Author pov
The first rays of the morning sun stretched across the horizon, painting the sky in breathtaking shades of gold, peach, and soft pink. Nestled in the heart of the city stood a magnificent mansion, grand and majestic, looking no less than a royal palace. Every towering pillar was elegantly wrapped in fresh white jasmine, deep red roses, and delicate strings of baby's breath, creating a picture of timeless beauty. Through the enormous glass windows, crystal chandeliers shimmered brilliantly as they caught the morning light, while thousands of fairy lights from the previous night's celebrations still twinkled softly, refusing to let the magic fade.
The cool morning breeze carried the sweet fragrance of fresh flowers throughout the air, filling every corner with a sense of serenity and joy. Dressed in breathtaking floral decorations and glowing with elegance, the entire mansion looked as though it had been lifted straight from the pages of a royal fairytale, ready to witness the beginning of a beautiful new chapter.
But before stepping inside the grand mansion, let's pause for just a moment. Right in the heart of the beautifully landscaped garden stood a magnificent white marble sign, adorned with fresh red and white roses, delicate baby's breath, and elegant golden vines that curled gracefully around its edges. Written across it in exquisite golden calligraphy were the words:
✨ Zaryab Rizvi Weds Meher Sultan ✨.
It wasn't just a wedding sign—it was the beginning of a new destiny. Today was no ordinary day. Today, the beloved princess of this mansion, the girl who had filled these halls with laughter and love, was about to leave behind the home that had sheltered her for years and step into a new life as someone's queen. With the air filled with excitement, prayers, and countless emotions, the mansion waited to witness the most unforgettable day of Meher's life. Now... let's step inside.
The moment we stepped into the grand hall, it was impossible not to be captivated by its breathtaking beauty. Towering crystal chandeliers hung gracefully from the high ceilings, casting a warm golden glow that illuminated every corner of the mansion. The walls were adorned with magnificent floral arrangements of white jasmine, red roses, orchids, and delicate baby's breath, transforming the entire hall into a royal paradise.
The atmosphere buzzed with excitement as servants hurried from one place to another, each busy with an important task. Some carefully carried silver trays filled with traditional sweets, while others balanced fresh flowers, beautifully wrapped gifts, velvet jewellery boxes, and elegant wedding accessories in their hands. Every corner echoed with the sounds of preparation, laughter, and hurried footsteps, as the mansion came alive, eagerly awaiting the celebration of its beloved princess's wedding.
"Quickly! Those flowers belong near the entrance!"
"No, no! The red roses should be on the stage!"
"Where is the caterer?"
"Someone call the photographer!"
"Bring the welcome trays!"
Voices echoed from every direction. Amidst all this chaos stood a graceful middle-aged woman dressed in an elegant emerald green silk saree. Her sharp eyes noticed every tiny mistake.
"No... move those candles two inches to the left."
"The flowers are uneven."
"Who placed these cushions like this?"
"Oh Allah! Why is everyone so slow today?"
The servants nodded nervously before rushing to obey her orders. Allow me to introduce her.
She was...Khadija Danyal Sultan. The wife of Danyal Sultan. The Queen of this magnificent mansion. A woman whose name alone commanded respect. Every servant lowered their gaze in her presence, every elder admired her wisdom, and every child ran to her without fear, knowing they would always find warmth in her embrace. She wasn't feared because of her title. She was respected because of her heart. Kind enough to wipe away someone else's tears before they could ask for comfort. Soft enough to speak with gentleness, yet never mistaken for weakness. Strong enough to carry the burdens of an entire family with a graceful smile.
Elegant in every step she took, every word she spoke, every glance she offered. Royalty wasn't something she wore—it lived within her. Loving in a way that made everyone around her feel safe, cherished, and seen. She was the calm after every storm. The light that held the family together. The soul of the palace.
To the people of mansion, she was Queen. But to Danyal Sultan ... She was his greatest blessing.
But today... She wasn't the queen of this mansion. She was simply... A mother. A mother whose daughter was getting married today. And naturally... Her heart was all over the place. She looked around once more before letting out a tired sigh. "Ya Allah... so much work is still left."
Just then, her gaze drifted towards the grand staircase, and the corners of her lips curved downward in mock disappointment. Folding her arms across her chest, she shook her head with a knowing smile. "I knew it..." she muttered under her breath. Without wasting another second, she made her way upstairs, climbing one step after another until she reached the top floor. The familiar corridor stretched before her, and after walking past several rooms, she finally stopped in front of the very last door. Taking a slow breath, she gently pushed it open. Creak... The room was wrapped in complete silence. Soft rays of the morning sun slipped through the sheer white curtains, bathing everything in a warm golden glow. Her eyes instinctively wandered across the peaceful room before settling on the enormous king-sized bed, where the one she had been searching for rested peacefully, completely unaware of the beautiful chaos waiting outside.
Because there... Lay the bride. Completely unaware of the storm waiting outside. Meher Sultan. Fast asleep. Her long silky black hair was scattered all over the pillow, hiding half of her beautiful face. One pillow was tightly trapped between her legs while another was hugged against her stomach like it was the most precious thing in the world. And The blanket had surrendered hours ago and now rested helplessly on the floor. A tiny pout decorated her lips.
Every few seconds... She would cuddle the pillow even tighter. Looking exactly like an innocent little child. Mrs Sultan couldn't stop herself from smiling. "My sleeping princess..." Her eyes softened. But then...Another memory flashed before her eyes. A painful one. Meher...Was never born from her womb. She was her elder brother's only daughter. Five-year-old little Meher. That horrible rainy night...The terrifying car accident...
