Hello my beautiful readers

Here is chapter

I know u all are excited for the wedding bas mere pyaare readers shaadi 2 chapters dur ha 🤭🤭🤭

My dear cute sweet readers the winters are here so keep yourself warm dont catch cold and take care of yourself. Those who are preparing for preboards or exam inshallah everything will be alright.

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Sifna pov

As Di handed me the phone, my eyes widened. A sleek, shimmering Samsung Galaxy S23 FE rested in my hands, its glossy finish catching the soft light of the room. My fingers ran across the screen, marveling at the smoothness, and then to the adorable pastel phone cover. The little floral design on it made it even more perfect. I glanced up at Di, narrowing my eyes as I gave her the most exaggerated “bombastic side-eye” I could muster.

“Kitne ka lekar aayi ho?” I asked, raising an eyebrow as if I were interrogating her. (How much did you buy it for?)

Di gave me a nonchalant smile, clearly trying to downplay it. “Bas 10,000 ka hai,” she said casually, like it was no big deal. (Just for 10,000.)

But I wasn’t born yesterday. I tilted my head, giving her a knowing look, and smirked. “Shakal se mehnga lag raha hai, Di. Sach sach batao, nahi toh nahi lungi!” I declared dramatically, folding my arms across my chest. (It looks expensive just by its appearance. Tell me the truth, or I won’t take it!)

She hesitated for a moment, biting her lip as though deciding whether to admit the truth. Finally, she sighed and said, “Thik hai, bas 35,000 ka liya hai.” (Alright, fine! I got it for just 35,000.)

“Bas, bas!” I exclaimed, my jaw dropping. “35,000 ka? 35,000 bas hota hai, Di? Kya yaar, fizool kharchi kyun karti ho?” I continued, my voice a mix of shock and disbelief. (Just 35,000? Is that just, Di? Why do you waste money like this?)

Di’s patience snapped. She gave me her infamous glare—the one that could silence anyone. “Shut up! Mai tere liye kamati hoon toh udau kispe? Chal chup kar aur ye le, nayi SIM card. No bakwas!” she scolded, thrusting the SIM card into my hand. (Shut up! I earn for you, so who else should I spend on? Now, be quiet, and here’s a new SIM card. No nonsense!)

Her words made my heart swell with gratitude. I knew she worked so hard for me, and here I was, teasing her. Overwhelmed, I hugged her tightly, burying my face in her shoulder. “Thank you, Di,” I whispered, my voice soft but filled with love.

She patted my head, her tone softening. “Achha, mera number apne phone mein save kar le. Waise bhi kal se shaadi ki tayariyan karni hain. School nahi jayegi,” she said, gently pulling away from the hug. (Alright, save my number on your phone. Anyway, we have wedding preparations from tomorrow, so you won’t go to school.)

I frowned. “Lekin Di, itna miss karungi!” I protested, pouting slightly. (But Di, I’ll miss so much!)

She raised an eyebrow, her expression daring me to argue further. I sighed dramatically. “Ok, ma’am. Jaisa aap kaho,” I said, throwing in a cheeky smile. (Alright, ma’am. As you say.)

Suddenly, a thought crossed my mind. “By the way, Di, can I call Abeeha and Sidra from this phone?” I asked, my eyes lighting up with excitement.

She rolled her eyes. “Dummy, why are you asking? It’s your phone, baby,” she replied, laughing.

Grinning, I grabbed my little diary, flipping to the page where I’d neatly written Abeeha’s number. My fingers hovered over the keypad, dialing nervously. The phone rang once, twice, thrice...

Finally, Abeeha picked up. “Hello, assalamu alaikum!” I greeted, deepening my voice in an attempt to sound unrecognizable. (Hello, peace be upon you!)

Abeeha chuckled almost immediately. “Sifna, I know it’s you!” she exclaimed, her laughter echoing through the phone.

My act crumbled. “Ugh! I wanted to scare you, but it didn’t work,” I groaned, though her laughter made me smile.

“By the way, whose number is this? It’s not your usual one,” she asked curiously.

