In the heart of a quiet, affluent neighborhood in Lucknow stood a grand haveli surrounded by flowering trees and the warm scent of freshly watered soil. It belonged to the family of Ayan Raheel Shah, a bright-eyed ten Year old whose world was filled with laughter, love, and every luxury a child could ask for-except the understanding of pain.

Ayan's days were carefree, spent running barefoot through the garden or lost in the colorful universe of his toys.

A family of business tycoons-his father, Yusuf Raheel shah, a successful entrepreneur, and his mother, Zareen Raheel shah, a graceful woman known for her poise and warmth.

One summer afternoon, as ayan played with a kite under the watchful eyes of his grandmother, a guest arrived-an old friend of his grandmother, bringing along her 17-year-old granddaughter, Dua.

dua was soft-spoken, modestly dressed in a simple cotton suit, she gently pilled the dupatta over her head, letting its soft fabric fall gracefully around her face.

her eyes that held unshed tears and a smile that tried to hide too much. Her beauty was quiet, untouched by vanity-just like her soul.
she wants to become a doctor.

she's currently in the final year of her 12 grade. and after this, she plans to appear for NEET exam. her days are filled with books, long hours of study while the world sleeps, she studies under the glow of her desk lamp, bleieving that one day her white coat will carry the weight of her dreams, struggles, and sacrifices.

ayan saw her and stopped in his tracks. Wow "You're so pretty," pretty like flowers. he said with childlike wonder. dua smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "And you're very cute," she replied gently.

Aayan blushed crimson and ran inside, heart pounding in ways he didn't yet understand.

What ayan didn't know was that dua's life was the complete opposite of his. Behind her smile was a home filled with sorrow. She lived in a middle-class household with a stepmother who saw her as nothing more than a burden.

Her mother had passed away when she was ten, and since then, life had been a quiet endurance. Her father, remarried and blind to her pain, offered no refuge. Only her grandmother, truly loved and protected her-but even she couldn't always be there.

And so, dua bore the bruises in silence-for the sake of her younger brother, Shaad, only nine years old. She had raised him like a son, shielding him from their stepmother's wrath with her own body and soul.

Every smile she gave ayan's family was a fragile shield, hiding a world of suffering.

ayan and DUA's friendship blossomed with every visit. They would play games in his room, laugh over silly jokes, and find comfort in each other's presence. One day, with the innocence only children possess, ayan declared proudly,

"When I grow up I will marry you,

Aap karengi na mujhse nikha, dua.

Everyone laughed, amused at his little promise. His grandmother smiled and ruffled his hair.

"InshaAllah, SON. When you grow up and become something big, I'll get you married to her."

dua laughed too, gently patting his cheek.

Ok kar lenge hum aapse nikha, Ayaan.

"Only if you study hard and follow your dreams first, okay?"

ayan's eyes sparkled. "I promise."

That day, ayan didn't just make a promise-he made a dua. A child's innocent vow, uttered without knowing that one day, it might become the only thread tying two broken lives together.

No one knew then... that the words spoken in jest would one day become a lifeline. That dua's fractured world, and ayan's innocent heart, were destined to collide in a journey of loss, love, healing.

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7 year later

"Ayaan! Ayaan! Ayaan!"
The name echoed like thunder through the crowded college ground. Students filled the stands, chanting, clapping, waving banners, their energy vibrating through the cool evening air.

On the field, the atmosphere was tense-Ayaan Raheel Shah, the star midfielder, stood like a flame in the heart of the game. Sweat trickled down his forehead, hair sticking to his skin, but his eyes burned with fierce determination.

The scoreboard flashed: 2-3.
Ayaan's team was trailing.

The ball darted across the pitch, fast and unpredictable. The opposing team, skilled and ruthless, had dominated most of the second half. But then... in the final minutes, something shifted.

The crowd had started to lose hope-until Ayaan made his move.

He intercepted a sloppy pass with lightning speed, danced past two defenders with the agility of wind, then delivered a perfect one-two pass with his striker. Just as the goalkeeper lunged forward, Ayaan curved the ball with a powerful strike-top corner.

GOAL.
Score: 3-3.

The crowd exploded.

No one had time to catch their breath before Ayaan recovered the ball at kickoff, charging again-faster, bolder. With seconds left on the clock, he faked one defender, slipped between two more, and launched the ball from outside the box-

GOAL!
4-3.

Silence...
Then an eruption of sound so loud it shook the field.

"Ayaan! Ayaan! Ayaan!"
The chants returned, louder than before.

His teammates rushed toward him, tackling him into a group hug, laughing, screaming with joy. Jerseys stained with mud, breath ragged, but hearts soaring.

The coach jogged over, eyes wide with disbelief and pride.
"You guys played brilliantly!" he said, patting their backs.
"But Ayaan... you rocked it! I thought we were going to lose this one-but your comeback, your energy... just wow. That was game-changing!"

One of the teammates grinned and added,
"Of course, sir! After all, he's Ayaan Raheel Shah-the game changer!"

