The day passed in a blur.
Mujtaba signed million-dollar contracts, his mind calm, his empire blooming. He sat in his luxury leather chair, Turkish coffee on the table, reviewing plans for a new skyscraper — his ambition climbing just as high.
On the other side of the city, Noor was drowning.
From sunrise to sunset, she worked endlessly — washing clothes, cleaning the house, chopping vegetables, serving tea — every minute soaked in exhaustion. And yet, when it was time for dinner, she stood in the kitchen again, hands trembling, eyes burning, preparing everyone's favorite dishes with aching arms and a silent heart.
She glanced at the wall clock.The lecture she had waited all week for... was already over.Missed.Because her aunt had refused to let her go.
Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away as the sound of footsteps echoed behind her.
Later that night, when everyone had eaten and gone to their rooms, Noor was called.
She entered her aunt's bedroom, head lowered.
Her aunt, sitting comfortably on the bed with her phone in hand, didn't even look up when she spoke.
"From now on, you won't be going to university."
Noor looked up sharply, confused. "What…?"
"You heard me," her aunt said coldly, finally looking at her. "We're letting you live here. That's already more than you deserve. I can't afford your fees anymore. You're a burden, Noor. And I'm done pretending you're not."
Noor didn't reply.She couldn't.
She just stood there, numb, trying to swallow the bitter truth — that in this house, her dreams didn't matter.That she... didn't matter.
The night had barely passed. It was 3:00 AM.
Noor lay in bed, eyes wide open. Sleep had abandoned her just like everyone else. Her aunt's cruel words still echoed in her ears.
"You're a burden. I can't afford your fees anymore."
The pain twisted inside her chest, but she didn't let it spill. Instead, she quietly slipped out of bed, wrapped her dupatta, and tiptoed to the corner of the room where she always found peace.
She performed ablution and spread her prayer mat, her hands trembling as she raised them in Tahajjud. Her whispered duas bled through the silence.
She prayed like someone drowning —but with no one there to pull her out.
Afterward, she opened the Quran. Its words were the only ones that ever truly embraced her. Her lips moved slowly, her voice silent, but her heart recited every verse with a cry louder than any scream. As dawn approached, she got up again. Without making a sound, she began ironing everyone's clothes — dozens of them, one after the other. Her hands moved steadily, her eyes tired but focused. Time ticked on. 4:00 AM. Her back ached. Her eyes stung. When the Fajr call echoed, she stood once more for prayer.
Afterward, she headed to the kitchen and began preparing breakfast.
Parathas. Omelets. Tea. Everything to everyone's taste.And once it was ready, she walked to each room, gently knocking the doors.
The house smelled like breakfast.
Noor placed the last plate of parathas on the table and quietly called out:
"Breakfast is ready… please come eat."
One by one, they appeared.
Taimoor, dressed in his office attire, grabbed his keys and a paratha.
"I'm getting late. I'll eat in the car."
Ayesha, half-asleep, tied her scarf lazily while Musa scrolled his phone.
"Do we have any juice?""No. We ran out yesterday," Noor answered softly."You should've told aunt," he muttered.
Ayesha rolled her eyes.
"Next time, just ask us what we want for breakfast. I'm not in the mood for this oily stuff."
Taimoor left for work.Musa and Ayesha left for university.Her aunt? Off to some friend's house.
And then… the door shut.
Noor stood alone in the quiet house.
Meanwhile…
A grand mansion lit with golden sunlight.
Fresh flowers adorned the 16-seater dining table. The chandelier sparkled like diamonds above. Servants moved swiftly, placing fresh orange juice, perfectly grilled sandwiches, and imported olives.
Mujtaba sat at the head of the table — crisp white shirt, sleeves folded, Rolex peeking out from his wrist.
His mother sipped her tea and looked at him.
"Mujtaba, you're 28. Don't you think it's time you settled down?"
He didn't even flinch.
"No."
His father raised a brow.
"What do you mean, no? We're not asking for your permission. It's time."
Mujtaba leaned back in his chair, jaw clenched slightly.
"I'm not ready to marry right now."
His voice was calm, but cold.
"I have plans. Expansions. New offices. My company is finally hitting the numbers I've worked for. I don't have time for a wife."
His mother frowned.
"So you'll keep living alone forever?"
Mujtaba smiled faintly — the kind of smile that held pain no one saw.
"Better alone than tied to someone I don't choose."
He picked up his coffee, stood up, and added quietly:
"I'll marry the day I feel something real."
And he walked out of the dining room.