The screams...
The shattered glass...
The blood...
She still remembered rushing to the hospital.
Mrs Sultan stood in the hospital corridor with trembling hands raised in prayer, her tears refusing to stop as she begged Allah to save them—anyone, just anyone. But fate had already written a different ending. Her elder brother was gone. His beloved wife was gone. The only soul who survived that horrifying accident was a tiny little girl, covered in scratches, shivering with fear, her innocent voice echoing through the hospital as she cried, "Mama... Papa..." over and over again, not understanding why no one answered. That heartbreaking sight shattered Mrs Sultan's heart into countless pieces. Standing beside her brother's lifeless body, she made a silent promise with tears streaming down her face. "I will never let her feel alone." And she kept that promise. From that very day, she and her husband welcomed little Meher into their home and hearts, raising her as their own daughter. They never once let her feel the pain of being an orphan, never once treated her differently from their biological daughter. To them, Meher wasn't their niece—she was, and always would be, their beloved daughter.
Their pride.
Their heartbeat.
A lone tear escaped Mrs Sultan's eye. "So many years passed...","My little doll has grown up."
"And today..."
"She'll leave this house."
No matter how much a mother prepared herself for this day, nothing could ever make it easier. The thought of sending her daughter to another home always took a piece of her own heart with it. Mrs Sultan felt the familiar ache tighten in her chest as tears gathered in her eyes, threatening to fall. But today wasn't the day to cry. Not on Meher's wedding day. She quickly wiped away the tears with the edge of her dupatta and forced a gentle smile onto her lips. "No crying today," she whispered to herself. "Not today." Taking a slow, steady breath, she walked towards the bed where Meher lay sleeping peacefully. For a moment, she simply stood there, admiring the little girl she had raised into a beautiful young woman. Then, with all the tenderness a mother could hold, she bent down and softly brushed the loose strands of hair away from Meher's face, her touch filled with endless love, silent prayers, and a thousand unspoken emotions.
"My princess..."
No response.
She smiled. "Meher..."
Still nothing. Only soft snores.
Mrs Sultan leaned closer. "Mera baccha..."
"Hmmmmm..." Meher lazily pulled the pillow over her face.
Mrs Sultanlaughed.
Mrs Sultan⁚ "Wake up." She shook her shoulder.
Meher ⁚ "No..."
Mrs Sultan⁚ "Meeeheeer..."
Meher ⁚ "Noooo..."
Mrs Sultan⁚ "Get up."
Meher ⁚ "I'm sleeping..."
Mrs Sultan⁚ "It's morning."
Meher ⁚ "I know..."
Mrs Sultan⁚ "Today is your wedding."
Silence.
Then... A sleepy voice escaped from beneath the pillow. "We'll get married tomorrow..."
Mrs sultan blinked. "...What?"
Meher nodded with closed eyes.
"Hmm..."
"I'm very sleepy."
"Tell him to come tomorrow."
"For today..."
"I'm unavailable."
For three long seconds, the room remained completely silent. Then, without warning—thak! Mrs sultan lightly smacked Meher's forehead.
"Aahhh!" Meher shot upright on the bed, clutching her forehead dramatically. "Mummyyy! You hit the bride! You'll ruin my beauty! My makeup will cry before I do!" she whined,
making her mother fold her arms with an unimpressed look. "Oh really?" Mrs sultan raised an eyebrow. "Should I tell Zaryab that his bride has decided to postpone the wedding because she wants to sleep?"
Still rubbing her sleepy eyes, Meher answered without missing a beat, "Yes. Tell him. If he truly loves me... he'll wait." Mrs sultan stared at her in disbelief before looking toward the ceiling. "Ya Allah... what kind of daughter have You blessed me with?"
Unbothered, Meher stretched lazily like a sleepy kitten and mumbled, "Mummy... beauty sleep is important."
Mrs sultan narrowed her eyes. "And marriage isn't?"
Meher actually paused to think for a moment before replying with complete seriousness, "...Marriage can wait. My sleep can't." That was it. Mrs sultan could no longer hold back her laughter. Despite trying to stay annoyed, she burst into giggles and gently pinched Meher's cheek. "You impossible girl! You've kept the entire mansion awake, and you're sleeping like the world has no responsibilities."
Meher blinked innocently. "That's because none of those responsibilities are mine... they're yours." Mrs sultan placed a hand over her chest dramatically. "Wah! Listen to her! Meher's mischievous grin softened into a warm smile as she suddenly wrapped her arms around Mrs sultan in a tight hug. "I love you, Mummy." The simple words instantly melted away every trace of Mrs sultan's fake anger. Smiling through eyes that had begun to glisten, she kissed Meher's forehead and whispered, "I love you too... more than words could ever express." For a few precious moments, neither of them let go. Hidden beneath their laughter was a silent truth they both understood—after today, life would never be the same again.
Eventually, Mrs sultan gently pulled back, clearing her throat to hide the emotions threatening to spill over. "Enough emotional drama," she said, pretending to sound strict. "Now get up. The beauticians will arrive any minute, and if you're late, I'll personally drag you to the stage."
Meher immediately gave a dramatic salute. "As you command, Your Majesty." Mrs sultan rolled her eyes with an affectionate smile. "Drama queen." Giggling, Meher finally climbed out of bed, still half asleep, and stumbled toward the bathroom. "I'm awake..." she yawned loudly, "...technically." The bathroom door clicked shut behind her, leaving Mrs sultan standing there, lovingly shaking her head with a smile only a mother could wear. "This girl..." she murmured softly, her heart overflowing with love.
