In the hushed embrace of the early morning, the muffled cadence of tiny footsteps echoed through the stillness. Rubaab Arsalan Shah lay nestled in her husband's arms, attuned to the delicate struggle unfolding beyond the sanctuary of their bedroom door. Their two-year-old dynamo, Noor-ul-Ain, was attempting a feat known only to her restless heart – opening the formidable oak door.

The urge to rise and intervene tugged at Rubaab's maternal instincts, but she knew better than to interfere with Noor-Ul-Ain's determined ventures. Noor, their little enigma, cherished her independence, even when it meant wrestling with the stubborn doorknob. After a series of valiant attempts, the door yielded, unleashing a crescendo of creaks that could have awakened the entire neighborhood.

Noor, triumphant and undeterred, entered the dimly lit room where her father, Arsalan, lay in blissful slumber. The clock had barely struck six, and Arsalan, a connoisseur of late mornings, remained blissfully oblivious. Noor approached the bed, her mother's outstretched arm an open invitation to join their cocoon of warmth.

With a twinkle in her eyes, Noor nestled beside her mother, who wove delicate fingers through her raven locks. The dawn held its breath as mother and daughter shared a silent moment.

"Papa?" Noor's inquiry, innocent and persistent, hung in the air as she observed her father's arm draped over Rubaab's waist.

"Papa's asleep, baby. He's tired," Rubaab whispered, a conspiratorial secret shared with her daughter to safeguard the sanctity of the morning repose.

Noor, however, was not one to be deterred easily. "Noori papa?" she persisted, her eyes wide with curiosity and a touch of mischief.

In the half-light, Noor's unique charm became evident. She was the sole heiress in a world that revolved around her, a fact not lost on her doting father, Arsalan. His love for his daughter transcended the boundaries of reason, a sentiment Rubaab understood all too well.

"No, Noori papa!" Noor declared with unwavering determination, her pet name for herself and everyone in her orbit.

Defying her mother's gentle attempts to pacify her, Noor perched herself on Arsalan's waist, a pint-sized alarm clock determined to rouse him from his peaceful slumber. Rubaab's futile efforts to intervene only succeeded in hastening the inevitable.

"Arey meri beti," Arsalan greeted, his voice a husky melody that evoked giggles from Noor. The bedroom, once a haven of tranquility, was now alive with the symphony of familial love.

(Oh my daughter)

Spoiled yet irresistibly endearing, Noor continued her reign of morning mischief. Rubaab, caught between her husband's need for rest and her daughter's unstoppable energy, offered to take Noor outside. But Arsalan, already fully awake and captivated by Noor's antics, dismissed the idea with a confident assurance.

"I'm okay, love. I'll take care of her. You can sleep," Arsalan insisted, turning towards Rubaab, who found herself wide awake, a willing spectator in their early morning theater.

"Noori papa, ice cream," Noor declared, her plea echoing with both innocence and mischief. Rubaab, however, drew the line, delivering a stern warning against indulging in ice cream escapades at such an early hour.

"Ap donon mujh se piten ge... Koi ice cream nahi itni subah," Rubaab declared, her tone firm yet laced with a touch of playful threat. Noor, undeterred, turned her wide-eyed gaze towards Arsalan, invoking his paternal weakness.

(You both will beaten by me, no ice cream this early)

"Yar, jani, just once," Arsalan conceded, his resolve melting in the face of his daughter's irresistible charm.

"No, I won't allow it. Magar phir bhi khani hai to yaad rakhna mai naraz, Nooi se or hi Noori papa se," Rubaab warned, drawing irritated looks from both father and daughter. The stage was set for a morning drama, with Rubaab playing the role of the steadfast guardian.

(I wont allow it, but even if you wanna eat, remember I will be mad with you both)

Noor, sensing her mother's unwavering stance, sought solace in Rubaab's arms, her plea for "Mama, sheep" a poignant reminder of the tender connection they shared. Rubaab, embracing Noor, lulled her back into a gentle slumber, the rhythmic thumping on Noor's waist creating a soothing lullaby.

(Sleep)

Arsalan, enveloping both his girls in a protective embrace, placed tender kisses on their heads. "Sleep well, meri jaan," he whispered, the quiet declaration echoing with the profound simplicity of familial love.

As they observed their daughter, a kaleidoscope of emotions playing across her cherubic face, Rubaab and Arsalan found themselves immersed in the enchanting narrative of their family. In the delicate heterochromia of Noor's eyes—one green, one aqua blue—they discovered a mesmerizing beauty that mirrored the uniqueness of their familial bond. Their world, once in disarray, now thrived with the extraordinary magic woven by the spirited Noor-ul-Ain.

•••

Aabidah found herself gasping for breath as she went down for sajda during her Isha prayer. The need for air suddenly overwhelmed her, and she felt suffocated by the scarf she had wrapped around herself. Managing to finish her namaz, she walked over to stand beside the window, lost in her thoughts.

Her room's door banged open, and the head maid informed her about her son Sikandar. Aabidah released a shaky breath and hurriedly made her way to Sikandar's room, where he lay on his bed, bruised.

Upon seeing his condition, she gasped and inquired, "What happened, ya Allah?" The doctors examining him looked at her, their eyes cast downward. "He has gotten into a fight," the doctor mumbled, aware of the lady's status and showing deference to his head.

She looked at her son and asked again, "With whom, lala?" The doctor, glancing at Sikandar, received a glare, indicating not to reveal the opponent's identity.

"Asfandyar se lara hai ye, jo ke is se kafi saal bara hai!" came the voice of Sajid Salaar. They turned to look at the man with an alpha personality, his face devoid of emotion and his eyes cold.

(He fought with asfandyar, that mind you...is alot older than him)

"I want you all to go out of the room. Ap bhi begum. Mujhe Sikandar se kuch bat karni hai" Sikandar gulped. His father alone with him was never a pleasant moment.

(You too wife, I wanna have a talk with sikandar)

Knowing the fault wasn't his, Sikandar was scared; his father's hand was no less than a wooden stick. They all made their way outside. Aabidah stopped beside her husband, placing her hand on his arm and said, "Aram shi," before going outside herself, leaving the father and son duo.

Sajid came forward, making Sikandar's heartbeat quicken. He smacked Sikandar hard on his already bruised cheek, making his head whip to the side. "Himmat kese hui us kutte se mafi mangne ki... Ainda kisi k samne jhuka, to acha nhi hoga." Sikandar could only nod at his father.

(How are you ask for forgiveness? You should not bow down to anyone other than your God!)

"Laarai kyun hui?" Sajid asked Sikandar again. "Asfandyar was making fun of my crippled friend," Sajid nodded and said, "You stood up for your friend. That's good... But if you bow down Infront of anyone other than Allah... Than I will finish you myself, Sikandar... Mere kabeele mai aurton ki zaroorat nhi mujhe.. mard bano." Saying this, he turned around and left, leaving Sikandar alone with his thoughts.

(Why did you fight)
(I dont need women in my kabeela, be a man)

His life was never nice. It was always "mard bano, roo mat." He was beaten up for every small thing, either by his father or his men if there was any guztakhi from his side.

(Be a man, dont cry)

He was groomed to embody an alpha persona, steeped in the values of a closed-minded society, while Noor-Ul-Ain enjoyed the nurturing embrace of a loving family that showered her with endless affection, indulging her every whim.