Meher never cared for grand birthdays—just familiar faces and quiet joy. But in the Khan household, simplicity rarely lasted. As memories resurfaced and laughter filled the room, one unexpected arrival would soon change the tone of the evening—and possibly everything after it.
***
The Khan house was dressed like celebration itself—balloons hovered near the ceiling, streamers shimmered on walls, and the faint scent of vanilla and roses lingered in the air. But it was still early. Only Meher and her parents were home, and for the moment, the silence of anticipation filled the space.
Meher sat on the living room couch, smiling into her phone.
> "Yeah! I'm on the way, and I got the cake—the one you wanted," Inaya's voice buzzed through the video call.
"Thanks a lot," Meher said warmly. "Be careful on the way."
She ended the call with a small, contented smile, setting her phone aside.
From across the room, her father, Asad Khan, overheard and couldn't resist adding his usual commentary.
"You know, I told you we should've hosted this party at a five-star hotel. Then you wouldn't have to stress about all this. People should know there's nothing ordinary about the Khan family."
Meher rolled her eyes and walked off without answering. She was long past the stage of explaining things like sentiment or intimacy to her father, who seemed perpetually lost in appearances and prestige.
A few minutes later, the doorbell rang.
Inaya stepped inside, holding a carefully decorated cake box and a gift bag. She looked slightly winded, but triumphant.
"Look, I promised I'd be early," she announced.
Meher smiled and moved in for a hug. "You were. Happy to see you."
"Happy Birthday!!!" Inaya beamed.
"Thanks! By the way," Meher said, eyes gleaming mischievously, "where's Nabeel? I told you to bring him."
"He's parking the car."
"Oh, right! I have a voice recording I wanted to play you—"
Her tone turned playful. "Want to guess what it is?"
Inaya narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You…"
Meher burst into laughter. "Just kidding!"
"Also," Inaya continued, reaching into her bag, "I'll give my mom and dad's gifts later. But here's mine."
Meher opened the gift slowly and gasped—a handcrafted photo album lay inside, wrapped in soft, textured paper. She ran her fingers over the cover, then opened it reverently.
Inside were snapshots of a lifetime—silly school-day selfies, awkward teenage poses, and quiet, candid moments neither of them remembered posing for. Each page turned like a whispered memory.
"You made this?" Meher asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Inaya nodded, grinning, though her eyes shimmered. "Yeah."
Meher's brows drew together. "But… how did you get these? I was always abroad. We didn't even have a chance to take most of these together."
Inaya exhaled softly, half-laughing. "I know. It wasn't easy. Some are from when you were still here—really old ones. A few are from that time I came to visit you. And..." she paused, then smiled sheepishly, "some are photoshopped."
Meher blinked. "Wait, what?"
"I had to beg a friend to help me with the editing," Inaya said, grinning now.
"And after that, I moved there too, remember? So, some of the later ones are real again."
Meher flipped through the pages slowly, carefully—like touching something sacred. Every image was a thread stitched into their friendship, spanning years and countries, laughter and distance.
"This is... perfect," she said, voice thick with emotion.
Inaya's tone turned playful. "Don't cry. I didn't bring tissues."
Meher laughed, wiping under her eyes with the back of her hand. "This means a lot to me. Thank you."
They hugged—tight, warm, and familiar. A quiet, wordless promise between two best friends: no matter the distance, we always find our way back.
The house, once still, began to pulse with energy as guests poured in. Music floated through the halls, laughter echoed against walls, and colorful sarees and suits blurred into a canvas of festivity. Everyone seemed to carry either a wrapped box or a compliment.
And then the front door opened again.
Zayn walked in.
Silence followed. Not instantly, but slowly—conversations faltered, a few heads turned, and then it was as though the entire party pivoted to face him. He didn't seem surprised by the attention. If anything, he looked like he was used to it.
Beside Meher, Inaya stiffened.
Meher leaned in and whispered, "So… everyone does know him?"
"Of course," Inaya said under her breath. "You're the only one who didn't."
Meher gave her a half-smile. "Yeah, yeah.
"Just then, a second figure entered—a man in a sleek, navy suit. He followed closely behind Zayn.
Inaya's expression darkened. "What's he doing here?"
"Who?"
"That guy with Zayn."
Meher glanced. "That's Faqair—Zayn's secretary."
Inaya turned sharply, eyes widening. "What?"
Meher grinned knowingly. "Don't tell me he's the one you fought with the other day?"
Inaya looked away. "...Yes."
Meher couldn't resist. "Seriously? You have to turn everything into a scene, huh?"
The music picked back up, as did the chatter. The awkward silence dissolved, but a faint undercurrent of curiosity remained—like everyone was watching a puzzle slowly click into place.
Faqair approached Meher, his smile polite, his hands holding a small wrapped box.
"Happy Birthday, Miss Meher."
"Thank you," she said warmly, accepting the gift.
Then came the moment everyone had been waiting for—Zayn. He stood near the entrance, hands in his pockets, offering no gift, no box, no card.
Meher didn't say anything.
Zayn looked around. "What? I didn't have time to buy anything."
Faqair stepped in smoothly. "He's been caught up with back-to-back meetings."
Meher smiled politely. "No problem."
Zayn reached into his pocket, pulled something out, and held it toward her.
Meher blinked. "Is this… a present?"
A small, matte-black canister sat in his palm.
Pepper spray.
"You don't want it?" Zayn said casually. "Give it back then."
He held her gaze and added, "It's practical.For when your smart mouth gets you into trouble."
His lips curled into a smirk. "Which… is often."
Inaya elbowed her gently. "She wants it. Right?"
Meher laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. "Okay, thanks."
And just then, the front door creaked open again.
Another guest stepped inside.
Meher turned, smile bright. "Hiiiii! You're finally here!"
Zayn turned too—and everything about him shifted.
His shoulders, usually relaxed and confident, suddenly tensed. His eyes widened, the color draining from his face. The smirk vanished.
Whatever charm he'd been wearing like a second skin peeled away in an instant.
For the first time that night, Zayn looked… afraid.
To be continued...
Meher didn't see the change—Zayn's confident mask shattered in a heartbeat. His eyes locked on the door, his breath caught somewhere deep inside. The room was still, but the air shifted. Whoever stepped inside wasn't just a guest. And everything was about to unravel.
(Relising date 28/08/25)
Life is full of surprises—some joyful, some challenging—but every moment shapes the story we live. As Maya Angelou said, "We delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty." I hope you find strength in change, joy in the little things, and always keep your heart open. Stay happy, take care, and thank you for reading.
With love,
Galaxy's Eyes