IT'S HERE ! THE DRAMATIC ARC -

This chapter onwards we're entering the main climax arc of the story hence it'll be full of drama and the next few chapters shall have cliffhanger type endings.  FINALLY I'm posting this chapter 😭 the beginning of the chaos - the phase I've been cooking up and waiting to share for months - is here.  If I keep trying to edit and perfect it then the time will never come so here it goes  ( this chapter has been sitting in the drafts for quite a while. Because I wasn't satisfied and was scared to share the twist )

Now for those of you who don't like cliffhangers and want to read all the drama in one go, I suggest wait for a few more updates and then binge read. ( Don't say I didn't warn ya ) But it may take a longer time.

And those who are okay with the chaos and all? Dive right in 🫣

Also please please comment plenty for this part , I wanna know all your reactions and thoughts 🥹

Ahem ahem :  We might need to send our boi to the hospital after the news he is about to receive but maybe I'll just make him catch a flight back home instead -

Isahaq's pov

I leaned against the marble countertop in the tiny kitchen of the three-bedroom apartment I shared with Deniz and Kenzou.

Xavier and Natalie had their own place, while Rivaan lived with his family in their house in Sydney.

Pouring the steaming chai from the kettle into my favorite black mug, I swirled the liquid after adding milk from the bottle, watching as the drink gradually turned a lighter, creamier shade. The aroma curled around me, comforting, grounding.

I took a sip, sighed softly, and lightly hummed along to the song playing  in the background from my phone. My music taste had shifted drastically since moving countries. While I still listened to all types of songs, these days I found myself drawn to Bangla music whenever homesickness hit. Somehow, it made the ache inside feel less empty, filling it with a quiet warmth.

Deniz would often tease me whenever he caught me staring out the window for too long while the songs played. He’d ask, voice laced with mischief, “Who are you thinking about now, Isa?” And truthfully, most of his guesses weren’t far off. Everything reminded me of Maha - her laugh, her quirks, the way she would notice the smallest details about people. I frequently wondered what she was doing, how her day had gone, whether she was smiling or busy or just… existing in her own world.

But I couldn’t bring myself to call her first. Even with the rare messages we exchanged between busy schedules, the conversations inevitably stumbled into awkward pauses. It was as if both of us were carefully tiptoeing around unspoken lines which should be avoided to be crossed, unsure what question was safe, what could be considered too much.

I wanted to tell her everything. Rant about the chaotic shifts, share the small victories , the happy moments, and introduce her to the friends I had made here. But how would she take it? Would she be interested, or feel burdened? Was she busy? With what right could I pour my life into her day when we were so far apart?

If only she knew that I wished I was always there, ready to listen to her talk about everything and nothing, eager to remember even the smallest details about her likes, her dislikes, the little quirks that made her who she was.

And yet… perhaps it was better that she didn’t text first. I was only human, with limits, with patience that could only stretch so far. No matter how strong the temptation, I reminded myself there was no reason to reach out unnecessarily.

We had been friendly, yes, but that was uncharted territory, a space fraught with risk. She wasn’t mine,at least, not yet. To act on these feelings without intention, without respect, would be like playing with fire; leaving behind burns and regrets that linger long after the moment has passed. Because feelings are inevitable and natural - but how we chose to act regarding them is the true trial.

Abroad, loneliness can be dangerous.
Not just the kind of danger that leaves you sad for a day or two -  but the kind that seeps into your soul, quietly reshaping you without you even noticing.

When I first moved, it hit me harder than I’d expected. That heavy silence in an unfamiliar room. The way weekends stretched into an ache. The temptation to just do something,  anything - to fill the emptiness.

Some of the first friends I made… weren’t what I’d like to remember. There were Muslims, yes I had deliberately sought them out, hoping to find that safety net of shared faith. But their Islam was… surface-level. They prayed sometimes, mostly on Fridays. They fasted in Ramadan and then spent the rest of the year going to certain clubs like it was nothing.

Because here, no one was “apparently” watching. No parents, no aunties, no uncles from the masjid to give that pointed look. They forgot Allah was still watching. They got lonely and instead of calling out to Him in sujood, they turned to forbidden activities.

That’s what happens when you grow up with rules but never understand the reason behind them . When salah and hijab and fasting are just “cultural traditions” instead of shields meant for your protection. Protection against heartbreak. Against guilt that lingers for years. Against your own nafs leading you down a path you can’t come back from without scars.
Alhamdulillah, I eventually found a solid friend group.