“It’s mine! Di brought me a new phone!” I said proudly, unable to hide the excitement in my voice.

Abeeha gasped. “Wow, that’s amazing! Now we can have group chats and talk whenever we want. No more waiting till school!”

Her happiness was contagious, and I beamed. “Let me call Sidra too!” I said, but before I could, I heard another voice in the background.

“Wait, is that Sidra?” I asked.

“Yes, she’s here with me!” Abeeha replied.

Within moments, the three of us were chatting like we always did, our laughter filling the air. Abeeha’s next words caught me off guard. “Sifu, my brother’s wedding is in 15 days, and you HAVE to come!” she said.

My heart sank. “Sorry, Abi. I can’t come,” I said softly.

“What? Why not?” both Abeeha and Sidra demanded, their disappointment evident.

“My Di’s wedding is on the same day,” I explained.

For a moment, none of us spoke, the coincidence sinking in. Then Abeeha broke the silence. “Wait... your sister’s name is Inayah? My sister-in-law’s name is Inayah too. But she doesn’t have any sisters—her parents never mentioned it.”

Confusion clouded my thoughts. Could it really be...?

Before I could say more, Di’s voice interrupted. “Sifna, bacha, don’t you have to sleep?” (Sifna, sweetheart, don’t you have to sleep?)

“Yes, Di,” I replied, distracted.

Abeeha said sifu who voice it was i said my sister my calling me and then she said sifu this voice look kinda smiliar

I whispered into the phone, “Abi, your sister-in-law’s name is Inayah?”

“Yes! Wait, I have her picture. Let me send it to you,” she said.

Seconds later, my phone buzzed. As the image loaded, my breath hitched. My eyes widened as I stared at the familiar face on the screen.

“It’s her. She’s my sister!” I shouted, unable to contain my shock.

“What?!” Abeeha exclaimed.

“She’s my sister!” I repeated, this time laughing.

The realization hit us like a tidal wave.

“We’re going to be relatives!” Abeeha cried, her excitement mirroring mine.

“Yes! And there will be rasams! I can’t wait to meet you!” Sidra chimed in.

We giggled endlessly, the joy of this unexpected connection keeping us awake far longer than we should’ve been. Finally, exhaustion caught up with us.

“Guys, it’s late. Let’s sleep,” I suggested reluctantly.

“Goodnight, Sifu. Allah hafiz!” they said together.

“Allah hafiz,” I replied softly, a smile lingering on my lips as I hung up. My heart was full, the excitement of tomorrow carrying me into sweet dreams.





The phone



Phone cover

As I sat on the couch in the quiet in bedroom, Dida came, her dupatta neatly draped and her hands holding a small box. She sat beside me with a sigh, opening the box to reveal—ugh—medicines. The sight of them made me wrinkle my nose in disgust.

"Mai nahi kha rahi hoon!" I declared dramatically, crossing my arms like a stubborn child. (I’m not taking them!)

Dida raised an eyebrow. “Dawai toh tujhe khani padegi, Sifu,” she said firmly, holding out the pills. (You have to take the medicine, Sifu.)

I shook my head vigorously and bolted off the couch, giggling as I ran across the room. “Pakad ke dikhao!” I challenged, glancing back with a cheeky grin. (Catch me if you can!)

She got up with a sigh, her amused smile betraying her frustration. “Sifna! Ruk jaa. Dawai kha le, warna dekh lena!” she yelled, chasing after me. (Stop, Sifna! Take your medicine, or else!)

For a moment, I forgot everything—the pain in my back from Ammi’s beating, the ache in my heart from being unwanted. I laughed freely, weaving around furniture as Dida chased me. Her laughter mingled with mine, and the sound filled the room, warm and comforting. But then it happened.

A sharp, searing pain shot through my back like a bolt of lightning. I stopped abruptly, clutching my side, and let out a loud, “Aaah!”

Dida froze in her tracks. Her face immediately turned serious as she rushed to me. “Arre, kya hua? Bacha, chalo, bed par chalo!” she said, gently guiding me to lie down. (What happened? Sweetheart, come, let’s go to the bed!)

