Chapter 2: part 1

Zaina woke up in the stillness of the night, her wavy hair a messy halo as she groggily shuffled to perform wudu. She was never a morning person, let alone a night owl, but Tahajjud had become her anchor. Wrapping herself in her soft pink prayer shawl, she spread out her mat and poured her heart out in dua. Her voice wavered slightly as she asked, "Ya Allah, bless me with a righteous spouse, someone who will guide me closer to You and bring peace to my heart."

Once she finished her prayer, she reached for her Qur'an, flipping through the pages until she found her bookmark. As she recited the verses, her pace was occasionally interrupted by her clumsy fingers struggling to keep the pages from flipping on their own. But she smiled to herself, shaking her head, "Zaina, get a grip. You're not wrestling with the Qur'an."

The melodic call to Fajr pulled her back to her mat. After finishing her prayer, she stretched with a little yawn and decided it was time to hit the books. Her upcoming exam was looming over her, and though she was determined to ace it, her scattered notes and endless distractions made studying a battle.

Finally, when the sun started peeking through her window, Zaina bounded down to the kitchen. She grabbed the eggs and spices, setting them on the counter with a loud clang. "Oops," she muttered, laughing at herself. Her attempt at multitasking—stirring tea and flipping parathas—wasn't going as planned. A paratha slipped off the pan and landed on the floor.

"Zaina! What was that?" her mother, Shamim Saiyed, called out as she descended the stairs.

"Uh...nothing! Just a paratha that decided it didn't like me," Zaina called back, sheepishly picking it up. Shamim entered the kitchen, her eyes immediately landing on the chaos—flour dusted on the counter, a trail of tea dribbles, and her bubbly daughter humming to herself as if she wasn't standing in the middle of a small disaster zone.

"Ya Allah, Zaina, you're the only girl I know who can turn breakfast into a battlefield," Shamim said, shaking her head but smiling fondly.

"Battlefields are where warriors thrive, Ammi," Zaina quipped, grinning. She paused, her expression softening. "I made dua for you earlier, you know. That Allah keeps you happy and healthy."

Shamim's heart swelled as she approached Zaina, placing a gentle hand on her head. "And I made dua for you too, my clumsy warrior. May Allah always guide and protect you." She leaned down and blew over her daughter, whispering her prayer.

Zaina was busy fixing the slightly burnt paratha with her trademark enthusiasm, muttering, “It’s not burnt; it’s just… extra crispy.” Her tea was bubbling on the stove, threatening to overflow, and she hopped to the pot just in time, spilling a few drops on her apron as she giggled, “Saved!”

Her mother, Shamim Saiyed, watched her daughter from the doorway with a mix of exasperation and affection. “Zaina, how many disasters are you planning this morning? You’re supposed to be making breakfast, not conducting experiments.”

Zaina turned, holding up a paratha triumphantly. “Disaster? No way, Ammi. This is art! Look at that golden perfection!”

Shamim shook her head with a smile, entering the kitchen to inspect the situation. “If this is art, I’d hate to see your science experiments.”

Just then, her Taya Abbu, Usman Saiyed, entered the room. A tall man with a commanding yet warm presence, he was the undisputed head of the household. Despite his stern demeanor with others, his soft spot for Zaina was obvious.

“What’s all this noise so early in the morning?” Usman asked, his deep voice filling the kitchen. His stern eyes softened as they landed on Zaina, who immediately ran to him, wrapping her arms around his arm.

“Taya Abbu! Look, I’m making breakfast!” she chirped, beaming at him.

Usman shook his head, his lips twitching into a rare smile. “Breakfast or a mess?” he teased, ruffling her hair fondly.

“Taya Abbu, don’t listen to Ammi. She’s being dramatic,” Zaina protested, pouting.

Shamim raised an eyebrow. “Dramatic? The tea nearly boiled over!”

Before Zaina could respond, Tayyi Ammi, Zunaira Saiyed, walked in with her elegant yet practical air. She was a woman who believed in discipline but had a soft heart beneath her no-nonsense exterior. “What’s this commotion? Zaina, don’t let your parathas burn. And Usman, stop encouraging her,” she scolded gently, her eyes crinkling with amusement.

“Oh, Tayyi Ammi,” Zaina grinned, “you always side with Ammi!”

Zunaira shook her head, taking a seat at the table. “It’s not about sides, Zaina. It’s about not turning the kitchen into a circus.”

As the family gathered, Zohaib, Zaina’s younger brother, bounded into the room with his usual mischievous grin. “What circus? Did Zaina burn something again?” he teased, plucking a piece of paratha off her plate before she could stop him.

“Zohaib! That’s mine!” Zaina tried to swat him, but he darted out of reach, laughing.