Rivaan was naturally reserved and moody hence he stayed away from haram without needing reminders. His idea of unwinding was a late-night drive, not a party.

Deniz was different. He’d been carefree in his teen years - had a few “situationships,” but, as he often said, “never crossed any physical lines,” something he thanked Allah for every day now. When he first moved abroad, loneliness hit him too, and one day, wandering into a masjid, he ended up sitting through a Sheikh’s lecture.

That was the turning point. He didn’t just recite the Qur’an anymore, he understood it. Verses that used to be sounds suddenly became meaning. And once you taste that, you can’t go back to empty ritual. He chose Islam for himself - not for his family, not because of social pressure, but because his heart finally knew why.

He always says it’s proof: people mess up, they sin, but if they repent and come back stronger, they become beloved to Allah. Sometimes that’s when their whole life turns around. After all, Allah is the most merciful.

On the other hand Kenzou had been quietly reading and asking me questions about various topics, and I couldn’t help but notice how much interest he’d shown in Islam lately. Whenever I would watch lectures of well known scholars or listen to tafseers, Kenzou would sometimes linger back, staying nearby and occasionally putting in his inputs and asking me things he was curious about.

Xavier and Natalie weren’t Muslim,  and some of their actions didn’t align with ours, like pre-marriage affection. But they were deeply respectful of our values. I still remember when Natalie first met Rivaan. She went in for a hug, just a friendly one, and Rivaan, blunt as ever, stopped her.

“Sorry, I don’t hug non-mahrams.”

The air could have gone awkward, but we made sure it didn’t. We explained, calmly and respectfully, that it wasn’t personal, and it wasn’t about her. It was about our boundaries.  Boundaries we followed not because we wanted to be “different,” or because of any culture rule, but because they were a form of protection. A shield against unnecessary, messy feelings.

At first this may seem extreme even to some Muslims - but that's because most of us don't bother diving deep behind the rulings of Islam. If only people pondered they'd realize that these weren't restrictions but in fact protection and respect for the person you're interacting with. It's not necessary to physically be affectionate with the opposite gender to convey your well wishes or greeting. Refraining from such activities reduces chances of any unwanted feelings from taking root.

At first, it was new to her, especially since other Muslims she knew didn’t care about such things. But now? She gets it. She respects it. In fact, she’s been careful ever since, making sure to keep a comfortable distance, treating us like younger brothers under her watch.

Xavier’s changes surprised me too. He doesn’t drink anymore. Partly because of his medical knowledge, partly because of the respect he has for us. He even picked up Arabic phrases like As-salamu alaykum and Alhamdulillah. Sometimes, he’s the one reminding Deniz to say Bismillah before eating.

He might not be accepting Islam fully, but his respect for it ? And for us - is real.

The truth is, even the strongest believers face ups and downs. Temptations are everywhere. That’s why who you surround yourself with matters, not just for your dunya, but for your akhirah.

You need people who share your values, or at the very least respect them and remind you of them. People who pull you up when you’re slipping, not those who laugh off your faith or paint your boundaries as “extreme.”

Those are the true friends. The ones worth holding on to.

Finishing the chai, I felt a gentle wave of refreshment wash over me. The combination of the warm drink and the long nap had shaken off the exhaustion from the grueling thirty-six-hour hospital shift I had just completed. Too tired to cook anything proper, I settled for chai and biscuits. My mind wandered, as it often did, to a small memory of Maha. She always seemed to add a little extra sugar, or pair her meal with a tiny side of something sweet at the dawats where we had crossed paths. I smiled involuntarily at that, her little habits etched into memory.

The sun was slowly rising behind the Harbour Bridge as I gazed out from our high-rise window. Dawn rays streamed across the kitchen, slanting across the stove and the black countertop where my mug rested. Settling onto a stool by the kitchen island, I finally allowed myself a quiet moment to check my phone, the comforting scent of chai lingering around me.

Shoot—

I muttered under my breath as I stared at Maha’s graduation post, the date stamped mockingly five days ago. Five whole days. She graduated already? Wait- this would have been a proper valid reason to text her. An excuse of using congratulations as a disguise to know her wellbeing but now I was already late. 

But the truth? The last few days had bled into each other like a tidal wave.