She helped me settle onto the bed, her movements careful and deliberate. Her eyes held worry as she sat beside me, brushing back a few strands of hair from my sweaty forehead. Then her tone turned scolding, but her voice trembled slightly.

“Tumhe pata hai na, Sifu, tumhe rest karna chahiye? Kyun daud rahi ho? Ab chup karke yahan baitho aur dawai khao,” she said, her sternness softening into concern. (You know you need to rest, Sifu. Why were you running? Now sit quietly and take your medicine.)

I nodded, feeling a little guilty. “Okay, Dida,” I murmured, obediently taking the pills from her hand. I popped them into my mouth, scrunching my face as the bitter taste hit my tongue. “Kitni kadwi hai!” I complained, sticking my tongue out like a child. (They’re so bitter!)

Dida chuckled, her laughter breaking through the tension in the room. “Drama queen,” she teased, ruffling my hair.

The room fell into a comfortable silence after that, broken only by the hum of the fan overhead. But in that silence, I felt the hesitation bubbling up inside me. My heart was pounding against my ribcage. I wanted to ask her—no, I needed to ask her. I looked at Dida, her face calm as she gently folded the medicine box. She noticed the flicker of doubt in my eyes and tilted her head slightly.

“Sifna, tum kuch bolna chahti ho?” she asked softly, her voice filled with understanding. (Sifna, do you want to say something?)

I took a deep breath, my heart hammering. Before I could stop myself, the words tumbled out in a rush. “Di, aap logon ne apne sasural walon ko mere baare mein kyun nahi bataya?” I blurted, my voice shaky. (Di, why didn’t you tell your in-laws about me?)

She froze, her hands pausing mid-movement. Her brows furrowed, and she turned to look at me. “Kya keh rahi ho, Sifu?” she asked, confused. (What are you saying, Sifu?)

I swallowed hard, the words getting stuck in my throat. Di you know my bestfriend abeeha she said yes and i called her them now so she invited ne for her brother wedding so i said sorry i cant come my sisters wedding is also after 15 days then she said i am confused sifu my sister-in-law name is also inayah but when u called me i said to them di called me and then she said the voice seemed familiar after that she send me her sister-in-law's picture and it was you and we were unaware

Understanding flickered in her eyes as I continued. “Abeeha ne kaha ki woh apke hone wale shohar ki behen hai. Aur maine usse bola ki aap meri behen ho,” I said, my voice trembling. (Abeeha said she’s your fiancé’s sister. And I told her you’re my sister.)

Dida’s expression turned from confusion to shock. “Kya?” she whispered. (What?)

“Mujhe samajh nahi aaya jab usne bola ki apke sasural walon ko lagta hai ki app ek hi bache ho, maa papa ki ” I said, tears welling up in my eyes. (I didn’t understand when she said your in-laws think you’re an only child.)

For a moment, the room felt heavy. Dida stared at me, her own eyes wide with realization. Then she reached out, placing her hands gently on mine. “Bacha, tum mujhe trust karti ho na?” she asked, her voice soft but urgent. (Sweetheart, you trust me, right?)

I nodded, the tears spilling over. “Di, mai aapse zyada kisi par trust nahi karti,” I whispered. (Di, I trust no one more than you.)

Her eyes softened as she cupped my face in her hands. “Sifu, mujhe nahi pata tha ki Mom aur Dad ne yeh sab chhupaya hai. Lekin mai promise karti hoon, kal sabko pata chalega ki tum meri behen ho,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. (Sifu, I didn’t know Mom and Dad hid this. But I promise, tomorrow everyone will know you’re my sister.)

Her words felt like a balm to my wounded heart. Without thinking, I flung my arms around her, burying my face in her shoulder. Her embrace was warm, safe—just like home.

“Di, mujhe aap par pura bharosa hai,” I whispered, my voice muffled against her shoulder. (Di, I trust you completely.)