Mrs sultan carefully unfolded the breathtaking bridal lehenga and spread it gracefully across the bed. The deep maroon velvet shimmered beautifully beneath the golden morning sunlight, its intricate zari embroidery glistening like threads of liquid gold. Beside it, she lovingly arranged each piece of bridal jewelry one by one—the regal necklace, delicate earrings, elegant matha patti, sparkling bangles, and the exquisite nose ring—placing every item with the tenderness that only a mother's heart could hold on such a precious day.
Stepping back, she admired the bridal ensemble for a long moment, imagining Meher dressed in it. A soft smile touched her lips as she whispered, "My princess... you'll look beautiful." Her eyes instantly became moist, emotion tightening her chest once again. Before the tears could escape, she took a deep breath and composed herself. Picking up her phone, she calmly instructed, "Send the beauticians upstairs." "Yes, Ma'am," came the immediate reply. After ending the call, Khadija turned her gaze toward the closed bathroom door, where Meher was getting ready. Her smile returned, warmer than before, filled with endless love and silent prayers. "My little princess..." she murmured softly. "Today... you'll become someone's forever." Holding that beautiful thought close to her heart, she quietly walked out of the room, gently closing the door behind her as the entire mansion continued to buzz with excitement, laughter, and endless preparations for the biggest celebration of the year.
Meanwhile, the entire mansion had come alive, echoing with cheerful laughter, hurried footsteps, and the joyful melodies of traditional wedding songs. The irresistible aroma of freshly fried samosas, sizzling kebabs, fluffy halwa puri, and steaming cardamom chai drifted through every corner of the house, making the festive atmosphere feel even warmer.
Relatives continued arriving one after another, greeting each other with hugs, smiles, and endless congratulations. The hallways were filled with children running around, chasing one another with unstoppable energy despite being scolded every five minutes by their exhausted mothers, only to burst into giggles and continue their games moments later.
In one corner of the grand hall, a group of aunties had already settled into their favorite pastime—gossip. "Did you see the bride's lehenga?" one of them asked excitedly. "I heard it was specially designed," another replied with admiration. A third aunt leaned in and whispered, "Have you seen the groom? MashaAllah... what a handsome boy." Before anyone could respond, Shamim Aunty sighed dramatically and said, "My daughter would have looked good with him too..." Instantly, the woman sitting beside her nudged her arm and rolled her eyes. "Bas bhi karo, Shamim." The entire group burst into laughter, their amused giggles blending perfectly with the joyful chaos that filled the mansion on the most awaited day of the year.
Meher sultan pov
Meanwhile, upstairs, inside Meher's room, the soothing sound of running water suddenly came to a stop. A few moments later, the bathroom door slowly creaked open, and Meher stepped out, fresh droplets of water glistening on her face. Dressed in a simple white cotton robe, with her long damp hair cascading all the way to her waist, she looked effortlessly beautiful even without an ounce of makeup. Stretching her arms above her head, she let out a dramatic yawn. "I'm still sleepy..." she mumbled to herself, rubbing her eyes. But before she could even take two steps into the room—
BANG!
The bedroom door flew open with such force that it slammed against the wall.
"BRIDEEEEEEE!"
"Aaaaaaaaaaa!!"
Before poor Meher could even process what was happening, three girls stormed into the room like a full-blown tornado. One wrapped her arms tightly around Meher from behind, another expertly snatched her phone right out of her hand, while the third dramatically jumped onto the king-sized bed as if she were making a grand movie entrance.
"Aaaah!" Meher shrieked, nearly losing her balance. "What is wrong with you people?"
The room instantly erupted into uncontrollable laughter.
Standing beside Aiman was Anam, Meher's younger sister and the biological daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Sultan. Although Meher wasn't related to her by blood, Anam had never once seen her as anything less than her real elder sister. In fact, she adored Meher so much that everyone often joked she loved Meher more than she loved her own parents. Although everyone knew they weren't related by blood...No one could ever tell. Beside her stood Mehwish, Meher's childhood best friend, who had been by her side through every smile, every tear, and every unforgettable memory since they were little girls.
Leading this army of chaos was none other than her cousin, Aiman—twenty-four years old, breathtakingly beautiful, fearless, and a certified troublemaker whose life mission seemed to be creating chaos wherever she went. Standing proudly in the middle of the room with both hands resting on her waist, she cleared her throat dramatically before announcing, "Girls... our mission begins now."
Without missing a beat, the other two girls straightened their backs and threw exaggerated salutes.
"YES, CAPTAIN!"
Meher blinked in complete confusion. "...Mission?"
A wicked grin spread across Aiman's face as she pointed dramatically at Meher.
"Operation Torture the Bride!"
The room exploded with loud cheers.
"No!" Meher protested immediately.
"Yes!" the trio shouted together.
"Nooooo!"
"Absolutely yes."
Realizing she was hopelessly outnumbered, Meher spun around and tried to make a run for it. She had barely taken a single step before two pairs of hands caught her by both arms.
She gasped dramatically.
"Traitors!"
Anam simply grinned, tightening her grip.
"We're family," she replied innocently, while the room once again filled with laughter, marking the beginning of the bridal torture session everyone had been eagerly waiting for.
"Worse than enemies!" Meher replied proudly. And the other two laughed.
As the laughter slowly settled, Anam suddenly looked at Meher and dramatically wiped away imaginary tears from her cheeks. Placing a hand over her heart, she let out an exaggerated sniff. "My sister is leaving me," she declared mournfully. "I'm heartbroken." Her dramatic performance instantly caught everyone's attention, but the playful expression on Meher's face softened the moment she looked at her little sister. A warm smile spread across her lips as she opened her arms. "My Noor..." she whispered lovingly. "Come here." Without thinking twice, Anam rushed into her embrace, wrapping her arms tightly around Meher.
