Life is unpredictable. One moment, everything seems perfect, and the next, your entire world is turned upside down. Losing just one person can shift the entire course of your life. And sometimes, life throws such cruel truths your way that you're left questioning everything you ever believed in.
The air buzzed with excitement as the graduation preparations continued. Forced by her friends, Zoya had unwillingly joined them at a café for a small farewell gathering.
In a cozy corner, a group of girls sat together, their laughter filling the space. While they chattered excitedly, their faces glowing with joy, Zoya remained quiet. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of her cup, her gaze fixed on the swirling steam, her thoughts elsewhere. She was listening, but not really present.
Their conversation soon took a turn towards an interesting topic nikkah.
One of the girls sighed dramatically.
"Suna hai aurat uske mard ki phasli se bani hai," she said, her voice laced with amusement.
Another girl smirked and leaned forward.
"Lagta hai mai jis mard ki phasli se bani hun, vo mujhe dhundna hi bhul gaya hai," she joked, flipping her hair.
Laughter erupted around the table, a few girls playfully nudging each other.
"Bhai mujhe toh handsome, tall, dark eyes wala banda chahiye, aur caring bhi" one of them declared, placing a hand over her heart as if dreaming of a fairy-tale romance.
Excitement filled their voices as one by one, they described their perfect husband as someone loving, someone romantic, someone who would sweep them off their feet.
But amidst all the giggles and dreamy sighs, one girl remained quiet.
Zoya.
Still running her finger along the rim of her cup, still lost in thought.
Shifa, noticing her silence, suddenly turned to her.
"Zoya, tume kaisa husband chahiye?" she asked curiously.
Zoya's fingers halted. Slowly, she lifted her gaze, her dark eyes locking onto Shifa's.
"Husband?" she repeated, her voice soft, almost hesitant, as if the word itself was unfamiliar.
"Haan," Shifa nodded eagerly. "Tumhara ideal husband kaisa hoga?"
Zoya remained silent for a moment, as if searching for an answer she hadn't considered before. Then, with a straight face, she finally spoke.
"Mera husband? Bhad dimaag, badtameez, kaam aqal, nalayak, pagal… kiska hua hoga," she stated with complete seriousness.
A hush fell over the table. The girls exchanged wide-eyed glances before bursting into giggles.
"Tume kaise pata?" Shifa asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement.
Zoya's lips curled into the faintest smirk.
"Mujhe pata nahi, yakeen hai," she replied with quiet confidence.
"Zoya, sabko romantic, caring husband chahiye hota hai, aur tumhe aisa husband chahiye?" another girl asked, shaking her head, unable to understand her logic.
Zoya shrugged slightly, lowering her gaze.
"Kya kar sakte hain? Kismat mein vo hi hai," she murmured, almost to herself.
"Kya?" the girl leaned in.
"Kuch nahi," Zoya dismissed quickly, taking a sip from her cup.
The conversation moved on, the girls once again diving into laughter and chatter. But Zoya she fell silent once more, her fingers returning to their slow trace around the rim of the cup.
She didn't know why she had said those words.
Maybe she had spoken without thinking. Maybe the words had simply slipped out.
Or maybe, deep down, she had always known the truth.
On the other side of the world, in a towering glass skyscraper overlooking the shimmering skyline of Los Angeles, a deal worth billions was being signed. The conference room buzzed with excitement as cameras flashed, capturing the moment.
Ayaan Malik the biggest name in Hollywood. A man whose presence alone could send millions into a frenzy. His face adorned billboards from New York to Dubai, his films shattering box office records year after year. He was more than just an actor; he was a phenomenon.
Sitting across from him was Mr. John, one of the most powerful producers in the industry. The two men lounged in plush leather seats, their glasses filled with expensive whiskey, the golden liquid swirling under the dim lighting.
Ayaan lifted his glass lazily, taking a slow sip, his dark brown eyes reflecting a calm arrogance. He had done this before signed multi-million-dollar deals, closed contracts worth fortunes, played roles that had won him countless awards. It was all routine now.
Mr. John chuckled, clinking his glass against Ayaan's. "To another blockbuster," he toasted, grinning.
Ayaan smirked. "To breaking records."
The meeting continued, details were finalized, hands were shaken. Soon, Ayaan would be heading to Pakistan to begin his next project, a film that was already predicted to be a massive hit.
He leaned back in his chair, exuding an effortless confidence. He had everything money, fame, power. The world adored him, and he thrived on it.
But there was one thing that set him apart from the other stars in Hollywood.
While he was far from deen, drowning in a life of extravaganza clubbing, drinking, partying there was one thing he had never indulged in.
Affairs. Relationships. Girlfriends.
It was the one line he had never crossed.
And no one knew why.