It was a Saturday afternoon — the one day of the week when Dua and her friends usually stepped out of the hostel together. Sometimes they went shopping, sometimes they just wandered through the streets for fresh air and laughter.

As always, today it was Dua, Hina, Aashia, and Marium walking side by side, heading towards the market just a short distance from their university. They chatted casually, their voices mingling with the street sounds. Dua had her light chadar draped neatly, covering her from head to toe except for her face.

Halfway through their walk, a strange feeling brushed over her — a heaviness in the air, like invisible eyes on her back. She slowed, instinctively glancing over her shoulder. No one was there.

"What happened, Dua? Why did you stop?" Hina asked, pausing with her.

Dua forced a smile, dismissing the unease. "Nothing... just thought I saw something." And with that, she turned forward again, brushing it off — unaware that someone really was watching her.

Elsewhere, not too far behind...

"Yaar, Ayaan," Nashir sighed as he hopped onto the back of Ayaan's bike. "Is it really necessary for you to come here to the girls' university every Saturday?"

"Bilkul zaroori," Ayaan replied without hesitation. "You know this is the only day I get to see Dua."

Nashir rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine... chal."

Within minutes they reached the area, Ayaan parking his bike at a spot with a clear line of view. Just two minutes later, she appeared — Dua, walking out of the hostel with her friends. Ayaan's gaze softened instantly, his lips parting as he whispered under his breath, "Mashallah..."

Nashir caught the look on his friend's face and smirked. "Bro... you're whipped."

Ayaan only smiled wider. "Yes, I am. So?"

"But don't you think standing outside a girls' hostel just to watch girls is wrong?" Nashir asked.

"Who says I'm here to watch 'girls'? I'm here to see Dua."

"Same thing," Nashir shot back.

"No, bro — not the same. I'm only looking at the girl I know. The only difference is... she doesn't know I'm here."

"That's called stalking, my friend," Nashir muttered.

"Shut up and look — she's going towards the market," Ayaan said, starting to move.

"Then why walk? Let's just follow her on the bike," Nashir suggested.

"Idiot," Ayaan hissed. "If we go that close on the bike, she'll see me. Walking is safer."

Nashir rolled his eyes at the sky. "Ya Allah, what kind of hopeless lover have You trapped me with?"

Dua and her friends strolled through the busy market lanes, stopping at stalls to admire fabrics, bangles, and little trinkets. Ayaan followed silently about thirty or forty steps behind, his eyes fixed only on her, oblivious to the rest of the world. Nashir, on the other hand, looked everywhere but at Dua, pretending he wasn't involved in this madness.

Ayaan was so lost in her presence that he didn't hear the sharp honk of a bike coming straight towards him.

Thud!

The collision knocked him off his feet, sending him stumbling to the ground. Nashir ran to him instantly.

By now, the noise had reached Dua and her friends. They turned to see what had happened, but a small crowd had already gathered around the fallen man. They couldn't make out who it was.

"These boys," Hina muttered, shaking her head. "They ride their bikes without even looking ahead."

"Exactly," Marium added with a laugh. "They think their bikes are airplanes ready to take off." The girls chuckled together.

"Still... what if he's badly hurt? We're medical students — maybe we should check," Dua said, concern lacing her voice.

"You're right, Dua," Aashia replied, "but if we go now, we'll get delayed getting back to the hostel. You know how strict the warden is — she might ban our market trips completely."

Marium nodded in agreement. "Yes, and look at all the people already there. I'm sure someone will take him to the hospital."

Hina placed a hand on Dua's arm. "Come on, we should keep moving."

Reluctantly, Dua agreed. "Alright... let's go." Still, she cast one last glance over her shoulder at the commotion before whispering softly in her heart, Ya Allah, whoever it is... keep them safe. Then she walked on with her friends, the unease lingering in the back of her mind.

Nashir had barely bent down to check Ayaan when he realized the boy had already fainted.
For a moment, it looked serious—until Nashir noticed there wasn't much damage. Just a couple of light scratches on his hand and maybe a bruised ego. Still, drama was inevitable.

With the help of a few passersby, Nashir carried him into a nearby hospital. The doctor examined him thoroughly, his expression somewhere between amused and mildly irritated, probably wondering how such a "grand accident" could happen.

Mr. Yousuf was sitting with Hamza, casually going over some files, when his phone rang. He glanced at the screen—an unsaved number. He answered.
There was a brief exchange on the other end, and suddenly his entire posture changed. He shot up from his chair.

Hamza stood too, startled. "Dad, what happened? Who was that?"

Sliding into his blazer with the speed of a man preparing for war, Mr. Yousuf muttered in a dramatic, almost theatrical tone,
"This boy will not rest until he takes my life."

Hamza blinked. "What? Which boy? What's going on?"

"Come. I'll tell you on the way. We have to go to the hospital," Mr. Yousuf said, already striding toward the door.