The room, which had been filled with endless laughter only moments before, suddenly fell into a gentle silence. Everyone watched the sisters hold each other, knowing how deep their bond truly was. Resting her head against Meher's shoulder, Anam whispered in a trembling voice, "I'm really going to miss you." Meher closed her eyes for a moment before gently kissing her forehead. "I'm not leaving forever," she said softly, stroking her hair.
Anam immediately pulled back just enough to point a warning finger at her. "You better visit every single day." Meher smiled through the emotion shining in her eyes and nodded. "I will." Anam narrowed her eyes dramatically. "And if that husband of yours ever tries to stop you..." She cracked her knuckles with an exaggerated glare that made everyone stare at her. "...I'll kidnap you."
The room burst into laughter once again, and even Meher couldn't stop herself from laughing as she pulled her little sister into another tight hug, silently thanking Allah for blessing her with a bond so full of love.
The emotional atmosphere lasted only a few seconds before Mehwish and Aiman burst into uncontrollable laughter. Wiping the corner of her eye dramatically, Aiman immediately raised a hand. "Excuse me," she declared as if addressing a courtroom. "No emotional scenes before the makeup. We worked far too hard on our eyeliner for it to be washed away. Nobody is allowed to cry."
Just then, one of Meher's childhood best friends, Mehwish, stepped forward with a tissue box in her hand and pointed at it like it was official evidence. "New wedding rule," she announced proudly. "Anyone caught crying will be fined five thousand rupees."
Anam folded her arms and added with complete seriousness, "And one full box of chocolates as a penalty." Meher stared at them in disbelief before raising an eyebrow. "What kind of rule is this?"
"The important one," three of them answered in perfect unison, nodding solemnly as though it were the most logical thing in the world. Their serious expressions lasted barely two seconds before the entire room burst into laughter once again.
At that very moment, there was a gentle knock on the door, and the room instantly fell quiet. The beauticians had arrived. Five elegantly dressed women walked inside, each carrying professional makeup cases, garment bags, hairstyling kits, and boxes filled with sparkling bridal accessories. The head beautician greeted everyone with a warm smile. "Assalamu Alaikum." Smiling back, everyone responded together, "Wa Alaikum Assalam," as the room slowly transformed from playful chaos into the beginning of a bride's magical transformation.
The head beautician looked at Meher with a warm smile before teasing, "So... our beautiful bride is finally awake?" The room instantly erupted into laughter once again. Meher groaned in embarrassment and covered her face with both hands. "I hate all of you." Without missing a beat, everyone replied together, "No, you don't!" as another wave of laughter echoed through the room. Meanwhile, the beauticians began setting up their station with practiced precision. Brushes, foundations, eye-shadow palettes, hair accessories, setting sprays, and elegant jewellery boxes were neatly arranged across the long dressing table until everything looked perfectly organized. Once everything was ready, one of the beauticians smiled politely and gestured toward the chair. "Please have a seat, bride."
Meher slowly walked over and settled in front of the large mirror. For a long moment, she simply stared at her reflection. A completely bare face. Damp, messy hair falling over her shoulders. A simple white robe. It felt... strange. In just a few hours, this familiar reflection would transform into a bride. Into someone's wife. Would she even recognize herself afterward? A strange flutter spread through her chest, making her heart skip a beat.
This is really happening...
I'm getting married today.
Lost in her thoughts, she barely noticed someone kneeling beside her until a gentle hand wrapped around hers. It was her cousin, Mehwish. Giving Meher's hand a reassuring squeeze, she smiled softly.
"Nervous?"
For the first time that morning, Meher didn't joke or tease. She remained silent for a few seconds before giving a small nod.
"...A little."
Mehwish's smile grew warmer. "You know what My Mama always says?"
Meher looked at her. "What?"
"'The right home isn't the one you leave for... it's the one where your heart is respected."
A faint smile appeared on Meher's lips as she whispered, "I hope she's right."
Before the room could slip into another emotional moment, a loud clap echoed through the air. "Enough!"
Everyone turned to see Aiman pointing accusingly at the group. "No crying! The makeup artist just moisturized her face!" The room instantly burst into laughter again, successfully chasing away the emotions.
Just as the emotional moment came to an end, Anam suddenly pulled out her phone with a mischievous grin that instantly made Meher suspicious. "girl's..." she announced dramatically. "It's time." Meher frowned. "What time?"
Anam's smile only grew wider. "Embarrassing childhood pictures!" Meher's eyes widened in horror. "...Don't you dare." Before she could snatch the phone away, Aiman stepped forward with an evil grin. "Oh, we absolutely dare." With one tap, the first picture appeared on the screen—a five-year-old Meher with both front teeth missing, proudly draped in her mother's dupatta like a tiny bride while hugging a teddy bear she had declared to be her groom.
The room exploded into uncontrollable laughter. "LOOK AT HER!" "Oh my God!" "She literally manifested this wedding!" Meher buried her burning face in her hands. "I'll kill every single one of you." Her threats were completely ignored as Anam swiped to the next picture.
This time, tiny Meher was fast asleep, completely surrounded by six stuffed animals, hugging every single one as though they were priceless treasures. Another swipe revealed little Meher crying dramatically because someone had finished her ice cream before she could. The room laughed even harder.