The whole team laughed, hugging him again as the crowd continued to cheer.

Then came the award ceremony.

Ayaan stood tall on the podium, accepting the "Player of the Match" trophy. Phones Cameras flashed, the announcer called his name, and the ground roared with applause.

As the cheers faded, players from both teams exchanged respectful handshakes and hugs. With medals on their necks and the sun setting behind them, they slowly left the field, heading back toward their classrooms.

Ayaan entered the quiet changing room alone. His teammates had gone ahead.
The noise from the field was gone now-replaced by silence and stillness.

He sat on the wooden bench, drenched in sweat and dirt, and placed the shining trophy on the bench beside him. Pulling out his phone, he took a picture of it-pausing for a moment before speaking softly to himself.

"My pretty flower..."
He smiled, eyes soft with memory.

"I won this game. We won."
He looked at the photo on his phone, one he always kept hidden.

"I just want to see your smile when you look at this trophy. It's all because of you. Every run, every kick, every breath on that field-I took it for you."

He touched the name engraved on the trophy, then closed his eyes.
"You're my strength, pretty flower. You always have been."

The locker room stayed quiet, but his heart was loud-with love, longing, and silent prayers.

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The grand doors of the Shah Haveli swung open with a bang.

"Mom! Dad! Bhai! Look-I won! We won today's match!"
Ayaan's voice echoed through the marble halls, bursting with joy and pride. His laughter filled the air like the sound of a long-awaited monsoon.

His mother, Zareen shah, came rushing from the sitting room, her eyes widening as she saw her son beaming, the trophy shining in his hands.

She pulled him into a tight hug.
"Congratulations, beta! I'm so proud of you!" she said, her voice soft yet overflowing with pride.

Within seconds, the rest of the family gathered. His father, Yusuf Raheel Shah, tall and dignified in his crisp kurta, approached with a rare smile.

"Well done, Ayaan. You made us all proud today."

The house buzzed with excitement-maids peeked from behind the curtains, the house staff murmured congratulations.

Zareen turned to a maid and said warmly,
"Make Ayaan's favorite dishes today. He's brought home a victory!"

Ayaan's grandmother, Dadi Ammi, slowly walked over with a cane, her eyes glistening with love. She placed her hand on his head.

"Khush raho mere bachay. Allah tumhe har maidan mein kamiyabi de."

Just then, his elder brother Hamza Raheel Shah strolled in with a teasing grin.

"Pakka cheat kiya hoga tumne!" he joked, raising an eyebrow.

Ayaan gasped and whined like a child.
"Dadi! Hamza bhai is calling me a cheater! That's not fair!"

Dadi chuckled and shook Hamza's hand gently.
"Don't call my Ayaan a cheater. I know he's talented."

Ayaan grinned proudly. "See? Unlike you, Hamza bhai."

Hamza raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying I'm not talented? Beta, I'm the CEO of Shah Corporation. Hamza Raheel Shah, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah, Mr. CEO, we know," Ayaan replied, rolling his eyes.

Before Hamza could clap back with another remark, his phone buzzed.

"Tumhe toh main baad mein dekhta hoon," he muttered, walking away with the call.

Now the room was quiet. Everyone had gone.
Only Ayaan and his Dadi Ammi remained.

Ayaan stepped closer and asked softly,
"Dadi... when will you visit Dua's Dadi again?"

Dadi sighed. "Ayaan, how many times do I have to tell you? She's older than you. Call her 'Aapi,' not Dua."

Ayaan looked down, murmuring under his breath,
"No... I won't call her Aapi. She's my pretty flower."

Dadi shook her head, half confused, half amused.
"Yeh mujhe kuch samajh nahi aata tumhara."

She narrowed her eyes. "Why do you want to know when I'm visiting her Dadi?"

He clutched the trophy closer to his chest.

"Because I want to meet dua i want to show her this.
Last time when she visited... I told her about the match. She said I'd win. She said her dua is with me. And Dadi... I won. Her dua worked. I want to show her. I want her to see it."

His voice softened.

"Can we go to their house? Or maybe you could invite them over... just for a little while? Please, Dadi? Please, please, please?"

Dadi looked at his eager face and sighed deeply.
"I'll see what I can do. No promises."

Ayaan beamed. "Thank you!"

"Now go freshen up," she added, waving her hand.
"You smell like you've wrestled with goats."

He lifted his arm and sniffed dramatically. "Eww!"
Both laughed as Dadi turned and walked away.

After a quick shower and change of clothes, Ayaan returned to his room, dressed neatly, his hair damp, shirt crisp. He walked to his bag, carefully unzipped the front pocket-and pulled out a single rose that he pick from his garden.

Soft. Fresh. Fragrant.

He stared at it, holding it with reverence-as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

"Dua..." he whispered.

"Will you come today?
Will you see this trophy in my hands-just like you said I would?
I played for you. I won for you.
You're my strength... my pretty flower."

He gently kissed the petals and placed the rose on the table beside the trophy.

ye flower meri prettyflower dua ke liya.

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Bye Bye..<3