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So the wait is over. As you all were so excited for the chapter and keep asking me update and i got free from my first paper so i thought no to make you wait.

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"Aabid, ma yeh bolnaa chahta hu ki bachon ki sagai ko 6 mahine hogaye hain," he began, his voice steady but sincere. (Aabid, I want to say that it’s been six months since the children got engaged.)

His words hung in the air, carrying the weight of tradition, of responsibility. Each syllable echoed his intention—of fulfilling a promise to both families, of finally seeing their union through. He continued, his voice now more resolute, "Toh ab humein jaldi se jaldi unki shaadi kar deni chahiye." (So now, we should quickly arrange for their marriage.)

A faint murmur rippled through the room, as the listeners absorbed his words. There was no hesitation in his tone; it was a decision, not a mere suggestion. Aabid looked around, gauging the expressions of those gathered, seeking their silent approval.

"Mai chahta hu ki yeh shaadi 15 dino mein ho jaye," he declared firmly, his voice unwavering. (I want this wedding to take place within fifteen days.)

His words were not just a request—they were an intention, a heartfelt plea. For Aabid, this wasn’t simply about a wedding; it was the culmination of countless dreams, of preserving a legacy, of ensuring the happiness and unity of both families. The silence that followed was thick with anticipation, each person weighing his proposal, knowing it was only a matter of time before they nodded in agreement. Aabid's pov

I was sitting in the living room, savoring the warmth of my tea, when my phone rang. Glancing down, I saw it was Arasalan bhaisahab, Inaya's would-be father-in-law. My heart skipped a beat—I wasn’t expecting a call from him. Setting my cup down, I quickly picked up, my voice respectful.

"Asalamualikum, bhaisahab," I greeted, hoping he wouldn’t notice the slight edge of surprise in my tone.

He responded with a quiet "Walikum assalam," but there was a pause that immediately put me on edge. Then, finally, he spoke. "Aabid, tumse kuch baat karni thi." (Aabid, I needed to talk to you about something.)

Something in his voice made me uneasy. I hesitated but managed to respond, "Ji bhaisahab, zarur boliye, kya baat hai?" (Yes, bhaisahab, of course, please go ahead, what’s the matter?)

He took a breath, and the words that followed left me speechless. "It’s been six months since our children got engaged. But now I want this wedding to take place within fifteen days."

Fifteen days? His words echoed in my mind, and I struggled to keep my voice steady. My thoughts were racing—fifteen days wasn’t nearly enough time. Preparations would be rushed, and money was already tight.

"Bhaisahab, pandrah din zyada jaldi toh nahi hai? Bohot tayari karni hai, aur abhi hamare paas itne paise bhi nahi hain…" (Bhaisahab, isn’t fifteen days too soon? There’s so much preparation to do, and we currently don’t even have enough money…) I explained, hoping he’d understand the pressure we were under.

But Arasalan bhaisahab’s voice was calm, even reassuring. "Aap paise ki chinta mat karein. Saara kharcha hum uthayenge." (Don’t worry about the money. We’ll cover all the expenses.)

I felt a mixture of relief and discomfort. Pride urged me to refuse, but the practical side of me knew we couldn’t manage such an expense right now. Still, I tried to protest, "Lekin…" (But…) I said, but before I could find the right words, he interrupted me gently.

"Bache hamare hi hain, aap pareshani na lein. Bas haan kardein." (They are our children too; please don’t worry. Just say yes.)

The finality in his tone left me with little choice. My mind spun as I weighed my pride against the responsibility of fulfilling this commitment. There was no other answer I could give.

With a deep breath, I murmured, "Ji, haan," (Yes) and heard the line disconnect almost instantly.

I sat there for a moment, still holding the phone, the quiet of the room feeling heavier than before. Fifteen days. So little time, yet so much to prepare for. And yet, there was no turning back.

As soon as the call ended, I felt a rush of satisfaction wash over me. Finally, a big step was being taken for our family, and it was time to inform Haniya. I knew she’d be thrilled—maybe even as thrilled as I was by the prospect of what this marriage could bring us.

