The evening sunlight poured through the half-open curtains of Room 206 in the girls' hostel, painting the small space in shades of gold and amber. Dua sat cross-legged on her neatly made bed, the warmth of home still clinging to her clothes, her eyes holding the softness of memories.

Around her, three of her closest hostel friends—Aashia, Hina, and Maryam—were sprawled on the floor with cushions pulled close, their eyes sparkling with curiosity as Dua carefully opened a large tiffin box.

The moment the lid lifted, the air filled with the rich aroma of freshly cooked food—soft parathas still warm, spicy chicken curry glistening with masala, and a small box of sooji ka halwa topped with crushed almonds.

"ohh woww... this smells like heaven!" Aisha exclaimed, leaning forward.

Dua smiled, her fingers lightly brushing over the warm steel of the tiffin.
"Dadi made all this for me before I left today... she woke up early just to cook it herself."

There was a quiet pride in her voice, but also a faint longing—because every dish carried not just flavor, but the comfort of a home she rarely got to live in.

Hina took a paratha, tearing it gently. "You're so lucky, Dua. My dadi lives miles away. I miss this kind of love."

Dua's smile softened as she began serving them. "Every time I visit home, she makes sure to pack something for me... she says, 'When you eat this, it should feel like my dua is with you.'"

Maryam tasted the halwa and closed her eyes in delight. "SubhanAllah... you can feel the love in every bite."

For a moment, the chatter in the room slowed, replaced by the simple act of sharing—food passed from hand to hand, the clink of steel spoons, and laughter spilling between mouthfuls.

Dua looked at her friends, their smiles glowing under the dim hostel lights, and whispered in her heart a silent prayer for the woman whose hands had cooked these dishes. Even far from home, her dadi's warmth had reached her—wrapped in parathas, sealed in tiffin boxes, and tucked safely in her heart.

In the middle of their conversation, Dua's phone buzzed. She glanced down—it was a message from Shaad's number, though she instantly recognized it was sent by Sana.

Sana:

Aapi, aap pahunch gai?
(sister, have you reached?)

Dua:
Yes, princess, main aa gayi.
(Yes, princess, I've reached.)

Sana:
Aap kya kar rahi abhi?
(What are you doing right now?)

Dua:
Main apne doston ke saath Dadi ke.
banaye hue khane share kar rahi
hoon aur baatein kar rahi hoon. Tum?
(I'm sharing the food Grandma made
 with my friends and chatting.
 What about you?)

Sana:
Maine apna homework complete
kar liya, ab main Bhai ke phone
mein game khelne ja rahi hoon.
(I've finished my homework, now I'm
going to play a game on Bhai's phone.)

Dua:
Acha... aur Shaad kya kar
raha hai?
(Okay... and what is Shaad doing?)

Sana:
Woh TV pe football match
dekh rahe hai.
(He's watching a football match on TV.)

Dua:
Aur Dadi, Abbu, Ammi
sab kaise hain?
(And how are Grandma, father, and mother?)

Sana:
Sab theek hain, Aapi. Aap
enjoy karo apne friends ke
saath. Main jaa rahi hoon
game khelne.
(Everyone is fine, Aapi. You enjoy with
 your friends. I'm going to play a game now.)

Dua:
Theek hai. Allah Hafiz. Apna
khayal rakhna... aur ghar
mein sab ka bhi.
(Alright. Goodbye. Take care of yourself
and everyone at home too.)

Sana:
Ok Aapi, goodbye.

Dua smiled softly, setting her phone aside. But before she could rejoin the conversation with her friends, her eyes caught another notification—this one from Ayaan. The timestamp showed it was from earlier in the morning, before she'd even left home.

Ayaan:
Dua, aap aaj hostel jaa rahi .
(Dua, are you going to the hostel today?)

She quickly replied

Dua:
Haan, Ayaan. Main aa
gayi hoon hostel.
(Yes, Ayaan. I've reached the hostel.)

It was a simple response, and she didn't expect him to reply so soon. But within seconds, her screen lit up again.

Ayaan:
Aap pahunch bhi gayi...
Dua, aap mujhe ignore kar
rahi hain kya? Itna late
reply kyun kiya?
(You already reached... Dua, are you
 ignoring me? Why did you reply so late?)