Rounds. Emergencies. The chaos of the ICU. Patient after patient 

Trauma codes echoing in the back of my head even when I closed my eyes. 

There were nights I ended up crashing on the couch in the family waiting room because I didn’t even have the strength or time  to make it back to my apartment, let alone checking any social media. 

No time. No breath. No space for anything except survival.

Not even for her.

My stomach twisted. I was so late. So damn late.

She must hate me now.

I opened my inbox with trembling fingers, scrolling past endless unread messages until I found her account.

Heart hammering. Thumb frozen over the keys.

What do I even say?

“Congratulations” felt too… clean. Too flat. Too nonchalant. 

I needed to explain.

Tell her I didn’t mean to disappear. That I thought of her reaction at times when I saw the sky shift colors outside the ICU window. 

She must think I didn’t care. That I forgot or was ignoring her.

That I didn’t feel that twist of joy and pride at the sight of her in that navy gown, smiling with that quiet charm. 

I shot her a quick message before I could overthink more. As my mind buzzed with a multitude of thoughts, I scrolled through the other unread messages, pausing when my eyes surprisingly caught another familiar name. Maha's cousin and my junior from school, Amna

She had texted me two days ago,
asking for advice regarding some university application process abroad. 

I opened it, guilt pressing at my chest. If I didn’t reply now, I’d forget again. So I sent her some links, typed out a few helpful tips and  pressed send.  

Unlike Maha who seemed to be offline, Amna’s reply came instantly.

Amna: Thanks bhaiya, sorry for bothering, I know you must be busy. Hope everything's good on your end.

I paused.

An opportunity.

Selfish? Maybe. But I needed to know. I needed something—anything—about Maha.

Isahaq: I'm okay Alhamdulillah. How’re you and everyone else? How’s your family and relatives?

I tried to sound casual. Breezy. Disinterested.

Lying has never tasted more bitter.

Amna: Hmm you don't have to be so discreet. You can directly ask, you know? You're only interested in one person's well-being, aren’t you?

My eyes widened.

What the—

I sat up straighter, phone suddenly burning in my hand.

Was I that obvious?

No. I wasn’t.

I was careful. Always careful. Just enough texts to keep a thread. Never too much.

Not enough to cross a line.

But enough to hope.

Isahaq: What do you mean? I just asked generally of course. 

Amna: Fine, it’s okay, don’t admit it. Maybe I got the wrong idea. I’m struggling with uni decisions, but everyone else is good. We’re all busy with the wedding preparations and all.

Wedding?

My brain stumbled. Whose wedding?

Isahaq: Oh, sounds fun. Who’s getting married?

Amna: Oh my bad-you don’t know?! Shoot, so much has happened and you don’t know! I mean you were MIA for so long it’s good you’re finally alive and texting but bro-where do I begin?

An inexplicable feeling of worry flashed through my mind at her tone. 

Isahaq: Yeah, I was busy and all- but what exactly happened?

Amna: So basically Maha Api received a proposal from this Ahaan dude about a week back. I mean, the elders were pretty much onboard with him because they knew him from before and stuff. Though Maha Api seemed a bit confused and hesitant at first but then…

The text seemed to be half formed. My body went cold, then hot as my heart slammed into my ribs like it was trying to break free.

My mouth went dry. My throat trembled as words came through on the screen again. 

Amna: the other rishtas…

That was it.

The rest of the message broke off.

Nothing after that. Just fragments.

Incomplete bubbles.

Static.

My heart seemed to drop down to my chest as anxiety gripped my soul, fear coursing through my vein and sending panic surging to my mind. 

No no no—what the hell—

A proposal? What ?

That bastard Ahaan dared to propose to her?

Why didn’t anyone tell me?

Why didn’t she tell me?

I jabbed at my screen. Was the wifi not working? I checked the connection and it was stable. Problem from her end? Where's the rest of the damned text?!

Isahaq: What proposal and rishtas Amna? Why didn’t anyone tell me? Maha didn’t accept it, right?

A new text finally appeared.

Amna: Anyway the network isn’t the best here due to the heavy rain from the past few days—

…so excited for my cousin's wedding—uploaded haldi pics… wish you were here bhaiya.

I gotta go now. Today's mehendi ceremony, I’m heading to the salon with Maha Api to get ready -

No. No no no.