Then came another picture—little Meher dressed like a tiny prince because she had stubbornly refused to wear a frock. Aiman laughed so hard that tears streamed down her cheeks. "You've always been dramatic!" she managed to say between laughs. Meher lifted her chin proudly. "I was an icon." "You were a menace," Mehwish corrected immediately. "I prefer icon," Meher replied with fake dignity, making everyone burst into another fit of laughter.
Even the makeup artist couldn't hide her smile as she watched the lively scene unfold. "I've never seen such a cheerful bride's room," she admitted warmly.
Mehwish smirked knowingly. "Just wait until the groom arrives. Then the real chaos will begin." At those words, everyone exchanged mischievous glances filled with secret plans. Meher narrowed her eyes suspiciously, looking from one smiling face to another. "...Why are you all smiling like villains?" Not a single person answered. Instead, Aiman slowly cracked her fingers with a wicked grin spreading across her face. "Oh, dear bride..." she said dramatically, "...you have absolutely no idea what we've planned for your dear husband today." Instantly, identical mischievous smiles appeared on every face in the room.
Poor Zaryab... completely unaware that he wasn't just marrying Meher today—he was also gaining an entire army of fearless sisters, cousins, and childhood friends who had already declared him their next target. And while the bride's room had transformed into a battlefield of makeup brushes, old photographs, endless teasing, and unstoppable laughter, somewhere far away, the groom was blissfully unaware of the storm waiting for him.
May Allah help the groom.
Zaryab's POV
Across the city, another mansion had awakened to the same joyful chaos. Bathed in the soft golden rays of the morning sun, the magnificent Rizvi Mansion stood proudly, dressed like a royal palace for the grand occasion. Thousands of fresh white roses adorned the entrance, elegant golden drapes cascaded from every balcony, and crystal lights shimmered beautifully against the marble walls. The long driveway was lined with luxurious cars as relatives arrived one after another, carrying beautifully wrapped gifts, bouquets, and heartfelt prayers for the groom. The rhythmic beat of the dhol echoed throughout the mansion, blending with cheerful laughter and the excited chatter of guests. Servants hurried in every direction, balancing silver trays filled with chilled sherbet, fragrant flower garlands, sweets, and gifts that would accompany the baraat. Every corner of the house buzzed with only one topic of conversation. "The groom is finally getting married!"
On the Top floor, away from the joyful commotion below, a spacious bedroom stood wrapped in peaceful silence. In front of a floor-to-ceiling window stood a tall man with his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his trousers, quietly observing the endless preparations taking place in the courtyard below. The warm morning sunlight streamed through the glass, highlighting his striking features—perfectly styled black hair, a neatly trimmed beard, broad shoulders, and an effortless aura that commanded attention without demanding it.
He was Zaryab Rizvi.
One of the country's youngest and most successful businessmen.
Calm.
Composed.
Respected.
A man whose expressions were so controlled that people often found him impossible to read.
But today...
There was something different.
A faint smile rested on his lips, soft enough that anyone who didn't know him would have missed it completely.
His thoughts drifted back to the first time he had met Meher.
Her confidence.
Her kindness.
Her habit of saying whatever crossed her mind without the slightest hesitation.
The way she could fill an entire room with laughter without even trying.
And her smile...
Somewhere along the way, that smile had quietly found a permanent place in his heart.
A gentle knock on the bedroom door pulled him out of his thoughts. He had barely turned his head when—
BANG!
The door flew open with enough force to rattle the walls.
"LOOK WHO'S BLUSHING!"
Three men barged into the room, laughing so loudly that the peaceful silence disappeared in an instant. They were his cousins and closest friends—Azaan, Hamza, and Faris—the three people who had made it their life's mission to ensure the groom would never enjoy a moment of peace on his wedding day.
Zaryab slowly turned around to face the three intruders, raising a single eyebrow as he folded his arms across his chest. "Do none of you know how to knock?" he asked calmly. Hamza shrugged innocently. "We did." Faris nodded in agreement. "You ignored us." Azaan grinned shamelessly. "So we promoted ourselves."
Zaryab sighed. "To what?" "Uninvited guests," the three replied proudly. Faris then placed a dramatic hand over his heart and walked toward Zaryab with an expression full of fake sympathy.
"Brother..." faris began solemnly, "...this is your last day of freedom. We came to offer our condolences." Before Zaryab could respond, Hamza suddenly threw his arms around him in an exaggerated hug. "You'll be missed." Zaryab gently pushed him away, trying not to laugh. "I'm not dying." Hamza kept a perfectly serious expression. "Marriage is a beautiful responsibility..." he paused for effect, "...but you'll still be missed."
The room instantly erupted with laughter, and this time even Zaryab couldn't stop the small smile that appeared on his face. Still chuckling, Azaan glanced around the room before asking, "Where's the sherwani?" Zaryab casually pointed toward the large wardrobe. "It's there." Faris eagerly walked over and opened it.
The moment the doors swung apart, his eyes widened in amazement. "Ya Allah..." Hanging neatly inside was an exquisite ivory sherwani, embroidered with intricate golden thread work that shimmered under the morning sunlight. Beside it rested a beautifully embroidered matching shawl and a regal ivory turban, making the entire outfit worthy of a king. Ignoring them completely, Zaryab simply raised his hand in the air without saying a word, silently asking for his sherwani. Understanding him instantly, Azaan snatched the sherwani from Faris's hands with a dramatic jerk.
"Oi! I was holding that!" Faris protested, glaring at him.
Azaan ignored him and handed it to Zaryab. Without wasting another second, Zaryab slipped into the regal ivory sherwani while Azaan stepped closer, helping him wear it properly. One by one, he carefully fastened the golden buttons, making sure everything was perfectly in place.