“Typical,” he called over his shoulder. “She cooks like she studies—chaotic!”

Zaina narrowed her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “Wait until I tell Ammi you broke the vase last week!”

“Zaina, you promised not to tell!” Zohaib shot back, feigning panic, while Shamim looked at both of them suspiciously.

As the room filled with laughter, Fatimah entered, her soft, calming presence a stark contrast to Zohaib’s mischief. Younger than Zaina by a year but wiser beyond her age, she often acted like Zaina’s guide and confidant.

“Zaina, did you study after Fajr like you planned?” Fatimah asked gently, taking a seat beside Zunaira.

Zaina nodded, biting her lip. “Yes, but only for a little while. Then I started breakfast…”

Fatimah smiled, shaking her head. “You need to focus, Aapi. Exams are close.”

Before Zaina could reply, her gaze briefly flickered to the empty chair where her cousin Sheheryar usually sat when he was home. He had been in London for three years, building the family’s business, and his absence was a subtle ache in Zaina’s chest. She admired his sharp mind, his quiet strength, and—though she’d never admit it aloud—harbored a soft, lingering crush on him.

Usman noticed her gaze and patted her head affectionately. “Don’t worry, Zaina. Sheheryar will be back soon. Then you can bother him instead of me.”

Zaina’s cheeks flushed as she stammered, “Who’s talking about Sheheryar, Taya Abbu? I’m too busy dealing with Zohaib’s nonsense!”

Everyone laughed, and Usman smiled fondly. “No one can replace my Zaina,” he said softly, his words making her heart swell with gratitude.

Zaina might be clumsy, bubbly, and a little scatterbrained, but in this family, she was cherished by all—most of all by her Taya Abbu, who saw her for the bright, loving soul she was.

The breakfast table was as lively as ever, with Zohaib taking center stage in teasing his elder sister.

“Zaina, I don’t understand how someone can burn toast, undercook eggs, and still call herself a chef,” Zohaib quipped, smirking as he took another bite of paratha.

Zaina, seated across from him, threw him a playful glare. “At least I cook! All you do is raid the fridge like a mouse at midnight.”

“Mouse?!” Zohaib placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “How dare you! I prefer to be called a food connoisseur.”

The family laughed at their banter, and even their mother, Shamim, couldn’t hide her smile as she poured chai into cups. Meanwhile, Usman’s phone buzzed loudly on the table. Picking it up, he excused himself to take the call, his deep voice rumbling as he stepped out of the room.

Zaina leaned closer to Fatimah, whispering, “Why does he always look so serious when he gets calls? Do you think it’s about Sheheryar Bhai?”

Fatimah smiled knowingly. “Maybe. You’ve been thinking a lot about Sheheryar Bhai lately, haven’t you?”

Zaina flushed and leaned back, mumbling, “N-no! I was just… curious.”

Before she could elaborate, Usman returned to the room, his expression warm and pleased. He clapped his hands lightly, drawing everyone’s attention. “I have an announcement,” he said, his voice brimming with excitement.

“What is it, Taya Abbu?” Zaina asked eagerly, her eyes lighting up.

“Sheheryar is coming back next week!” Usman declared.

The room erupted in joy. Zunaira clasped her hands together, her face glowing. “Alhamdulillah! It’s been so long. The house will feel complete again.”

Zohaib, never missing a beat, added, “Finally, someone who’ll take Zaina’s side when I tease her. I’m doomed!”

Zaina laughed along with everyone, but her smile faltered when Zunaira turned to Usman with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Now that Sheheryar is coming back, it’s time we get him married,” Zunaira said, nodding firmly. “And don’t worry, I’ve already chosen the perfect girl for him.”

Zaina’s laughter died in her throat, her heart sinking like a stone. She tried to keep her face neutral, but her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her scarf.

“Really, Tayyi Ammi? Who is she?” Zohaib asked, intrigued.

“Oh, she’s the daughter of a family friend,” Zunaira replied with a pleased smile. “She’s beautiful, well-mannered, and comes from a respectable family. She and Sheheryar will make a perfect match.”

Zaina’s appetite vanished as a strange heaviness settled over her chest. She forced a smile, trying to mask her disappointment. “That’s... wonderful news, Tayyi Ammi,” she managed to say, her voice a little too cheerful.

Fatimah, sitting beside her, noticed the change in her expression and gave her hand a comforting squeeze under the table. Zaina didn’t look up but was grateful for the silent support.

The conversation at the table continued, with everyone excitedly discussing Sheheryar’s return and his potential marriage. But for Zaina, the cheerful chatter faded into the background as she struggled to understand the unexpected pang of sadness blooming in her heart.