I gripped the phone tighter.

Every nerve in my body screamed.

Isahaq: DON’T YOU DARE LEAVE AMNA—WAIT, TELL ME! WHO’S MAHA GETTING MARRIED TO?!

Nothing. Paralyzing fear and heartbreak gripped my body as I saw
the message didn’t even say “Delivered.” 

Just that cruel, indifferent clock symbol.

Mocking me.

The distance, exhaustion, unspoken feelings, and the gut-punch of possibly losing her. Never had I ever had the urge to curse so much.

I tried calling.

Straight to voicemail.

I tried again. Switched off. Nothing was going through. 

There’s no way Maha accepted Ahaan’s proposal just because he used to like her once upon a time... right?

I mean, he hurt her so much in the past—

But hadn’t I done the same thing? Left her behind all of a sudden?

Ya Allah, what is happening?

She’s not—no, she wouldn’t—

She couldn’t have said yes. But what if she did?

What if she got tired of waiting for a ghost? Because hadn't I done the same thing now? Hurt her by leaving her behind all of a sudden ?

What if I was just a flicker in her past, and Ahaan was the future she finally said yes to?

What if I was too late- to the extent  that this time, I wouldn’t be able to text it away.

But Maha didn’t have any feelings for Ahaan, not like that. She told me herself. Why would she agree to marry someone she didn’t love?

Did they… reconcile during these past years? What exactly had happened?

I didn’t know whether to be angry, scared, or frustrated.

It felt like someone was squeezing my soul tightly, mocking me, laughing at my dilemma—telling me this was my punishment for not acting sooner.

Why would she wait for me when I never asked her to? Heck, did she even like me in the first place?

But there was no way I could let this happen.

Amna mentioned the holud and mehendi ceremonies, but the wedding was still ahead. Yet to happen. 

I still had time to stop this.

My fingers danced across the screen like they were sprinting a marathon, opening Amna’s profile to find the pictures she had posted on her highlights. 

The comments were turned off, but the album’s title screamed out at me:

“Cousins Grand Wedding Saga Begins.”

I rifled through the pictures, scrolling and looking for one person only.

As soon as my gaze locked on her, my fingers stilled—and so did my heart. My breath just caught — like someone punched the air right out of my lungs. My hands trembled so badly I had to grip the phone tighter just to steady myself.

Maha was draped in a gorgeous multicolored lehenga, swirling pastel shades of blue and green.

Her neck and wrists were adorned with delicate flower jewelry while 
a single flower tikli dangled over her forehead, perfectly framing her face.

Her hijab was styled differently than usual. Instead of wrapped snugly around her neck, the baby teal fabric framed her face but left her neck open, showing off the flower wreath resting around her throat and collarbone. 

The hijab was pinned toward the back, flowing like a veil—the kind brides wore.

Amna stood beside her, wearing similar shades, while other girls wore a mixed combination of either blue and green or magenta and amber—no doubt representing the bride’s and groom's sides respectively.

Though everyone was dressed beautifully, sporting flower jewelry and vibrant colors, my eyes didn’t see anyone but Maha. 

I slid my finger to the next picture—

A group shot from Maha’s side. Raiyyan wore a teal Punjabi and stood to Maha’s right while 
Amna was on his other side. They were surrounded by a few more cousins and close friends completing the lineup. 

But I narrowed my eyes on a particular figure to Maha’s left—

My blood felt like it was boiling beneath my skin, an urgent heat crawling up my neck and settling heavy in my fists. The picture of Maha and that stranger — his arm casually draped over her shoulder — stabbed through me like a cold blade. My throat tightened; I had to fight the sharp urge to scream at the screen.

A hollow ache spread from my chest down to my stomach when the next slide showed only Maha and him.

A random bearded guy in his late twenties I’d never seen before.

His arm still lazily resting over her shoulder, head slightly tilted toward hers as she smiled shyly at the camera.

Amna’s caption read:

“Fav duo finally back again 😭🤍 heart is at peace.”

What the absolute heck—?

My heart pounded against my ribs like a wild drum. My fingers clenched until my knuckles turned white, as if I could reach through the screen to strangle him.

How many heart attacks was this news going to give me now?

I hadn’t seen Ahaan in any of the pictures yet.

Was this the groom? Did she fall for someone else while we drifted apart?

Or did she just agree to some arranged marriage randomly?