She pulled away slightly, tucking me into bed and pulling the blanket over me. “Ab so jao, meri jaan. Kal sab theek hoga,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to my forehead. (Now sleep, my love. Everything will be fine tomorrow.)

I closed my eyes, her words echoing in my mind, lulling me into a peaceful sleep. For the first time in days, I felt safe.

On the other side

Hamad’s POV

The study room stood as a fortress of power and precision, every corner a testament to dominance and control. The faint scent of polished mahogany lingered in the air, mixing with the rich aroma of leather. The walls were paneled in dark oak, their smooth finish absorbing the soft glow of the chandelier above—a magnificent piece of craftsmanship with cascading crystals that refracted light into subtle shards across the room.

The large desk at the center, my desk, was made of heavy, dark wood, its surface immaculate except for a single ashtray, a Montblanc pen, and a closed leather notebook. Behind it, an imposing high-backed chair upholstered in black leather stood like a throne. Across from it were two armchairs of matching design, their deep cushions offering no real comfort but exuding a statement of authority.

Bookshelves lined one wall, crammed with volumes on finance, strategy, and history—books that served as weapons in their own right. A Persian rug in muted tones of crimson and gold sprawled across the marble floor, its intricate patterns echoing the weight of history and tradition. To the right, a sleek bar cart gleamed, stocked with crystal decanters and fine glasses, their contents untouched.

A single painting hung on the far wall—an abstract piece, cold and chaotic, its dark tones mirroring the storms within me. Heavy blackout curtains framed the window behind my desk, drawn open just enough to reveal the city skyline, a vast sprawl of lights and shadows under my reign.

I leaned against the edge of the desk, the cigarette in my hand burning low, the smoke curling upward like a specter in the dim light. The tension in the room was palpable, and Ibrahim and Haroon’s footsteps echoed softly as they entered, their movements careful, measured. They knew better than to disturb the silence until I spoke.

Haroon broke it first, his voice casual but inquisitive. “Batao, kya baat karni thi?” (Tell us, what did you want to discuss?)

I didn’t look at him, my gaze fixed on the city beyond the window. “Baitho,” I said simply, my voice as unyielding as the oak desk at my back. (Sit.)

They obeyed without hesitation, sinking into the armchairs across from me.

“ yaha India mein kuch ho raha hai,” I began, my tone low and clipped. “Bachiyan uthayi ja rahi hain. Child trafficking ka ek network chal raha hai.” (Something’s happening here in India. Girls are being abducted. There’s a child trafficking network operating.)

Haroon stiffened, his usual playful demeanor wiped clean. Ibrahim’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. I could feel their anger simmering beneath their silence, matching my own.

“Haroon,” I said, my gaze finally shifting to him, sharp and commanding. “Yeh sab kaun kar raha hai, pata lagao. Har naam chahiye, har pata chahiye. Ek bhi galti nahi honi chahiye.” (Find out who’s behind this. I want every name, every address. There can’t be a single mistake.)

Haroon nodded once, his expression cold and resolute. “Done,” he replied, his tone devoid of any hesitation.

I turned to Ibrahim, the authority in my stance unshaken. “Kal subah, hum France ja rahe hain,” I said. “Wahan ek deal hai jo handle karni hai. Lekin usse zyada zaroori, ek insaan hai jo sochta hai ki wo hume cross kar sakta hai. Usse dikhaate hain Mafia King ke gusse ka matlab kya hota hai.” (Tomorrow morning, we leave for France. There’s a deal to handle there. But more importantly, there’s someone who thinks he can cross us. Let’s show him what the wrath of the Mafia King means.)

Ibrahim nodded, his agreement silent but certain.

The room fell into stillness again as I reached for my lighter. The faint scratch of metal was followed by a flicker of flame, illuminating my face briefly before I lit the cigarette. The first drag was slow, deliberate, the bitterness grounding me.

I turned back to the window, exhaling smoke into the cold air of the room. “Ek aur baat hai,” I said finally, my tone calm, almost detached. (There’s one more thing.)