Faris couldn't stop staring. "You'll look like royalty." Hamza folded his arms with a mischievous smirk. "Poor Meher." Zaryab looked at him curiously.
"What?" Hamza shrugged. "She'll probably spend the entire wedding chasing girls away from you." Zaryab let out a soft chuckle before replying, "I think I'll have a harder time surviving her cousins." The three friends immediately exchanged knowing glances before bursting into laughter. "Oh..." Azaan said dramatically. "You've heard about them?" Zaryab nodded.
"My mother warned me." Hamza laughed. "Smart woman." Zaryab slipped one hand into his pocket. "She said they've apparently planned something."
"They always do," Azaan sighed dramatically, shaking his head as though remembering a painful memory. "At another cousin's wedding, they accidentally stole my shoes instead of groom."
Zaryab raised an eyebrow. "How much did they ask for?" "Two lakh." "What?" Zaryab couldn't hide his surprise. Faris nodded seriously. "In the end, they settled for one lakh... and three boxes of chocolates." Zaryab shook his head in amused disbelief before laughing quietly. "I should prepare myself." Hamza patted him sympathetically on the shoulder. "You definitely should." Once again, laughter echoed through the room, while somewhere across the city, Meher's mischievous army was unknowingly preparing for the very same battle.
Just then, another knock echoed through the room. Unlike the earlier interruption, this one was gentle. The door slowly opened, and a graceful woman stepped inside, carrying a black velvet box in her hands. It was Sabiha khan, faris's mother. The laughter that had filled the room only moments ago instantly faded into respectful silence. she loves zaryab like her own son. As zaryab is orphan, his mother is not alive so she take his wedding responsibilities . The moment her eyes landed on her son, she froze. For a few long seconds, she simply stood there, looking at him. Her little boy... the child who had once clung to her finger while learning to walk... who had hidden behind her on his very first day of school... was now standing before her, ready to begin a new chapter of his life. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
"Mama?" Zaryab called softly as he walked towards her.
She smiled through her emotions. "I was just thinking..." she whispered. "How quickly children grow." Reaching up, she lovingly cupped his face. "It feels like yesterday you were hiding behind me on your first day of school." Standing a few steps away, Hamza leaned toward Faris and whispered, "I don't remember that version of him."
Faris struggled to hold back a laugh. "I can't even imagine him being scared of anything." Without even turning around, Zaryab replied calmly, "I can still hear both of you."
The room immediately burst into laughter. Still smiling, Sabiha opened the velvet box. Resting inside was an elegant gold wristwatch, polished to perfection despite its age. She carefully lifted it out.
"This belonged to your father," she said softly. "He wore it on the day he married your mother." With gentle hands, she fastened the watch around Zaryab's wrist before looking into his eyes. "And today... I want you to wear it."
Zaryab lowered his gaze to the treasured heirloom before nodding respectfully.
"I'll treasure it."
She smiled with quiet pride.
"I know you will."
As she lovingly adjusted the collar of his sherwani, Faris suddenly spoke up, his expression turning unusually serious.
"Zaryab..."
He looked at him.
"Does Meher know... about your blindness?"
The room fell silent.
Zaryab didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
His answer was calm and certain.
"I personally requested Uncle Sultan to tell her everything before the wedding. I wanted her to know the truth before making such an important decision."
He paused for a brief moment before a faint smile appeared on his lips.
"And... she still agreed."
A peaceful silence settled over the room. Faris nodded with a relieved smile, while Hamza and Azaan exchanged grateful glances. They all knew how much that answer meant.
Sabiha looked at her son with pride before gently placing a hand on his shoulder.
"I have only one piece of advice."
Zaryab gave her his full attention.
"Marriage isn't about winning arguments."
"It's about protecting each other's hearts."
"There will be days when one of you is angry."
"There will be misunderstandings."
"There will be differences."
"But never let your ego become louder than your love." She smiled warmly before continuing, "Respect her, listen to her, and always remember that kindness spoken at the right moment can heal wounds that anger never can. If Allah has brought the two of you together, then protect that blessing with patience, trust, and compassion."
Zaryab lowered his head respectfully.
"I promise, Mama."
A gentle smile spread across Sabiha's face as she silently prayed that Allah would bless her son's new journey with endless mercy, peace, and love.
The room became quiet.
Even the usually mischievous trio listened respectfully.
Zaryab nodded.
"I promise."
"I'll always respect her."
Sabiha kissed his forehead.
"That's all a mother wishes for."
With one last loving smile, Sabiha gently patted Zaryab's shoulder before turning around and quietly leaving the room, giving her son a few moments to himself before the biggest journey of his life began. The silence lingered only briefly before the door opened once again and the stylists entered, carrying garment bags, grooming kits, and final accessories. Within minutes, the transformation began. They carefully draped the exquisitely embroidered shawl over one of Zaryab's shoulders, perfectly adjusting every fold. A pearl-studded brooch was fastened elegantly onto his regal turban, adding the final touch of royalty, while a pair of traditional ivory khussas completed his sophisticated look. Every detail was perfected with precision.
When everything was finally finished, Zaryab stood before the full-length mirror. Even the three men who had been teasing him all morning suddenly fell silent.
For a moment...
No one spoke.
Hamza slowly blinked before breaking the silence.
"I've changed my mind."
Faris looked at him. "About what?"
Hamza sighed dramatically.
"Poor girls attending the wedding."
"They're about to forget whose wedding this is."
The room erupted into laughter.
Faris folded his arms and shook his head dramatically.
"If I stand next to him, no one will even bother asking her name."
Azaan nodded in complete agreement.
