talk to Aleena, Rayyan. She's been through a lot — you know how her mother can be. I want her to feel this decision is hers. But if she agrees..." He trailed off, his voice full of quiet hope. "If she agrees, I'll call you right away."
"I'll be waiting," Rayyan replied warmly. "And Amin — tell her from me, she couldn't find a better man than my Azlaan. He may not talk much, but his heart speaks loud enough for two."
From the other end came a smile you could hear. "And I'll tell her she couldn't find better people than you."
When the call ended, the dining room was still for a moment — as if the air itself had shifted.
Dadi turned to Azlaan, eyes twinkling. "Well," she said softly, "looks like the universe is working faster than we thought."
Azlaan stared down at his untouched tea, a faint, disbelieving smile tugging at his lips. The sound of her name — Aleena — still lingered in his mind, echoing softly through the quiet morning.
For the first time in a long while, the day ahead felt like more than routine.
It felt like the beginning of something he hadn't dared to hope for — something that was already, quietly, finding its way to him.
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