Ibrahim and Haroon exchanged a glance, their curiosity evident but contained.

“I’m in love with someone,” I said, the words falling from my lips with unsettling ease, as if I were discussing the weather.

Haroon blinked, his brows shooting up. “Tu aur pyaar mein? Maan hi nahi sakta,” he chirped, his voice incredulous. (You, in love? I just can’t believe it.)

A rare smirk tugged at my lips. I said, my voice dropping to a softer tone, “usne aisa jaadu kar diya hai mere upar... main bata nahi sakta.” ( she’s cast such a spell on me… I can’t even explain it.)

Ibrahim straightened in his chair, his expression turning serious. “Who is she?” he asked.

“My Luna,” I replied simply, her name carrying a weight neither of them could fully grasp.

Haroon frowned slightly, his mind racing. “Aur Inayah ka kya?” he asked cautiously. (And what about Inayah?)

My smirk turned colder. “Inayah aur main dono yeh shaadi nahi chahte,” I said, my voice clipped and final. “Shaadi nahi hogi.” (Inayah and I both don’t want this marriage. The wedding won’t happen.) Thats why we both made a plan

They both fell silent, processing the shift in plans. After a moment, Ibrahim leaned forward slightly. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, his tone measured.

I extinguished the cigarette in the ashtray, the faint sizzle echoing in the stillness. “I don’t speak without certainty,” I replied coldly. “Luna is mine. That’s all there is to it.”

Ibrahim nodded once, standing from his chair. “Alright. Kal flight ke liye tayar rahna,” he said simply. (Alright. Be ready for the flight tomorrow.)

He glanced at Haroon, who was already deep in thought about his task.

“Haroon,” I said sharply, snapping him out of his reverie. “Trafficking ka kaam pehle khatam hoga. Har naam aur har network mujhe chahiye. No delays.” (The trafficking case will be finished first. I want every name and every network. No delays.)

Haroon nodded, his expression serious. “Understood.”

As they left, the door clicking shut behind them, I returned to the window. The city stretched before me, endless and dark. Somewhere out there, Luna was waiting. And I would raze kingdoms to find her.

The next day

Author's pov

The soft, melodious sound of the fajr azaan echoed through the morning stillness, gently reaching Sifna’s ears. Her eyelids fluttered open, and a sense of calm enveloped her. She glanced at her sister, who was stirring beside her, awakened by the same call to prayer. The room was bathed in the faint blue hue of dawn, the first rays of sunlight beginning to peek through the curtains.

“Chalo, Di,” Sifna whispered, her voice soft yet firm. (Let’s go, Di.)

They both rose, the tranquility of the early morning wrapping around them. Their footsteps were light as they made their way to perform wudu (ablution). The cool water that touched Sifna’s skin felt purifying, washing away not just the physical impurities but also bringing a spiritual cleansing that always calmed her restless heart.

They spread their prayer mats side by side, the delicate floral patterns of the mats illuminated by the soft glow of a small lamp. Standing in salah, they both folded their hands in devotion, whispering verses of the Qur’an with unwavering concentration. Each word felt like a conversation with Allah, a direct connection that filled their hearts with peace.

As Sifna bowed into ruku and then descended into sujood, her emotions overwhelmed her. Tears slipped silently down her cheeks, soaking the prayer mat beneath her. Her heart overflowed with gratitude as she whispered in her sujood, “Shukriya, ya Allah, mere maula, mere malik. Aapne meri dua sun li. Aapne mujhe meri behen ki shaadi ka hissa banne ka sharf diya. Alhamdulillah.” (Thank You, O Allah, my Master, my Sovereign. You have heard my prayers. You have granted me the honor of being part of my sister’s wedding. Praise be to Allah.)

When she finally rose from her prostration, her heart felt lighter, her spirit filled with peace. She wiped away her tears gently with trembling hands, her soul calm in the presence of her Lord.

After completing her prayer, Sifna picked up her tasbih, a beautiful string of 99 beads in shades of emerald green and gold, its smooth texture comforting in her hands.

