The scent of roses and raita filled the air. Laughter echoed through the grand halls of the ancestral haveli, where chandeliers glistened and the sound of dholkis vibrated through the walls like a heartbeat. Cousins ran across marble floors, women huddled in corners comparing mehndi designs, and the men were gathered around the dining area, complaining about cricket politics as always.
Ayaan wasn't in the mood for any of it.
Standing near a pillar in the corner of the men's section, hands loosely tucked in the pockets of his dark maroon kurta, he scanned the vibrant chaos in front of him with bored eyes. His hair, slightly curled at the edges, had been combed neatly for once, thanks to his mother's persistence. He had the kind of face that didn't ask for attention but got it anyway—sharp jawline, quiet eyes, and a calmness that made people wonder what he was thinking.
He wasn't thinking much, honestly. Just trying to get through the event like he always did.
Until his eyes fell on her.
At first, it was just a passing glance. A girl, maybe his age or a bit younger, standing near the edge of the courtyard where the women had gathered. But there was something—something in the way the sun hit her face, something in how her dupatta slipped down her shoulder and she tucked it back absentmindedly. Her dress was pastel peach with dull gold embroidery, and her long black hair was tied in a low bun, loose strands framing her face like ink across paper.
She was talking to a woman beside her, nodding gently, and then suddenly, she smiled.
Ayaant felt like the wind knocked out of him.
There was nothing loud about her. No heavy makeup, no flashy jewelry, no dramatic presence. But her eyes held something soft and secretive, something that made him forget, for a full ten seconds, where he was or why.
He blinked, shook his head, and turned away.
"Who was that?" he asked a few minutes later, trying to sound casual, as he leaned toward his cousin Daniyal—his mamoon's son—who was scrolling through his phone nearby.
"Who?" Daniyal said without looking up.
"That girl... in the peach dress. Near the fountain."
Daniyal raised an eyebrow and turned to follow his gaze. "Oh—her? That's Zoya. My choti khala's daughter."
Ayaant frowned. "Your khala's daughter? But I've never seen her before."
"Yeah, they live in Faisalabad. Hardly visit Lahore. She's here for the wedding with her mom. She's a year younger than me, I think... doing BSc now. Why?"
Ayaant shrugged. "No reason."
But his heart was doing backflips, and he knew in that moment, something had shifted inside him. Something dangerous. Something beautiful.
chapter 3 Resistance Is a Lie
It had been five days.
Just five days since the wedding, since that quiet moment near the fountain, since that one smile. And yet, to Ayaant, it felt like a century had passed—with Zoya stuck in his mind like a name carved into wet concrete.
But he wasn't giving in.
He refused to be that guy. The guy who saw a girl once and then started daydreaming like a Bollywood hero. Nah. He was Ayaant. Rational. Logical. Focused. He'd always rolled his eyes at the boys who lost their minds over shaadi crushes. He wasn't about to become one of them.
So, he resisted.
When her face popped into his mind, he shook it off. When he thought about asking Daniyal more, he distracted himself. When he remembered her voice, soft and distant, he told himself it was just memory playing tricks.
But the resistance… it hurt.
It was like holding back a sneeze. You keep doing it, again and again, and eventually it just explodes.
One night, after dinner, Daniyal and Ayaant were chilling in the basement. Lights dim, FIFA paused on the screen, empty Coke cans beside them. The silence between game rounds turned into conversation.
"You've been quiet lately," Daniyal said suddenly.
"I'm always quiet."
"Nah. This is different. You're thinking too much."
"Bro, who were those guests from Faisalabad?" he asked, his tone perfectly casual.
Daniyal didn't look up. "Hmm? Which ones?"
"The ones sitting near the women's section... that aunty in the teal jora and the girl with her. She was wearing peach... I think."
Now Daniyal looked up, eyebrow slightly raised.
"Ohh... yeah. That was my younger aunt and her daughter."
Ayaant nodded, pretending to process the info like it didn't matter. "Haven't seen them before."
