3rd July, 2020

Happy and excited to meet her soon-to-be fiancé, Kinza Malik had stood before the mirror getting ready, humming a tune that now felt like a cruel joke. She hadn't imagined that by the end of the evening, she'd be left with a broken heart, a shattered engagement, and mascara-streaked tears in her eyes.

As she walked out of the grand Edrisi Mansion, the idea of facing her parents with news of the broken alliance made her stomach twist in dread. What was she supposed to tell them? Why the engagement was called off? What had gone wrong? She had no answers—just a heart heavy with confusion and sorrow.

Twenty-one and emotionally wrecked, Kinza sat quietly in the backseat of a cab, crying into her dupatta like it was some magical sponge that could soak up heartbreak. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, but the tears were relentless, mocking her attempts at composure. She noticed the driver glancing at her through the rearview mirror, giving her that awkward look reserved for people crying in public spaces.

She averted her gaze, looking out of the window. The sky had begun to drizzle the season's first snow. Milky white flakes floated down like nature’s poetic attempt at a soft landing, dusting the roads like powdered sugar on a burnt cake—beautiful, but too late to save the disaster. The wind turned chilly, prompting Kinza to roll up the window and pull her overcoat tighter.

If it had been any other day, she would have been curled up in her plush room with a mug of hot chocolate, watching the snowfall like it was a Netflix rom-com. But not today. Today was no rom-com. Today was heartbreak served cold.

The sudden ring of her phone startled her. Her mother's name flashed across the screen, and a fresh sob escaped her lips.

She let it ring, struggling to steady her voice and dry her face. The call ended. Guilt stabbed at her. She took a shaky breath and reached for her phone to call her back—but just then, the cab jerked violently to a halt, throwing her forward.

Her phone slipped from her hands. She steadied herself and looked up, alarmed.
“What happened? Why the sudden brake?” she asked, voice strained and hoarse.

The driver turned to her, his brows furrowed, and pointed at something—or someone—on the road.

“There’s someone lying on the highway. Looks like a hit-and-run.”

Kinza leaned forward and peered through the windshield. Her breath caught.

Without a second thought, she opened the car door and stepped out, her heels clicking uncertainly on the pavement. Every step toward the motionless figure felt like walking through thick fog. Her brain refused to process what she was seeing.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” she called softly, her voice trembling as much as her hands. The cab driver joined her, frozen in place like a badly written extra in a crime drama.

The man was lying face down, blood pooling around him, staining the snow. Gathering what little courage she had left, Kinza crouched down and tugged gently at his sleeve, rolling him onto his back.

She gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth. Her eyes squeezed shut, as if not seeing it would undo what she had just seen.

He was young—early twenties maybe—with a nasty stab wound on his side and blood coating his head and face. His pulse was faint. Barely there.

“He’s alive,” she told the cab driver. “We need to take him to the hospital.”

The man blinked at her like she’d suggested they smuggle a panda across the border. “It’s a hit-and-run. I don’t want to get involved.”

“It’s not a hit-and-run. He’s been stabbed. Someone wanted him dead,” she argued, her voice rising with urgency. “We need to help him!”

He hesitated. She didn’t.

“I’ll pay you triple—just help me get him in the car,” she snapped, the desperation in her voice outweighing the fear in his.

Between the two of them, they somehow managed to drag the unconscious stranger into the cab. Kinza slid in, cradling his head in her lap. Blood soaked into her clothes, but she didn’t care. She looked around for something—anything—to press against the wound. Her eyes landed on her dupatta. With zero hesitation, she ripped a piece off and pressed it against the stab wound, praying it would help stop the bleeding.

The man let out a low groan, and Kinza nearly jumped. “Hey! Hey, can you hear me?” she said, lightly tapping his cheek. His skin was icy.

“This is bad,” she muttered. “Uncle, please drive faster!”

She rubbed his hands in hers, trying to warm him up. When that didn’t help, she peeled off her own overcoat and wrapped it around him, shivering as the winter air bit through her now-thin clothing.