Fifteen minutes later, they arrived. Hamza parked quickly, and the two hurried inside. In the waiting area, they spotted Yasir.

They approached him at once. "Yasir beta, why is Ayaan in the hospital?" Mr. Yousuf asked sharply.

Yasir shifted nervously. "Uh... actually, there was a small accident."

"A small accident? What kind of nonsense is that? Either it's an accident or it's not!" Yousuf snapped.

Hamza crossed his arms. "How did it happen?"

"I'm guessing he was overspeeding, lost control, and crashed into something—probably a bike or a tree," Yousuf said, clearly confident in his deduction.

"No, uncle... it wasn't overspeed," Yasir replied quickly.

"Then?" Yousuf pressed.

"He... uh... he was walking."

"Walking? So someone hit him?" Hamza asked.

"No," Yasir said slowly, almost wincing in anticipation. "Ayaan... walked into a bike."

Ayaan ne chalte hue khud ko bike me thok liya hai!

There was a beat of silence.

"I'm sorry, what?" Yousuf's voice went up an octave. "You mean he crashed into a parked bike?"

Yasir hesitated. "Well... technically, yes."

"Technically?! Yasir, speak clearly before I lose the little patience I have left!"

Taking a deep breath, Yasir explained, "We were in the market. Ayaan was distracted—completely lost in his own thoughts. He didn't notice a bike right in front of him. The biker even honked, but Ayaan didn't react. The bike stopped in time, but Ayaan kept walking... and headfirst, he... um... connected with it. Then he fainted."

Hamza pinched the bridge of his nose to keep from laughing, while Yousuf stared at Yasir like he had just confessed to a crime.

Just then, the doctor came out.
Hamza go to him and ask aayan's condition.

"Relax," he said with a calm smile. "He's fine. Just a few scratches on his hand, nothing serious. You can see him now, Mr. Shah."

They thanked the doctor and went inside.

Ayaan was lying on the bed. The moment he heard the door open, he quickly pulled the blanket over himself—as if it would somehow make him invisible.

Yousuf saw right through it. "Oh, brilliant. You think if you hide under a blanket, you'll escape this? Wow, Mr. Ayaan Raheel Shah, you truly are a great man. People get hit by moving bikes, trucks, cars... but you? You walked into a stationary one."

From under the blanket, Ayaan peeked out and glared at Yasir. "You called my dad? Seriously?"

Before Yasir could reply, Yousuf cut in, "Oh, so you were planning to hide this as well?"

"No, Dad, I— I was just—" Ayaan stuttered, searching for the right words.

"Don't 'sorry' me, beta. Just tell me—when should I bid my final farewell to everyone? Because at this rate, you're determined to escort me straight to my grave. Just give me the date so I can prepare."

"Dad..." Ayaan whined like a child caught with a stolen cookie, looking utterly guilty and embarrassed at the same time.

Hamza finally couldn't hold it in anymore. He turned his face away, pretending to cough, but the quiet shaking of his shoulders gave him away.

"Hamza," Mr. Yousuf said without looking at him, his voice low and dangerous, "if you laugh, I swear I will disown both of you today."

That was it.

Hamza burst out laughing. "Dad—please—" he managed between laughs, "you have to admit... walking into a bike is a talent."

Ayaan pulled the blanket up to his nose. "Bhai, please. Not you too."

Mr. Yousuf folded his arms and looked down at his younger son. "So. Tell me. What were you thinking about so deeply that the entire world disappeared? Enlighten me. I'd like to know what is more important than your own life."

Ayaan stayed quiet.

Too quiet.

Mr. Yousuf narrowed his eyes. "Ayaan."

Slowly, Ayaan lowered the blanket. His ears were red, his expression unusually shy. "Nothing, Dad."

"Nothing?" Yousuf repeated. "This 'nothing' made you forget how to walk?"

Hamza raised an eyebrow. "Was it football?"

Ayaan shook his head.

"Studies?" Hamza tried again.

Another shake.

Yousuf sighed heavily and sat on the chair beside the bed, suddenly looking tired instead of angry. "Beta, whatever it is—if it's troubling you, say it. You don't need to carry everything alone."

For a moment, Ayaan almost spoke.

Almost.

But then he swallowed and looked away. "It's not a problem, Dad. Just... something on my mind."

Yousuf studied his face carefully. He knew this look too well—the stubborn silence, the guarded eyes. This wasn't mischief. This was something deeper.

Before he could say more, the door opened softly.

Yasir peeked in. "Uh... uncle, the nurse said visiting time is almost over."

"Good," Yousuf said, standing up. "Because I don't trust this patient alone with his thoughts."

He leaned closer to Ayaan and lowered his voice. "You're coming home. No arguments."

"But Dad—"

"No." Yousuf cut him off. "You fainted today. Tomorrow you might decide to wrestle a wall. I'm not taking chances."

Ayaan sighed. "Yes, Dad."