Is this one of the “other rishtas” Amna mentioned?

Maha looked absolutely ethereal—straight out of my dreams.

But the cruel twist was I wasn’t the one beside her as she got decked up like a bride. Instead, some other man stood there, arms around her, claiming the place I’d imagined was mine.

It was like my worst nightmare was mocking me, mercilessly
laughing straight at my face as I writhed in agony. Regret clawed at every inch of me, sharp and relentless. The sharp sting behind my eyes made my vision blur for a second. I shook my head, trying to clear the storm, but the ache settled deeper.

I’m supposed to be the one holding her like that.
I’m supposed to be the one loving her, taking care of her for eternity.
Not some random guy. Not anyone else.

I scroll to the next slides desperately trying to find any clue or indication that this was just a nightmare - not a bitter reality. 

Then I came across a video.

The holud decorations—flower arrangements, pastel drapes hanging overhead against the backdrop of the blue sky—flickered on the screen before settling on the decorated stage crowded with people. 

The crowd was divided in colors, a clear bride’s side and groom’s side.

Familiar Desi wedding songs blasted loudly in the background, and everyone took turns showing off their dance moves on the floor. 

The audience hollered and cheered, the energy electric.

The camera zoomed in and out through the crowd of excited people. 

Raiyyan came in front of the camera and whistled loudly,

“Show them, Sahad!”

The frame switched to that bearded guy with a crew cut—Sahad—grooving in the middle.

He pulled off a series of stunts, making the crowd go wild.

My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles whitened.

My searing gaze fixed on the screen as if it could burn him through the glass.

Even Raiyyan seemed happy about the guy—what a betrayal.

Everyone moved in sync, some doing synchronized choreography, others wild freestyle.

Raiyyan bobbed his head excitedly as a crowd of guys surrounded him and hyped him up. 

First he twirled Amna around, then nudged her shoulder before dragging Maha into the middle. 

Her lehenga’s skirt flowed like a wave as she giggled.

Raiyyan gently shoved her toward Sahad, who grinned while she rolled her eyes, narrowing them a little before chuckling lightly. 

She looked happy.

There was nothing I wanted more than her happiness, her smile—

But this time, my soul felt like it was being slowly torn apart.

What about my feelings?

Shouldn’t I try one last time?

Or would I spend my entire life regretting not fighting for the love of my life?

Then suddenly my confusion grew as Ahaan appeared from nowhere and joined the group. 

He busted a few moves, and the song switched to something catchier.

The crowd jumped with renewed energy.

Amidst all the madness, I searched for Maha.

While the majority of the crowd danced with abandon—letting go, wild and free - Maha was different. Unlike them, she seemed to be more hesitant and careful. 

She stood near the middle, shyly fidgeting and smiling at everyone.

Her moves were limited, modest, and careful. 

Sometimes she would bob her head slightly, or move her hands in the familiar group choreography, but always reserved, barely anything. Never moving too close to others or too much. Vigilant about the watchful gazes observing all around. I noticed how she shrank away and moved aside whenever bodies brushed past- shrugging carefully and avoiding the other dancers.

Why did she always have to be so damn cute?  My heart stumbled, caught between aching longing and helpless admiration. It was like watching a dream I could no longer reach, shimmering just out of grasp.

But then someone sliced a knife through my bubble of thought—

I watched as Ahaan came up beside her and whispered something.

She raised her eyebrows, lips curling slightly around the corners. 

Then Sahad stepped between them, giving Ahaan a half-hearted smile—

An unspoken tension brewing thick between them. 

Before I could know what happened next, someone started jumping in front of the camera like a damn monkey high on bananas, blocking my view of the pair as the video ended.

My mind became a storm of chaotic thoughts crashing and colliding with no order or mercy. Each question stabbed sharper than the last — Why? How? Who? — and all I could feel was a hollow weight growing heavier in my chest.

What the hell was happening?

She’s actually getting married?

How did I not know? Why did she agree?

And who the hell was the groom?

But no matter who he was—

What mattered was that it wasn’t me.

My chest tightened until it felt like I couldn’t breathe.

The cold grip of despair wrapped around me, squeezing so hard I thought I might shatter.

My hands—why are they shaking? Why am I even feeling this?

I’ve been the one who left. I was the one who disappeared without anything concrete. 

I thought I was doing the right thing, focusing on my career—my future. That's what was proper at that time. 