The cab skidded to a stop in front of the hospital. Carefully laying the man's head on the seat, Kinza bolted out and ran for help.

A stretcher, two male nurses, and a lot of barking orders later, the man was wheeled in. Kinza turned to the cab driver.

“Thank you. I’ll pay you whatever you want—and for the mess, too,” she added, glancing at the blood-stained seat with guilt.

Inside the hospital, she trailed behind the stretcher until a doctor stopped her.

“The patient has severe injuries and major blood loss. We’ve informed the police, and we’ll need a family member’s signature before we can proceed,” he said, handing her a clipboard.

Family member?

She didn’t even know the guy’s name, let alone his emergency contact.

Peeking through the small glass window in the OT door, she saw him fighting for his life.

Screw it.

Without a second thought, Kinza scrawled her name on the form and wrote “Wife” under the relationship section. Bold and underlined. Because apparently, today was all about bold decisions and absurd plot twists.

A nurse handed her a small plastic bag. “His belongings.”

Among them, she found her overcoat and pulled it on for warmth. “Can we begin the surgery now, please?” she asked, exasperated.

The nurse walked off without a word, and Kinza slumped into the nearest chair.

The red light above the OT door glowed ominously. She stared at it as if willing it to turn off would fix everything.

Her body ached. Her emotions were in shambles. She leaned back and shut her eyes for a moment—but then a phone buzzed.

She looked around and realized it was coming from the guy’s overcoat. Fishing through the pocket, she found a phone ringing with the name Abrar flashing on the screen.

She answered.

“Yo, bhai! Salam! You said you’d call—”

“Sorry,” Kinza cut in. “The owner of this phone has been in an accident. He’s in surgery right now.”

There was silence. Then panic. “Where’s bhai? What happened? Where are you?”

“I found him bleeding on the road. I brought him to the hospital. Please inform his family.”

“I am his family. He’s my brother.” A pause. “Please, can you update me? It’ll take us 10–12 hours to get there from Westminster. Please, miss…”

Kinza blinked. “Westminster?” she repeated, not sure if he meant the UK or some local copycat town.

She didn’t answer directly—just hummed in agreement and cut the call.

That call reminded her of her own mother.

“Great,” she mumbled. “Now I lose my phone, too?”

Running to the reception desk, she requested to make a call. Once granted, she quickly dialed her mom.

“Maa?” she said as soon as the call connected.

“Kinza! Where are you?! I’ve been calling! Are you okay?” Her mother’s voice was half scolding, half sobbing.

“I’m fine, Maa. I lost my phone. I’m at the hospital—but I’m okay.”

“Hospital?! Why?! What happened?!”

Kinza sighed. “Not me, Maa. Someone else. There was an accident, and I brought him in.”

After calming her down and sharing the hospital’s name, she returned to her seat and resumed her unofficial vigil. She placed the stranger’s coat beside her and started to put his phone back into his pocket when something shiny rolled out and clinked on the floor.

She picked it up.

A ring. Elegant. Gold band with a dazzling diamond in the center, flanked by two smaller ones.

“Woah,” she whispered. “Whose little piece of luxury are you?”

She sat back down, twirling the ring between her fingers.

She didn’t even know the guy’s name… yet here she was, dressed in his blood, pretending to be his wife, holding what was probably meant for someone else’s finger.

Life really had a weird sense of humor.

Assalamualaikum you beautiful folks!

Here I am with a brand new story!! Yaay!♡

I had this story planned out since sooo long but lazy me couldn't find an appropriate title for it so I kept pushing it further to publish it on wattpad :D

How is the short blurb? The first chap? I know it doesn't give you any idea of what the story line actually is, but what's wrong with a little suspense! ;)
Also, I won't easily disclose who the male lead actually is so until revealed further, enjoy the story and keep shipping Kinza with the two guys, who's names will also be revealed in the further chaps >.<

Comment down your thoughts and let me know!

Until next time...Annyeong!