The weekend always felt too short.

For two days, Dua had been home-laughing with Shaad and Sana, helping her Dadi, and enjoying the rare peace that only weekends offered. But now, as the Sunday evening sun dipped lower, the familiar heaviness returned. It was time to go back to the hostel.

Dua didn't mind. In fact, she preferred the hostel. Her university was barely an hour away from home, but her final year schedule was grueling. And more than that, living at the hostel meant freedom from her stepmother.

The first two years, she had traveled daily. But the endless cycle of classes, travel, and chores had left her exhausted. Her stepmother would barely let her breathe, let alone study. After long hours at the university, Dua would come home hoping for a little rest-but instead, she was handed a pile of housework.

"Clean this... Cook that... Serve tea..."

If she dared to protest, the response was harsh words-sometimes even a slap.

She had tried telling her father, Junaid Hashim, about it, but every time, her stepmother twisted the truth. She would sweetly claim that Dua was lazy, that she avoided helping at home, and somehow, Junaid believed her-or chose to.

And the worst part was the threats.
"If you tell anyone, your brother Shaad will pay for your mistakes."

Shaad had been only a baby then-a year old when their mother passed away. Since then, Dua had been more than a sister to him; she had been his second mother. She had shielded him from everything, even if it meant silently enduring her own pain.

Life had changed after her father's second marriage, but not for the better. The first time her stepmother hit her, Dua had been only twelve. All she had done was refuse to do a chore while finishing her homework. That was the beginning of her long years of silent endurance.

Her family wasn't poor-her father ran a small garment business, supplying traditional embroidered suits to local boutiques and shops. They lived a modest life, nothing like the luxury of the Shah family, but comfortable enough to meet their needs.

The soft voice of Sana, her fifteen-year-old stepsister, broke her thoughts.

"Aapi... are you leaving today?"

Dua turned to see Sana standing by the door, her big eyes filled with the innocence of her age.

"Yes, Sana. The weekend's over. I have to go back."

She crouched to her sister's level, adjusting the edge of her own scarf. For Dua, Sana was no different from Shaad. She loved her like a real sister.

Sana pouted.
"When you're not home, Shaad bhai never lets me use his phone!"

Dua laughed softly at her complaint.
"I'll tell him to share. Don't worry."

As Sana walked closer, her eyes suddenly widened.

"Aapi... wow! Your bracelet is so pretty!"

Dua's gaze followed her sister's to her wrist, where the golden bracelet glimmered under the soft evening light. She couldn't help but smile faintly.

"Yes, it's beautiful, isn't it?" she said, softly running her fingers over the delicate rose charm.

"It even has your name written on it! Did your friend give this to you?" Sana asked, tilting her head with curiosity.

Dua hesitated for a brief second-
And then her lips curved in a smile.

"Yes... a friend made it specially for me," she said.

But in her heart, she saw Ayaan's face.
The way his eyes had lit up when she finally accepted the bracelet.
The way he had said softly, "It's yours, Dua."

A warmth bloomed in her chest-bittersweet and fragile.

"It really suits you, Aapi. So much," Sana said, gently touching her wrist.

Dua kissed her forehead and whispered,
"Thank you, Sana."

In that quiet, fleeting moment, her world felt balanced-
Between the cruelty she had endured and the gentle love she had found in rare corners of her life.

She was just finishing her conversation with Sana when a familiar voice chimed in from behind.

"Aapi, is your packing done?"

Dua turned to see Shaad leaning against the doorframe, his boyish smile lighting up his face.

"Yes, Shaad. All done," she said, patting the bag. "Just this small one left to carry."

The moment Sana saw her brother, she puffed her cheeks and crossed her arms in mock annoyance.

Shaad laughed at the sight and walked over, ruffling her hair.
"What happened to my little balloon?"

Sana pouted harder.
"I am not a balloon, bhai!"

"Oh really?" Shaad teased, pinching her cheek. "But right now you look exactly like the cutest little balloon, all puffed up and ready to float away."

Dua couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head.
"Shaad, stop teasing my princess." She raised an eyebrow.
"And why don't you ever let her play games on your phone?"

Shaad gasped, feigning innocence.
"Who said I don't let her? Ohhh... so my balloon went and complained to her favorite Aapi!"

He turned to Sana dramatically.
"But you forgot to tell her the full story, didn't you?"

Dua's curiosity piqued.
"What full story?"

Shaad grinned.
"The story where Madam Princess here forgets all about her homework and studies the moment she touches my phone. Then, she plays until her eyes droop like a sleepy kitten."

Sana's eyes widened in protest.
"Nooo, Aapi! That's not true. I do my homework!"

Shaad folded his arms, pretending to think.
"Should I show Aapi the number of complaints I've heard from Dadi and even your school diary?"

Dua looked at Sana with a soft but firm expression.
"My princess... that's not right. You can play, but never at the cost of your studies. Promise me this won't happen again."

Sana nodded quickly and held her ears in apology.
"Sorry, Aapi. It won't happen again, I promise."

Dua kissed the top of her head and smiled warmly. "Good girl."