As they walked out, Hamza fell into step beside Yasir. "You know," he said quietly, "my brother has only ever gotten this distracted over one thing."

Yasir glanced at him. "Football?"

Hamza smirked. "No. Something far more dangerous."

"Like what?"

Hamza looked back through the glass window at Ayaan, who was still lying on the bed, staring at his phone like it held the secrets of the universe.

"A girl."

Inside the room, Ayaan unlocked his phone once more. His thumb hovered over a familiar name.

Dua.

He didn't type anything.

He just looked at her name, a small, helpless smile touching his lips—unaware that this one silent feeling was slowly about to change everything.

__

The sun was already leaning toward evening when Dua and her friends finally returned to their hostel. The laughter from the market slowly faded as the tall hostel building came into view, its familiar walls carrying the weight of routines, rules, and silent dreams. Dua adjusted her black chadar as she walked, the soft fabric resting on her shoulders like both comfort and responsibility. As she stepped inside the dorm corridor, a strange calm settled in her chest—this place had become her refuge, far from noise, far from pain, far from the life she had learned to survive.

Inside their room, the air was quiet now. Hina dropped her shopping bags on the bed, Marium immediately reached for her notebook, and Aashia sighed, stretching her arms. Dua sat on her bed and looked around—the same desk, the same lamp, the same wall where her timetable was pinned neatly. Only one thing had changed.

Time.

Her final exams were just a month away.

"Bas ek mahina aur," Dua whispered to herself, her fingers tightening around the edge of her notebook.
(Just one more month.)

A month that stood between her and everything she had ever prayed for.

Books lay scattered in front of her, heavy with knowledge, heavier with expectations. She opened one slowly, the familiar scent of paper and ink filling her senses. Medicine was never easy—it demanded discipline, sacrifice, and sleepless nights—but Dua had given it all willingly. Every chapter she studied felt like a step closer to freedom, closer to becoming the woman she had dreamed of since childhood.

"Final year... phir internship... aur phir main doctor ban jaungi," she thought, her eyes growing moist without permission.
(Final year... then internship... and then I will become a doctor.)

The words felt unreal, like a miracle forming quietly in her hands.

She leaned back against the wall, her gaze drifting to the bracelet on her wrist. The golden chain caught the light, the tiny rose petal at its center glowing softly, her name carved delicately into it. Dua's heart skipped—not with romance, but with gratitude. Life had not been kind to her, yet here she was, standing at the edge of her dream, stronger than her past had ever allowed her to be.

Her mind wandered, uninvited, to long nights when she studied after doing household work, to silent tears she wiped away so no one would hear, to prayers whispered into her pillow when the world felt unfair.

"Allah ne suna... har ek aansu, har ek dua," she murmured, closing her eyes.
(Allah listened... to every tear, to every prayer.)

Hina looked at her and smiled. "Lost in thoughts again, Dr. Dua?"

Dua smiled back softly. "Bas thoda sa future dekh rahi thi."
(Just looking at my future, a little.)

That night, as the hostel lights dimmed and silence wrapped itself around the room, Dua sat at her desk and opened her book once more. She picked up her pen with steady hands.

This wasn't just an exam.

It was her escape.
Her victory.
Her beginning.

And somewhere deep inside her heart, she made a quiet promise—to herself, to her dreams, and to the little girl she once was—she would never stop here.

Dua closed her book after hours of studying, her eyes burning, her mind tired—but her heart was strangely light. She leaned back in her chair and looked at the small calendar pinned beside her desk. One month. Just one month stood between her and a new life.

"Thoda sa aur sabr... phir main azaad ho jaungi," she thought, a faint smile touching her lips.
(Just a little more patience... then I will be free.)

Free from fear.
Free from silence.
Free from a past that had held her breath for too long.

She imagined herself wearing a white coat, her name written neatly on it. Dr. Dua Hashim. The thought sent a quiet thrill through her veins. Internship, hospital corridors, saving lives—everything she had worked for was finally within reach. That night, every page she revised felt like a brick laid carefully toward her freedom.

She stood by the hostel window, watching the lights outside flicker softly in the darkness. The world looked peaceful from here. Safe. Predictable.

Too predictable.

Dua pressed her palm against the glass and whispered, "Ya Allah, bas itna hi chahiye... mere sapne poore ho jaayein."
(Oh Allah, I ask for nothing more... just let my dreams come true.)

What she didn't know—what her hopeful heart couldn't sense—was that fate had already begun to shift its course.

Very soon, the life she was preparing for would slip out of her hands.
The freedom she dreamed of would be questioned.
The future she believed was secure would begin to crumble—slowly, mercilessly.

And when it happened, it wouldn't knock gently.

It would arrive like a storm,
stealing her dreams,
snatching her freedom,
and leaving her standing at the edge of a reality she was never prepared for.

Because sometimes, just when a dream is closest to coming true... destiny decides to take everything away.

Thank you for reading
Please comment and vote
Bye bye take care 🫀 ✨ 🫂