But did I ever stop to consider what it would do to her? To whatever there was between us? 

I swallowed hard. My throat was dry.

The distance—the years—had built a wall between us, and now it felt like that wall was collapsing on me.

How long had she been quietly slipping away?

How long had she been waiting for something I never gave her?

The problem was that I thought I had time. Time to build my career and life and hoping everything would fall in place at the right time, not knowing that there was no guarantee that she was going to sit still and wait for me.

I closed my eyes, the weight of everything pressing down like a mountain.

The room felt suddenly cold, the silence deafening.

I tapped the screen again, looking for a way out of this nightmare—

But there was none.

I don't even know for sure if Maha had moved on- but I can't just risk silence anymore. 

Not yet.

Because if there was one thing I knew for sure, it was this—

I couldn’t give up.

Not now.
Not on her.

I consider calling my mom - or hers even - but no. That's rash. What do I even say? ‘Hey is Maha marrying someone else? Should I fly over and ruin it?’ What right did I have anyway?

The room was spinning. My chest ached. The kind of ache that felt like your ribcage might split apart just to let your heart escape. I couldn’t sit still anymore.

She’s really getting married. Not a rumor. Not a misunderstanding. Not a prank. She’s dressed like a bride. With flower jewelry. With another man beside her. Not me.

Am I too late? I can’t just sit back and watch her become someone else’s, not without trying, not without giving it my all at least once. I need to let her know, to be certain that I’ve left no chance unexplored. In the end, all I can do is make the effort; the outcome is for fate to decide. If she is meant to be mine, it will be, no matter the obstacles. And if not… I’ll accept God’s decree. But I owe it to myself to take this one last step, to seek clarity, to leave nothing lingering in regret.

I record a voice note on WhatsApp:

“Maha… I know this is random. And maybe stupid. But I saw the post. And if you’re really getting married… I just— I needed to say it. That I—”

I send the message before I can back out, then set the phone down quickly. Like it's a venomous creature that might bite me. Silence descends again, thicker this time. More oppressive.

I sit there, staring at the phone, the ache in my chest turning sharper, deeper. It feels like a knife twisting.

I stop and delete the audio
My gaze fixated at her name.
"Last seen: 4 hours ago."
Forget it. Too late.
I threw my phone down on the bed.

I'm not confessing by text. I need to say it to her face. One final shot.

What the hell am I doing?

She probably thinks I forgot her. Maybe she did move on. Maybe she never thought of me that way. Maybe I’m just the past.

My fingers hovered over my phone again.
Call: Maha
If she picks up and says yes, I’ll back off. I swear I will.
I dial.
One ring. Two.
Straight to voicemail.

I slam the phone back on the bed.

What if she loves him? What if this ruins everything not just between us but between our families too ? It's a delicate situation. One wrong move and everything will be a mess. But if I don't try, the regret will eat me up for the rest of my life.

I pause as I struggle to decide - what I'm going to do is crazy but what other choice do I have.

It’s awkward, we haven’t spoken in years.
I'm scared they’ll shut me down or that it really is her wedding. But I'd rather show up and take the risk than sit back and regret. I have to go back. Talk to her face to face.

But what if she doesn’t know I’m still waiting?
What if all she ever needed was for me to show up?

If I don’t try now, I’ll regret it every Eid, every wedding, every random Dua I whisper.

I’ll face the drama. I’ll take the shame. But I’m not losing her without trying.

I stood abruptly, my chair scraping back with a screech. My breath came out uneven, like it was pushing through grit in my throat.

I grab my phone charger, a crumpled shirt, and a carry-on suitcase.
I stormed to the closet, yanked it open, and started throwing clothes into the suitcase. No time to fold. No time to think.

Hoodie. Travel bag. Power bank. Toothbrush. Chargers.
What else? What else? Don’t forget the passport you idiot.
I dug under my documents pile and grabbed it like it was a lifeline.

My hands were shaking as I zipped the suitcase up halfway, nearly trapping the edge of my hoodie in it. Sweat collected at the nape of my neck despite the AC humming in the background.

I opened my laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard like they were chasing salvation. Searched for the next flight from Sydney to Dhaka.

I filtered for “any airline.”
My eyes scanned the list. The cheapest options were two days away. No- that would be too late. If I lose her by then?