"They'll probably think he is the security guard."
That only made everyone laugh harder, including Zaryab, who simply shook his head with an amused smile. Just then, another knock echoed through the room. A servant stepped inside and respectfully bowed his head.
"Sir..."
"The baraat is ready."
The laughter faded almost instantly.
A sudden silence settled over the room.
This was it.
The moment they had all been waiting for had finally arrived.
Zaryab took a slow, steady breath. For the first time that day, he could feel his heartbeat becoming slightly faster—not because of fear, but because of anticipation. In just a little while, he would finally see Meher dressed as a bride. In just a few hours, by the grace of Allah, she would become his wife.
A genuine smile, warmer than any before, spread across his face.
"Let's go."
Without another word, Hamza, Faris, and Azaan immediately surrounded him, cheering, joking, and patting him on the back as they all made their way downstairs together. Outside, the beat of the dhol grew louder with every passing second, relatives gathered with excitement, flower petals were prepared, luxury cars stood ready, and the baraat eagerly waited for its groom.
Completely unaware of what awaited him, Zaryab stepped forward with confidence.
What he didn't know... Was that at the bride's mansion, a certain army of mischievous sisters, cousins, and best friends had already finalized their secret plans.
And today...
They had only one target.
The groom.
Sultan Mansion pov
The mansion that had echoed with laughter, teasing, and wedding songs all morning suddenly fell into an almost magical silence. Nearly every guest had gathered inside the grand hall, where magnificent crystal chandeliers bathed the room in a warm golden glow. Thousands of fresh white roses and fragrant jasmine decorated every corner, their sweet scent drifting gently through the air. The musicians quietly adjusted their instruments, waiting for the right moment to begin. Children, who had been running through the hallways only moments earlier, now stood obediently beside their parents, while even the servants paused their work. Every pair of eyes was fixed on one place—the grand staircase. The bride was finally ready.
Upstairs, inside Meher's room, the head makeup artist carefully applied the final touch of lipstick before stepping back with a satisfied smile. "Done," she said softly. For several long moments, nobody spoke. The room that had been overflowing with laughter and endless teasing throughout the morning had become completely still. Slowly, Meher opened her eyes and looked into the large antique mirror before her. For a brief second, she barely recognized the reflection staring back at her. The deep maroon bridal lehenga shimmered beautifully beneath the lights, its intricate gold zari embroidery sparkling with every slight movement. A matching dupatta rested gracefully over her head, its delicately embroidered border framing her face like a crown. The heirloom jewellery lovingly chosen by Mrs. Sultan completed the royal look—a magnificent necklace, elegant earrings, glittering bangles, a traditional maang tikka, and an exquisite nose ring, each carrying generations of family memories. Her hands, adorned with rich, dark mehndi, rested quietly in her lap as she took in the reality before her.
The silence was finally broken by Anam's trembling voice.
"...Api..."
"I've never seen you look this beautiful."
Meher turned toward her younger sister, only to find Anam's eyes already brimming with tears. Unable to hold back any longer, Anam rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Meher as carefully as she could, making sure not to disturb the perfectly draped dupatta.
"You really are getting married..."
A soft smile appeared on Meher's lips as she gently hugged her back.
"I'm still your annoying sister."
Anam laughed through her tears.
"You'll always be."
One by one, the cousins and friends gathered around the bride. The same girls who had spent the entire morning chasing her around the room, teasing her, and laughing until their stomachs hurt now stood speechless, completely captivated by how breathtaking she looked. Aiman dramatically placed a hand over her heart.
"I had prepared at least ten jokes."
She sighed heavily.
"But now..."
"I forgot every single one."
Gentle laughter spread throughout the room.
Anam folded her arms with a teasing smile.
"For the first time in your life..."
"You're speechless."
"Don't get used to it," Aiman shot back immediately, earning another round of laughter.
Just then, a gentle knock echoed through the room.
Everyone turned toward the door.
Mrs. Sultan quietly stepped inside. She had been downstairs supervising the wedding preparations when the beauticians informed her that the bride was finally ready. The moment her eyes fell upon Meher, she stopped walking.
Time itself seemed to freeze.
Standing beneath the soft glow of the room's lights wasn't just a beautiful bride.
She saw the tiny little girl she had once carried into her arms after that heartbreaking accident.
The child who had cried herself to sleep every night, calling for parents who would never return.
The little girl who had clung tightly to her dupatta on the first day of school.
The mischievous teenager whose laughter had filled every corner of the mansion.
And now...
That same little girl stood before her as a graceful young woman, ready to begin the next chapter of her life.
Mrs. Sultan's vision blurred as tears escaped despite every attempt to stop them.
"Mama..."
Meher noticed immediately. Rising carefully from her chair, she slowly walked toward her. Without saying a single word, Mrs. Sultan gently cupped Meher's face in both hands.
"My little princess..."
"My little Meher..."
Meher lovingly placed her hands over hers and smiled through the emotion.
"You were the one who helped me grow."
Mrs. Sultan shook her head gently.
"No..."
"Allah blessed me by sending you into our lives."
She leaned forward and kissed Meher's forehead with all the love a mother could possibly hold.
"I may not have given birth to you..."
"But every prayer I ever made for a daughter..."
"He answered with you."
The room once again fell into complete silence.
Even the beauticians discreetly wiped away the tears gathering in their eyes.
Meher quietly rested her head against her mother's shoulder and sniffled.
"My family is crying before the ceremony even begins."
Without missing a beat, Aiman grabbed the tissue box dramatically and held it high.
"Emergency tissues!"
"No one is ruining the bride's makeup."
