Shaam-e-Ishq

1. Subha Ki Khamoshi

📖 Shaam-e-Ishq

Chapter 1 – "Subah Ki Khamoshi"

The sun rose softly over the city — a faded gold spilling across the marble floor of the Hashmi haveli, brushing the antique arches and heavy curtains with its quiet warmth.

In her room upstairs, Meerab Hashmi stood before the mirror, her dupatta pinned neatly, her long hair tied back in a disciplined low braid. Her soft pink kurta matched the calm on her face — the kind of calm that wasn't born from peace, but control.

She adjusted her wristwatch and whispered to her reflection:

●"Last exam. No mistakes."

Today was her MBA final paper — the culmination of years of grace, effort, and silent ambition. She didn't believe in celebrating things before they were complete. She believed in earning endings.

As she stepped out, the house stirred awake.

In the large dining hall below, her mother, Mahjabeen Hashmi, was already seated with a fresh tasbeeh in hand. Her father, Nawab Faizan Hashmi, folded his newspaper with his usual composed elegance.

● "Best of luck, Meerab," her father said, barely glancing, but with pride unmistakable in his voice.

Mahjabeen smiled, "Allah tumhari madad kare."

Meerab offered her salaam with a half-smile and picked up her sleek bag. Then paused.

● "Where's Rida?" she asked, casually.

Mahjabeen replied without looking up, "She left a little early today. Something about her friend's exam too."

Meerab's eyes flickered — not with surprise, but with knowing.

● "Huraira," she thought.

A soft smile played on her lips — the kind that held amusement, understanding... and maybe a little pity.

She walked out — calm, confident, collected.

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💼 Scene Shift: The Maliks – Honour Dressed in Grey

Across the city, the Malik estate reflected a different kind of nobility — modern, sharp, and silently influential. Inside a high-ceilinged drawing room, two men sat across from each other, sipping tea in crystal cups.

Nawab Faizan Hashmi and Taimoor Malik — friends for over three decades — shared more than history.

They shared reputation, honour, and a silent agreement:

● Some things are more important than emotions. Like name. Like legacy.

Outside, the sleek hum of a car.

Zayaan Malik entered — tall, composed, and dressed in a tailored steel grey suit, aviator shades covering his observant eyes. His movements were effortless, but not careless. He didn't speak unless necessary, and when he did — people listened.

●"Assalamualaikum," Zayaan said, removing his shades as he entered.

"Wa alaikumussalam," the elders returned, smiling faintly.

Taimoor looked at him — proud, though he never said it aloud.

Zayaan took a seat beside him, quietly observing the discussion between the two families. He wasn't here to interrupt — he was here to learn. And protect.

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☕ Scene Shift: Rida & Huraira – Cracks Beneath Sweetness

At a quiet coffee shop tucked behind an old bookstore, Rida Hussain stirred her cold coffee restlessly.

Wearing a floral kurti and flicking her hair every five seconds, Rida was the kind of girl who didn't need to speak to demand attention — she needed to be seen. But with Huraira, she didn't feel that shine.

Huraira sat across her — relaxed, polite, but distracted.

He scrolled through his phone, occasionally nodding to whatever she said.

● "I just don't get it," Rida said, frustration creeping in.

"Meerab always gets praised for doing the same things I do. I was raised in the same house... still..."

Huraira looked up slowly, eyes serious.

●"You weren't raised to compete with her, Rida. You were raised by her parents... to be loved."

"Then why do I feel invisible?" she snapped.

The moment cracked — but neither said anything.

He looked away. She looked wounded.

And across the café glass, in the distance, one of the jealous relatives observed quietly. Eyes narrowed.

● The puppet's strings were ready.

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