I switched the filter. Earliest flight. Any price.
My jaw locked.

Triple the price of what I usually pay -But my hand didn’t hesitate.
I slammed in my card info.
Clicked Confirm Payment.

Who cares? Take it. Take my damn kidney too. Just get me there.

I clicked purchase, my heart beating faster than the loading wheel on the screen. What if it failed?
What if the seat got taken?

What do you do when the girl you never stopped thinking about is suddenly about to belong to someone else?
You panic. You pack. You buy a ticket at triple the price, leave your job hanging, and catch a flight halfway across the globe to crash the wedding.
No logic, no plan—just a heart too stubborn to let go.

I stared at the boarding pass on the screen. Triple fare. Direct to Dhaka. Leaving in four hours.

When the confirmation email buzzed into my inbox, I didn’t even exhale—I just picked up my phone and hit Zamar's contact.

Despite it being so late over there, he managed to pick up on the third ring, voice sleepy and raspy. Finally, a groggy voice answered, “Bro…I was finally sleeping after so long - this better be good-”

My voice came out raw, rushed. “I just booked a flight. I’m coming to Dhaka. I need you to pick me up from the airport.”

“…wait, what? Why? You okay? Wait, is this some surprise? Why didn't you say before - ”

“She’s getting married,” I managed to say. Each word  like a punch to the gut. “Maha.”

There was a long, heavy silence.

Like even the wind outside paused to process what I’d just said.
Like Zamar’s brain took a full ten seconds to boot.

Then-“BRO WHAT?! Okay I know I prank you a lot but you should seriously brush up your skills -”

I muttered. “Holud just happened. Then mehendi…It’s real.
Go check Amna’s story. She posted. She’s wearing bridal clothes. ”

Zamar finally yelled, fully awake now. “Bro what the hell are you talking about?! Nice joke - wait you're not joking? Dude are you sure you didn't have some nightmare-,” Zamar’s voice cracked with disbelief.

“Are you—wait, are you sure? Maybe it's a misunderstanding. Maybe it’s a music video shoot. Holud prank? This is insane,” he mumbled. “I swear I feel like I’m in some drama serial right now. Are you sure—like, she’s really getting married? Not one of those rishta-dinner things?”

“It’s not a dream. I wish it was.I saw the videos, Zamar,” I said quietly.
“She was wearing flower jewelry. Pastel lehenga. Bridesmaid lineup. Another guy beside her. His hand on her shoulder. It’s real.” My voice cracked, “I can’t lose her like this.”

“WHAT THE HELL,” Zamar exploded again, all traces of humor lost. “Yo—she didn’t tell me ANYTHING. And we’re friends! She told me about her thesis stress, her cousin’s engagement but not THIS?!”
“Yo—what? How? She didn’t say anything to me—AT ALL. This doesn't make sense.We literally talked like weeks ago, she didn’t even hint at this. What the—?”

“I’ve got no idea,” I muttered, already pulling on a hoodie “But I’m not sitting here like a loser while she becomes someone else’s bride. I’m heading to the airport now. I’ll send you my flight ticket. Just pick me up straight from arrivals. We’re going directly to the wedding venue.”

“What’s the plan?” Zamar asked, his tone shifting now—still stunned, but starting to rally.

There was no plan. No logic. I had no idea what I was doing. I just knew I needed to be there as soon as possible.

“I don’t know.” I grabbed my keys, chest tight. “We’ll figure it out. You call anyone who may know anything and try to get the venue. Or talk to Maha if you can—just get me the address somehow.”

A long pause.

“…bro. You’re serious. This is real. Wait seriously, what's the plan? you gonna crash the wedding and present yourself to her family as the superior suitor?”

I closed my eyes feeling lost and helpless and then - a sudden spark of determination, “ I don’t care what I have to do. If I have to crash the wedding, beg her parents, or just—” My voice cracked “Nothing could be worse than losing her without knowing I gave it my all…”

Zamar swore under his breath. “This is madness.” Then he was back in planning mode “Fine yes, we'll confront the guy if needed, burn the damn stage, make him disappear or -  acha I'll save the ideas for when I see you.”

I didn’t even respond. I was already pulling on my sneakers, heart in my throat.

“I got you,” Zamar said finally, voice low now. “Send the flight deets. I’ll be there. No one’s marrying her till you’ve said your piece. Let’s go full DDLJ if we have to.”