Dua:
Nahi, Ayaan... maine phone
check hi nahi kiya subha se.
Isliye tumhara message ab dekha.
(No, Ayaan... I hadn't checked my phone since
 morning. That's why I saw your message now.)

Ayaan:
Ohh... okay. Kaise ho
aap abhi?
(Oh... okay. How are you right now?)

Dua:
Main theek hoon.
Tum kaise ho?
(I'm fine. How are you?)

Ayaan:
Main bhi theek.
Kya kar rahi ho?
(I'm fine too. What are you doing?)

Dua:
Kuch nahi, doston
se baatein.
(Nothing much, just talking to friends.)

Ayaan:
Ohk... kar lo. Bye.
Okay... carry on. Bye.)

Dua:
Bye, Ayaan.

Dua put her phone aside again and turned back to her friends, laughing as Aashia teased Maryam about eating too much halwa.

 Miles away, inside the grand walls of Shah Haveli, Ayaan sat on his bed, staring at her last message as if it were a priceless treasure. His lips curved into a small smile—soft, almost boyish. But slowly, that smile faded, replaced by a heaviness in his eyes.

He held his phone tighter and whispered to himself,
"I know I'm younger than you, Dua... but I love you. No one would believe me, but it's the truth."

His gaze lingered on her contact name, his thumb hovering over it like he wanted to type more, yet didn't dare.

"I hope... I hope you understand someday. I hope you accept me. I know the chances are barely one percent... but even then, I'll try. Dadi always says—if you love someone, tell them before it's too late. Otherwise, time will take them... and the love will fade. I don't want that to happen to us."

He exhaled deeply, the sound almost a sigh. In his mind, he began speaking to her—not through text, but as if she were sitting right there beside him.

"Dua, you don't even know... you're already mine, at least in here."
He touched his chest where his heartbeat felt heavy.
"And one day, I'll tell you. One day, I'll make sure you know exactly what you mean to me."

The room was quiet except for the faint ticking of the clock. Yet for Ayaan, every second felt loud—counting down to the day he'd gather the courage to turn his silent conversations into reality.

Ayaan's eyes stayed fixed on Dua's contact name glowing on his phone screen. His thumb brushed over it slowly, like it was something fragile.
"You have no idea, Dua... no idea when this all began."

He leaned back against his pillow, letting his mind drift—slipping into a memory that was as vivid as if it had happened only minutes ago.

It was three years ago. He was only fourteen then, still that restless boy who found joy in football matches, video games, and sneaking mangoes from the Haveli garden in summer.

It had been raining heavily that evening. The Shah Haveli was alive with the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance. Dua had come over with her Dadi, wearing a simple white shalwar kameez, her hair slightly damp from the drizzle. She was in the kitchen with Mrs Zareena, helping slice fruit for everyone.

Ayaan had walked in casually, but then—he had seen it. That moment.

She was laughing at something Mrs zareena had said, her head tilted slightly, her eyes sparkling with an unguarded joy. The warm kitchen light caught in her lashes, and for the first time, Ayaan noticed how beautiful her smile was—not just in the way it curved her lips, but how it seemed to light up the entire space around her.

He remembered freezing mid-step. Something unfamiliar had stirred in his chest—an ache, warm and sweet, that made his heart beat faster.

It wasn't like how he cared for his friends or even his own family. This was different. This was... deeper.
(wo samjh nahi paa raha tha ye kya hai )

He didn't know what to call it then, but that night, lying in bed, he couldn't stop replaying her smile in his head. He'd thought to himself, "If this is what love feels like... I think I've already fallen." ( but main to abhi bahut chota hu usne khud se kaha. but still i feel it something different for her .")

And since that day, every visit, every conversation, every shared joke had only made that feeling grow.

Now, back in the present, Ayaan exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face.
"I've been carrying this for three years, Dua... and I still haven't told you."

He picked up his phone again, typing out a message—
"Can I tell you something important?"
—but then, after staring at it for a long moment, he erased it.

Not yet. Not tonight.

Instead, he placed the phone on his chest, closed his eyes, and whispered into the silence,
"One day, Dua... one day you'll know. And I pray you won't walk away."

Thank you 😊