In our house, love was always loud but never gentle. My family never sat with me to ask if I was happy, or told me I was doing well. They cared, yes—but in a possessive way, as if I was a fragile vase to be guarded, not a daughter with dreams.
My sisters had already built their own lives. One chased her six-year-old daughter and baby boy around the house, the other fussed endlessly over her newborn son. Our home often echoed with children's laughter, but none of it belonged to me. I was the odd piece left behind—the twenty-four-year-old who wanted something different, something more.
Maybe that's why I held on to Fatima so tightly. She wasn't just my best friend; she was my anchor. We had grown up side by side—school benches, midnight calls, stolen snacks during study breaks. Her family treated me like their own, filling the quiet spaces my parents never noticed. Their house was noisy in the best way, warm in the way I wished mine could be.
But my life hadn't always been about warmth. I was a small, fragile-looking ten-year-old who seemed six at best, and an easy target for the crueler kids at school. I still remember their mocking laughter, the way they shoved me aside. My parents never asked, never cared to know. So I learned to fight my own battles, alone.
Back then, I dreamed of becoming a doctor. But the universe rarely aligned with my heart. Still, Fatima and I made our own promises. We swore we'd go to the same college, then the same university. The first dream failed, but the second… somehow, it came true.
And in that university, we met Daniel.
Daniel, who was always there. Helpful. Kind. Too kind, Fatima thought. She never liked him. "Too smooth to be real," she used to mutter. I laughed it off. Maybe I shouldn't have.
The four years flew by, harder than I'd ever imagined. And then, graduation arrived.
I stood in the middle of the buzzing campus, cap in hand, heart pounding. Families surrounded their graduates—mothers crying, fathers clicking endless pictures, siblings cheering. My family wasn't there. Everyone was too busy with their own lives.
But Amna was. My little niece stood on tiptoes, clapping her tiny hands, her voice ringing louder than anyone else's.
"Hannah Khala!!! Hannah Khala!!!" she shouted, her face glowing with pride.
Tears blurred my vision. I smiled and blamed it on the dust when she tugged my sleeve, her little brows furrowing.
"Khala, why are you crying? Did something happen?"
"No, amna," I whispered, pressing her cheek. "Just dust."
No one else noticed. But she did. My little baby always did.
"HANNAH!" Fatima's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. She slapped my shoulder, nearly making me drop my phone. "Look. Over. There!"
I followed her gaze, confused. "What??"
"That boy." She pointed so obviously I wanted the ground to swallow us both. "He's so handsome."
I squinted. Her type and mine were worlds apart. "Ew. Not my type."
"Are you blind?" she gasped dramatically.
But then… I saw him. Another guy standing right beside her "handsome" one. And this one—he was my type. Sharp jawline, quiet confidence, the kind of presence you feel before you notice.
Fatima wrinkled her nose. "Seriously? Him? Ewww."
We burst out laughing, our ridiculous differences echoing against the noise of the crowd.
And just as if the universe wanted to play its own little trick, both boys looked straight at us.
My breath hitched. Fatima froze. For a second, it felt like time had slowed.
Then, as if nothing unusual had happened, they walked toward us.
"Excuse me," the first one said, his voice calm, polite. "Can you take a picture of us?"
Fatima and I exchanged a glance—half excitement, half panic.
"Sure," I said, forcing my voice not to shake.
And in that single, simple moment, I had no idea how much my life was about to change. So just like that, I came back home—my graduation gown folded over my arm, the cheers of other families still echoing in my ears. Inside my house, it was quiet. No one asked me how the day went, no one even looked up.
But I was too happy to let their silence cut me open. For once, I didn't want them to ruin my mood. I slipped into my room, closed the door, and sat on my bed, scrolling through the pictures we had clicked. Each smile in those photos felt like proof—proof that the day had been real, that I had achieved something, even if no one at home cared.
"Khala…" a small voice tugged at my heart.
I looked down to see Amna standing at the door, her eyes wide and curious. She climbed onto the bed and asked softly, "Khala, will you be there with me on my graduation? I hope you won't be busy like everyone was today…"
Her question stabbed me where it hurt most. My throat tightened, and tears pricked my eyes, but I forced a smile. I couldn't let her see me cry.
"Amna," I whispered, cupping her tiny cheek, "just like you were there for me today, I'll be there for you on every important day of your life."
Her lips curved into the smallest smile. "Promise, Khala?" She held up her little pinky, waiting.
I hooked mine with hers. "Promise, amna."
She nodded, satisfied, then rested her head on my lap. Within seconds, she was asleep—like the day's excitement had drained her tiny body. I brushed my fingers through her hair, holding on to the warmth of her trust.
But when the room grew quiet again, my thoughts returned, louder than ever. What next?
I carefully laid Amna down and opened my laptop. My degree was in marketing, so naturally, I began searching for jobs. Page after page, application after application. I didn't care where—I just wanted to leave Pakistan, to go far away, somewhere no one could reach me, somewhere I could finally breathe.
But then… my eyes drifted back to Amna.
If I left… who would be there for her?
The thought gnawed at me until it ached. The idea of freedom tasted sweet, but the thought of abandoning her was bitter enough to choke me.
A week later, I dialed Fatima's number. She picked up after the second ring.
"Broooo," I began, trying to sound casual. "What are you going to do now? Like… what's the plan? Because I've been applying abroad. Jobs, everywhere."
There was silence for half a second before she exploded.
"YOU DID WHAT?? Without me?? Bro, you're such a bitch!"
I burst out laughing. "Fatimaaa, calm down!"
"No! You're supposed to apply for both of us!" she snapped dramatically. "Now go back and apply again—for me too. Otherwise, we're fighting."
Rolling my eyes, I asked, "Okay, fine. But tell me—where exactly do you want to go?"
She groaned. "Anywhere. Literally anywhere. Just apply for me too. And listen—if you get selected first, I'll follow you after. You can refer me when you're settled. What do you think?"
I gasped. "OHHHH NICE IDEAAA! See? I was wrong—you do have a brain sometimes!"
She snorted. "Excuse me, sometimes? Rude."
I laughed so hard my stomach hurt. In that moment, the heaviness in my chest eased. Maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't have to face the future alone.