Tasbih is a form of Islamic worship that involves reciting the name of Allah or short phrases to glorify God. It is often performed with the help of a set of prayer beads, called a tasbih, similar to a rosary or japamala. A tasbih is a string of 33, 66, or 99 beads, and each bead helps to keep count of the recitations. The string of 99 beads represents each name of Allah. The person can use either the fingers of their right hand or the beads themselves to keep track of the recitations. This practice is part of dhikr, the glorification of God in Islam, and it brings peace and mindfulness to the soul.

She began her tasbeeh with a steady rhythm, her fingers gliding from bead to bead. Subhanallah (Glory be to Allah), Alhamdulillah (Praise be to Allah), Allahu Akbar (Allah is the Greatest). The words poured from her lips like a sacred melody, filling the room with an aura of sanctity.

As she completed her recitation, her heart felt light, as if all her burdens had been lifted. She raised her hands in supplication, her palms trembling slightly. In a voice thick with emotion, she began her dua, starting with praises of Allah.

"Alhamdulillah, ya Allah, mere maula, mere malik. Mai aapki shukurguzar hoon har cheez ke liye—mere iman ke liye, meri zindagi ke liye, meri behen ke liye. Aapne mujhe har mushkil se nikala hai aur har dua ka jawab diya hai. Aap mere sab kuch hain." (Praise be to Allah, my Master, my Sovereign. I am grateful to You for everything—my faith, my life, my sister. You have rescued me from every hardship and answered every prayer. You are my everything.) She then recited the durood shareef, her voice steady and reverent اللَّهُمَّ صَلِّ عَلَى مُحَمَّدٍ، وَعَلَى آلِ مُحَمَّدٍ، كَمَا صَلَّيْتَ عَلَى إِبْرَاهِيمَ وَعَلَى آلِ إِبْرَاهِيمَ، إِنَّكَ حَمِيدٌ مَجِيدٌ، اللَّهُمَّ بَارِكْ عَلَى مُحَمَّدٍ، وَعَلَى آلِ مُحَمَّدٍ، كَمَا بَارَكْتَ عَلَى إِبْرَاهِيمَ، وَعَلَى آلِ إِبْرَاهِيمَ، إِنَّكَ حَمِيدٌ مَجِيدٌ

"Allahumma salli ‘ala Muhammad wa ‘ala Aali Muhammad kama salayta ‘ala Ibrahim wa ‘ala aali Ibraaheem innaka hameedun majeed, Allahumma baarik ‘ala Muhammad wa ‘ala Aali Muhammad kama baarakta ‘ala Ibrahim wa ‘ala aali Ibraaheem innaka hameedun majeed." (O Allah! Send Your Mercy on Muhammad and on the family of Muhammad, as You sent Your Mercy on Abraham and on the family of Abraham, for You are the Most Praise-worthy, the Most Glorious. O Allah! Send Your Blessings on Muhammad and the family of Muhammad, as You sent Your Blessings on Abraham and on the family of Abraham, for You are the Most Praise-worthy, the Most Glorious.)

The sacred words filled the air, their beauty magnified by the sincerity in her voice. She felt her heart swell with hope and peace, knowing her connection with her Creator was the strongest shield she had. Her voice, barely above a whisper, trembled with vulnerability.

"Oh my Allah, oh my Lord, I have trust in You. Please, give me the love of my parents. I trust in everything You do in my life, and there must be a reason for everything that happens. Mere Rab, mujhe kabhi khudse dur mat karnaa, har haram cheez se mujhe bachana aur apne qareeb rakhnaa. Mere imaan ko qayam rakhnaa, mere behen ki hifazat karnaa mere Moula." (My Lord, never separate me from You, protect me from all that is forbidden, and keep me close to You. Keep my faith strong, protect my sister, O my Master.)

Her hands pressed together in earnest supplication, her heart full of hope for what lay ahead.