The room immediately burst into warm laughter, easing the overwhelming emotions once again.
Taking a slow breath, Mrs. Sultan gently adjusted the edge of Meher's dupatta with careful, loving hands before stepping back to admire her daughter.
"You look exactly the way I always imagined."
She paused, her smile growing even softer.
"No..."
"Even more beautiful."
At that very moment, an elderly voice echoed gently from the doorway.
"May I come in?"
Everyone turned.
It was Dadi.
With slow but steady steps, she entered the room and lovingly placed her wrinkled hands upon Meher's head before reciting a heartfelt dua, asking Allah to bless the marriage with endless love, mercy, patience, respect, good health, barakah, and a lifetime of happiness.
"Ameen," everyone whispered together.
Dadi smiled warmly.
"My child..."
"Always carry kindness with you."
"It is the finest jewellery a person can ever wear."
Meher respectfully lowered her gaze.
"I'll remember."
Just then, the distant beat of the dhol became louder, announcing the arrival everyone had been waiting for. Moments later, a servant hurried into the room and respectfully bowed his head.
"Begum Sahiba..."
"The baraat has reached the entrance."
A wave of excitement instantly swept across the room.
The moment they had spent months preparing for had finally arrived.
Mrs. Sultan looked at Meher one last time, her heart overflowing with pride, love, and silent prayers. She slowly extended her hand.
"Shall we go?"
Meher looked around the room one final time—at her mother, her sister Anam, her cousins, her childhood friends, and her beloved grandmother. Every familiar face held countless memories. Every smile reminded her of the home that had raised her with endless love.
With a deep breath, she placed her hand in Mrs. Sultan's.
Together, they walked toward the door.
As it slowly opened, golden sunlight poured into the hallway, and the first notes of the welcoming music drifted gracefully through the mansion.
The bride was ready.
And downstairs, an entire family waited with joyful hearts to witness the beginning of the most beautiful chapter of Meher Sultan's life.
The bride.
The grand hall glowed beneath magnificent crystal chandeliers as the rhythmic beat of the dhol slowly faded into the background. Every guest turned toward the entrance as the groom finally arrived. Dressed in his regal ivory sherwani embroidered with intricate golden threadwork, Zaryab walked with calm dignity while Azaan, Hamza, and Faris stayed close, subtly guiding him through the crowd whenever needed.
Their teasing smiles had disappeared, replaced with quiet support as they helped him ascend the beautifully decorated stage. A shower of flower petals filled the air as whispers spread through the hall. "MashaAllah... the groom looks so handsome." "May Allah protect him from the evil eye." With the help of his friends, Zaryab settled onto the elegantly decorated sofa beneath the floral canopy.
Although he couldn't see the dazzling decorations surrounding him, he could hear the cheerful chatter of relatives, the laughter of children, and the countless heartfelt duas being whispered for the newlyweds. His fingers unconsciously brushed against the old gold wristwatch faris mother had lovingly fastened around his wrist that morning, and a small smile found its way onto his lips. Just a little longer... Soon she'll be here.
Across the hall, Mr. Sultan glanced toward the grand staircase before turning to his wife. "Bring Meher." Mrs. Sultan nodded quietly and disappeared upstairs without another word. The excitement inside the mansion continued to build with every passing second.
Everyone waited. Minutes felt like hours. Then, the musicians gradually lowered the volume of their instruments, conversations came to an abrupt stop, and every pair of eyes turned toward the grand staircase.
She had arrived. Mrs. Sultan appeared first, and a single step behind her walked Meher. A collective gasp swept through the hall. She looked breathtaking. The deep maroon bridal lehenga shimmered beneath the crystal lights like flowing rubies, while the intricate gold zari embroidery caught every beam of light. The heirloom jewellery resting around her neck, ears, forehead, wrists, and nose completed the royal look, and her dark mehndi-covered hands rested gracefully before her. She looked every bit like a queen. Yet something was terribly wrong. There was no shy smile on her lips.
No excitement.
No nervousness.
Her face was frighteningly cold, almost emotionless, and her eyes were swollen and red, as though she had spent hours crying before walking downstairs. Confused whispers spread among the guests. "What happened?" "Has she been crying?" "Is she feeling unwell?" Even Mrs. Sultan looked deeply worried as she gently guided Meher toward the stage.
The moment Meher reached it, she slowly lifted her gaze. It landed directly on Zaryab. Time itself seemed to stop. Everyone expected to witness the bashful glance of a bride meeting her groom. Instead, the look in Meher's eyes carried something no one had imagined.
Hatred.
Pure.
Cold.
Unforgiving.
Zaryab, cant see her but he can feel her, He recognised her by his fragrance, sensed only the sudden heaviness in the air. The smile on his lips slowly faded. Something... was wrong. The Qazi adjusted the Nikah papers before speaking gently. "Beta... do you, Meher Sultan, accept Zaryab Rizvi in Nikah?" The hall fell so silent that even the sound of breathing seemed loud. Every eye remained fixed upon the bride.
Several endless seconds slipped by before a single quiet word shattered the atmosphere. "No." The answer was firm, And it struck the hall like thunder. A stunned silence followed.
Nobody moved.
Nobody breath.
Author's Note
Assalamualaikum, everyone! 🤍
Thank you so much for reading and supporting this story. It truly means a lot to me. If you're enjoying the journey of Zaryab and Meher, please don't forget to vote, comment, and share your thoughts. Your support motivates me to write more.
🎯 Target: 100 Votes
Let's reach this milestone together! Thank you for being part of this journey.
With love,
Fiza ali khan❤️