Shaad, still grinning, bent to pick up Dua's bag.
"Alright, Aapi, I'll drop you off at the hostel. Abbu can't come today-some urgent work came up at the shop."

Dua stood, brushing invisible creases from her dress. She glanced once around the room, taking in the warmth of this small domestic chaos-the playful teasing, the laughter, the love that made even a brief weekend at home precious.

These moments, she thought, are what make leaving so hard.

.

.

.

.

.

The Shah Haveli was unusually calm that morning. The golden sunlight streamed through the high windows of the living hall, where the family was seated, sipping tea and something.

It was nearly 10 a.m. when Yusuf Shah's phone rang.

He frowned at the unknown number and answered, his deep voice firm.
"Hello? Yes, this is Yusuf Shah... Ayaan's father. What happened?"

There was a pause on the other end. Yusuf's eyebrows knit closer.
"What?... I'm coming."

He ended the call and immediately rose to his feet. The urgency in his movements made Zareen, his wife, and Amma, his mother, stand up too.

"What happened, Yusuf? Is everything alright?" Amma asked, concern etched on her face.

Yusuf exhaled sharply.
"It was Ayaan's college. The principal called me. He... got into a fight. Again."

Zareen rubbed her temple.
"What? Again? Just last week we got a complaint! He hit a boy with a football so hard he fainted!"

Yusuf froze.
"He did what? Why i don't have any idea about this?"

"Yes," Zareen sighed. "The call came when you were at work. Hamza went and smoothed things over. But this... this is becoming a habit."

Yusuf groaned dramatically, placing a hand over his chest.
"Amma, your grandson is going to send me to the hospital one day. My sugar levels have gone up because of this boy!"

Amma shook her head with a knowing sigh.
"Go see what he has done now. We'll talk later. Hurry."

.

.

.

.

By the time Yusuf reached the college campus, his irritation had grown into worry.

Inside the principal's office, the scene hit him like a slap:

Ayaan stood with his head slightly bowed.

Five senior boys stood opposite him, each with some kind of injury-one with a bandage on his head, another nursing a bruised arm.

Ayaan himself didn't have a single scratch.

Yusuf's hand went straight to his chest again.
"Ya Allah... have mercy on me."

The principal gestured for him to sit.
"Please, Mr. Yusuf. Have a seat."

Yusuf sat, his jaw tight.
"Sir, what exactly happened this time?"

The principal adjusted his glasses and sighed.
"Mr. Yusuf, this is the second complaint in a week... and the fourth or fifth in this semester. Ayaan is brilliant-he excels in academics, sports, art... but when it comes to fights and chaos, he is equally talented."

He glanced at Ayaan.
"Truly an all-rounder... in every sense."

The sarcasm wasn't lost on Yusuf. He turned to glare at his son, who immediately lowered his head.

"But sir, what happened today?" Yusuf asked, his voice tight.

The principal gestured toward the injured boys.
"This. Ayaan did this."

Yusuf's mouth fell open.
"Ya Allah... this boy will give me a heart attack."

The principal leaned forward.
"Ayaan, tell your father what you told me."

Ayaan finally lifted his head, his voice firm but not apologetic.
"Dad, I didn't start it. I was playing football with my team. These seniors came and started bothering us. They tried to rag us, pushed us, and didn't let us play. When I stopped them, one of them shoved my friend. Another one even hit him. I couldn't just stand there and watch."

He pointed to one of the seniors.
"That one pushed my friend."

"And the others?" the principal asked.

Ayaan shrugged casually.
"They were with him."

The principal sighed.
"See, Mr. Yusuf? He's brave, but he doesn't understand limits. He cannot go around fighting five boys at once. This is not how we solve problems."

Yusuf pinched the bridge of his nose.
"So the other boys started it?"

"Yes," the principal admitted reluctantly. "It wasn't entirely Ayaan's fault. But he... well, he did all the damage."

Ayaan couldn't help the small smirk that touched his lips.

Yusuf shot him a warning look, then faced the principal.
"I apologize on his behalf. I will pay for the medical expenses of these boys and personally ensure he behaves."

The principal nodded, but his tone remained stern.
"Mr. Yusuf, I admire Ayaan's talent. But if this continues, we may have to consider suspension. Please... guide him."

Yusuf walked out of the office with Ayaan following like a silent shadow.

"Dad-"

"Not. One. Word." Yusuf's voice was sharp as they strode to the car.

"Dad, please, just listen-"

"I have heard enough! You are everywhere except where you're supposed to be. Fighting here, breaking things there. You will give me a heart attack, Ayaan Raheel Shah!"

They reached the car. Yusuf opened the door, muttering under his breath,
"ohh god, save me from my own son."

Ayaan tried again, softer.
"Dad... I'm sorry."

Yusuf sat behind the wheel, glaring at him.
"Sorry? I don't want sorry. I want you to promise me you won't do this again!"

Ayaan hesitated, lips pressed in a stubborn line.
"...I can't promise that."

Yusuf threw his hands in the air.
"This boy will put me in the grave early!"

Ayaan chuckled under his breath.
"Dad..."

"Get in the car, Ayaan. Before I lose my mind completely."

Thank you for reading
Please vote and comment.🙂🫀🫂