"Obviously. They barely come to Lahore. First time in like, three years."
Silence.
Ayaant tried again. "She's what... in uni?"
Daniyal gave him a long, amused look. "Okay wait. Hold up."
"What?"
"You're asking way too casually about a girl you 'barely noticed'."
Daniyal raised an eyebrow. "Still thinking about her?"
Ayaant exhaled sharply, rubbing his forehead. "No. Yes. I don't know, bro. I keep telling myself it was nothing. Just a moment. She didnt even look at me but i imagined her smiling. Just one smile. I'm probably romanticizing the whole thing."
Daniyal leaned back, crossing his arms. "That's smart thinking."
Ayaant looked at him.
"But," Daniyal continued, "that kind of thinking usually means you're already deep in."
Ayaant groaned. "I hate this. I don't even know her, Daniyal. I don't know her voice, her likes, her dreams. Nothing. Just one random family wedding, and I'm out here feeling like a clown."
"You're not a clown, bro," Daniyal said, chuckling. "You're human."
There was a long pause.
"I've never felt like this before," Ayaant admitted quietly. "Like… I've had crushes. But this is different. It's not just about how she looked. It's something else. I don't even know what."
Daniyal gave a small smile. "Okay. So what now?"
"I don't want to fall into something fake," Ayaant said. "What if it's all just in my head?"
"Then let it fade," Daniyal said simply. "Don't feed it. Give it time. If it goes away, it wasn't real. If it stays... we'll figure it out."
Ayaant nodded slowly. "A month, right?"
Daniyal smirked. "Thirty days, baby. If you're still obsessed by day thirty, I'm gonna personally make sure you meet her again."
"Even if she doesn't remember me?"
"Especially if she doesn't. That makes it more dramatic."
They both laughed—but only one of them was hiding how much he hoped she would remember.
Thirty days.
Thirty nights.
Ayaant had counted.
He'd told himself—if it's real, it'll stay. That was Daniyal's rule, and he'd followed it like a promise. But he hadn't expected this.
He thought the distance would blur her face.
That time would erase her voice.
That her presence—faint and fragile—would vanish like perfume in the wind.
But instead… she became stronger.
Now, her absence was louder than her presence had ever been.
He'd wake up thinking of her. He'd zone out mid-conversation, hearing her name in lyrics, finding her reflection in strangers' faces. He'd scroll Instagram stories, half-hoping for a glimpse, half-terrified that she'd be smiling beside someone else.
And yet, he didn't even know her.
Zoya.
Just the name echoed in his bones.
That evening, Daniyal found Ayaant in their usual rooftop spot. The city below was alive—horns, laughter, chai stalls—but the silence between them was heavy.
"So?" Daniyal asked, sitting beside him, legs stretched, head back. "It's been a month."
Ayaant didn't answer.
"You were supposed to be over her by now," Daniyal said, smirking slightly. "What happened to logic? Mr. Rational Guy?"
Ayaant let out a low, dry laugh. "He died two weeks ago."
Daniyal turned to him, surprised by the honesty in his voice.
"It's not just attraction anymore, bro," Ayaant said, eyes on the stars. "I don't even know her… but I feel like something's missing every single day. Like there's a hole in my chest, and I can't explain it."
Daniyal stayed quiet.
"She's not even in my life. Never was. But it still feels like someone important left."
Ayaant pulled something out of his pocket—a small folded piece of paper, worn at the edges.
Daniyal raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"
"A letter I never sent," Ayaant said, half-smiling. "To someone who doesn't know I exist."
Daniyal took it, unfolded it. He didn't read it. Just held it.
"You still want to meet her?"
Ayaant hesitated, then nodded slowly. "I want to talk to her. Just once. Just know what kind of person she is. Maybe I'll realize it was all in my head. Or maybe…"
"Maybe it won't be," Daniyal finished.
They sat in silence again.
And then, Daniyal pulled out his phone. "I said I'd help you if you still felt the same after a month, right?"
Ayaant looked at him.
"Let's find a way."