“Don't make yourself sick by worrying …Okay?” Zamar said, tone softening. “I’ll find out what I can. Just… get on that flight, bro. And text me before takeoff. You’re not alone in this. Remember? Tie your camel, but trust in Allah. Do your part, and let Him do the rest. Everything that Allah has written for you will find its way to you, no matter the obstacles.”

The panic dims as his words register in my mind. 

Everything that Allah has written for me will find me, even if I cannot see the path clearly now.

If she is truly meant to be mine, then no distance, no delay, no obstacle can keep us apart. And if not… then Allah knows best, and I will accept it, even if my heart aches.

I have to try, for that is my responsibility. The outcome is not mine to control. If our hearts are written together, they will meet, and if not? I will leave it in Allah's hands. I can make an effort, but the rest? He will take care of it.

...

As soon as I hung up the call,  I rushed to disconnect the charger and - it slipped. The phone hit the floor with a sharp crack.

The screen dimmed.
Then flickered.
Going completely black.

Glossary:

Nafs - Your inner desires and feelings that can push you toward good or bad choices.

Non mahram- A person of the opposite gender you are not allowed to be physically close to or have free interaction with in Islam.

IMPORTANT

There are a lot of things like, say, holud functions, dancing, and music which are normalized in our surroundings, but I think according to Islamic guidelines they aren’t right.

Especially the free mixed, excitement, attraction wala ones. If it's with people of the same gender  and in close private friend /family groups that's different.

If those scenarios are present in the book, it’s to showcase the cultural environment in Desi countries, etc.

But it’s not what Islam teaches.
At times, I feel like my writing could be better, or that recent chapters are of better quality than the initial ones, but the thing is—it can’t always be perfect, right?

And also—yes, there are a lot of things which Islamically aren’t perfect in the story, but the surroundings, culture, and flawed characters—that’s what makes stories real, though I have every intention of making them reflect on all this.

That’s why I’m writing this note to show that just because something is normalized doesn’t mean it’s okay. Doesn’t mean it’s halal or right. We should be more aware and even ready to be uncomfortable at times if needed to stand up against little things that aren’t so little in the long run and may prove to be harmful.

Authors note

*Sheepish smile and wave* Assalamualaikum cuties. Long time no see hence nearly 7k words for y'all.

Bet you didn't see this coming huh? SORRY

Don't kill me 😭 I know it seems super messy and dramatic ? Yes, but I like happy stuff so trust me - the plot will be satisfactory In Sha Allah. Gotta go through the storm to see the light after all . But then again - I happen to like storms...- so oops -  😬

Guess who's the groom? Comment please.

Hint : literally ANYONE but Isahaq ☠️

Kidding - or not kidding?  We'll see with time. Life's unpredictable after all.

Nah seriously - who do you think the groom is? All I can say is none of you will guess it 😭 unfortunately gotta wait for the grand reveal till then let's go through Isahaq's panic and mission -

What's up with this Sahad and Ahaan anyway ?

What if Isahaq's flight gets cancelled and the wedding is already done 🫣

Dang he's gonna miss the biryani -

Get your wedding clothes ready guys we're crashing a wedding (:

Disclaimer: I'm going through a difficult time in real life for which I can't promise frequent updates for the next few months. In Sha Allah will definitely keep continuing whenever possible though. The story will go on, just the timing may be delayed or gradual .

( I know it's been slow but my apologies guys- literally going through the worst phase of my life so far 😔)

But if there's a good amount of comments and votes - the response may make me update sooner. It's difficult to do so with my current situation so if I'm gonna make time, I need motivation and good enough reasons ;-;

Sooo tentative VOTE TARGET :  25
And many comments 🤧

You want the drama? Press the star and comment your thoughts 🥹 thank you for reading ✨

What do you do when the girl you never stopped thinking about is suddenly about to belong to someone else?
You panic. You pack. You buy a ticket at triple the price, leave your job hanging, and catch a flight halfway across the globe to crash the wedding.
No logic, no plan—just a heart too stubborn to let go.

This reel was at the end of the last chapter too but I'm giving it here again in case someone missed it XD see the online comment section of this paragraph for the review of this chapter's drama lol. And subscribe maybe? Lol.  🥹

Silent readers , if you don't wanna comment it's fine at least just click on that vote please 🥺 that's the only way I know you're reading.