"Uski zindagi ka naya pehlo shuru hone wala hai, uski zindagi khushiyon se bhardena, ek naya din, nayi umeed aayi hai, ya Rab, is din ko har din jaise behtar banana mere liye. Ameen." (Her life is about to begin a new chapter, fill her life with happiness, a new day, a new hope has come. O Lord, make every day better than the last for me. Ameen.)

As the words left her lips, a sense of serenity washed over her. She felt her prayers were heard, her heart filled with a renewed strength, knowing that her trust in Allah would guide her through any challenge. Sifna rose from her prayer mat, ready to face whatever the day would bring, with her faith and love for Allah guiding her every step. one last time, she whispered to herself, “Ya Allah, mujhe hamesha apke qareeb rakhna.” (O Allah, keep me always close to You.)

Her heart brimmed with gratitude and faith, ready to embrace whatever the day would bring.

As Sifna finished her heartfelt supplication, she noticed her sister Inayah still seated on the prayer mat beside her. Inayah’s hands were raised in silent dua, her face streaked with tears. The morning sunlight from the window caught the glimmer of her tears, making her look ethereal, but her heart carried a heavy burden.

Inayah’s trembling lips moved, but her voice was lost within the depth of her sorrow. Her words echoed in her heart, a conversation only between her and her Creator:

"Oh my Allah, I am sorry for whatever I am going to do on the day of the wedding. I know I am being selfish, and I know many hearts will be shattered because of me, but I believe this is best for both Hamad and me. He does not love me, and I... I don’t love him either. If this marriage were to happen, we would never find happiness together. Forgive me, Ya Rabbi, for the decision I have made. I place my trust in You, my Lord."

Her tears fell freely as she finished her dua, her hands trembling as they wiped her face. Inayah’s heart felt both guilt and relief—a storm of emotions she could not untangle.

Sifna noticed her sister’s tear-streaked face and reached out with gentle concern. “Di, kya hua? Aap ro kyun rahi hain?” (Sister, what happened? Why are you crying?)

Before Inayah could respond, she pulled Sifna into a tight hug, her arms wrapping protectively around her younger sister. Her embrace was warm, yet fragile, as if she was seeking comfort as much as offering it.

“I’m fine, bacha,” Inayah said softly, brushing her fingers through Sifna’s hair. “Bas... kabhi kabhi dil bhar aata hai.” (It’s just... sometimes the heart feels heavy.)

Sifna didn’t press further, sensing that her sister needed solace, not questions. After a moment, Inayah said, “Come on, let’s recite the Quran together.”

The two sisters sat side by side on the prayer mats, their Qurans open before them. The melodic rhythm of their recitation filled the quiet room, weaving peace into the morning. Inayah’s voice, though steady, carried an undertone of sadness, while Sifna’s voice rang with hope and gratitude.

Each word they recited felt like a balm for their hearts, connecting them both to Allah and to each other. The bond between them grew stronger with every verse, the sacred words offering them strength for the days to come.

As they read, Inayah silently prayed again in her heart, "Ya Allah, mere liye aur Sifna ke liye hamesha asaniyan paida karna. Humein hamesha apne deen par qayam rakhna." (O Allah, always make things easy for me and for Sifna. Keep us firm on our faith forever.)

The morning unfolded in quiet devotion, with the two sisters finding solace in their shared worship, unaware of the trials that awaited them both.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter Vote comment krdiya kro yrr motivation milti ha

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And the marriage is just 2 chapters away.

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And mere pyaare readers if u want to ask anything dont hesitate to dm me i will reply u my cuties..❤️❤️❤️❤️



Title: Tum Prem Ho Genre: Soft Romance Summary: Tum Prem Ho follows the intertwined love stories of three couples: Vrinda and Anish, Vaidehi and Shriyan, and Isha and Akshat. At its heart is Vrinda Chaturvedi, a shy and traditional girl devoted to Radhakrishna, who falls for the mature and understanding Anish Thakur. This simple, heartfelt tale celebrates love, faith, and pure relationships without any smut.

My dear sweet readers do check out this book also the book is one of my friends and i am sure u wont be disappointed by reading this book. I will truly appreciate if u will give this book a chance by reading it