"Haniya... Haniya, jaldi idhar aao, ek zaroori baat karni hai!" (come here quickly, I have something important to discuss!) I called out, a hint of excitement lacing my voice. This was news she wouldn’t want to miss.

She hurried in from the kitchen, her expression a mix of irritation and curiosity. "Kya hogaya, Inaya ke papa? Kaunsa aasmaan toot gaya jo itni jaldi bula rahe hain?" (What happened, Inaya's father? Has the sky fallen that you're calling me in such a hurry?) she asked, her impatience barely hidden.

I leaned in, savoring the moment. "Inaya ke sasur ka phone aaya tha," (Inaya’s father-in-law called) I began slowly, letting the words sink in. "Woh keh rahe hain ke ab hamare bachon ki shaadi mein bas pandrah din ka waqt reh gaya hai. Bohot intezaar ho gaya hai, aur woh aur intezaar nahi kar sakte." (He said that now we have only fifteen days left until our children’s marriage. It’s been too long, and they don’t want to wait any longer.)

A greedy sparkle appeared in Haniya's eyes as she processed this. She glanced around the room, already thinking ahead, calculating. "Pandrah din? Zyada jaldi nahi hai? Sab kuch arrange kaise karenge? Itni tayariyan hain karne ko… aur paise?" (Fifteen days? Isn’t that too soon? How will we arrange everything? There’s so much to prepare… and money?) She let the last word hang in the air, her brow furrowing.

I smirked, feeling a thrill at the next part. "Bhai saab ne kaha hai ke hum paise aur tayyari ki fikr na karein. Sab kuch woh log apne aap karenge." (Bhai sahib said we don’t need to worry about money or preparations. They’ll handle everything themselves.)Her expression shifted as a gleam of satisfaction filled her eyes. "Aapne haan kehdi na ussi waqt? Yeh mauka toh miss nahi kiya hoga?" (You said yes right then, didn’t you? You wouldn’t have missed this chance, right?) Her voice was laced with a greedy eagerness, like she was already counting the wealth and advantages that would come pouring in.

I leaned back, grinning. "Arre, haan kehna kaise bhool sakta hoon? Tumhe pata hai na, main mana nahi kar sakta. Yeh toh wahi baat hai jo humne hamesha chahi thi—ek ameer ghar, hamaari beti ki izzat aur paisa." (Oh, how could I forget to say yes? You know I can’t refuse. This is exactly what we’ve always wanted—a wealthy home, respect for our daughter, and money.)

Haniya smirked, glancing at me with approval. "Dekha? Maine kaha tha, Inaya apni naseeb se hamare liye bhi rehmatein laayi hai. Aur woh… Sifnaa." (See? I told you, Inaya’s good fortune has brought blessings for us too. And that… Sifnaa.) She paused, the disgust clear in her tone. "Woh toh sirf manhoos hai. Kaash woh mar hi jaati, humara bojh halka ho jata." (She’s just bad luck. I wish she would just die; it would make our burden lighter.)

"Khaamosh ho jao!" (Be quiet!) I sneered, waving my hand dismissively, yet I couldn’t deny the thought had crossed my mind too. "Uska naam bhi mat lo! Ache khaase din ko manhoosiyat mein badal rahi ho." (Don’t even mention her name! You’re ruining a perfectly good day with her ill-omened name.)

"Bilkul sahi kaha," (Absolutely right) Haniya replied with a scornful laugh. "Aur haan, unko toh waise bhi ye baat nahi pata ke humari ek aur beti bhi hai. Behtar yahi hoga ke yeh raaz hamesha raaz hi rahe," (And yes, they don’t even know that we have another daughter. It’s best if this secret remains a secret forever) she said, her tone cold, a smug smile playing on her lips.

We both shared a look, silently celebrating the fortune that lay ahead, wrapped up in this marriage. As far as we were concerned, it was Inaya’s duty to lift us to greater heights. For a moment, I allowed myself to picture the comforts that awaited—the wealth, the influence, and the easy life that would be within our grasp.

As for Sifnaa, she was a shadow we preferred to leave behind, hidden and forgotten.

Author's POV

Sifnaa had never been the daughter her parents desired. From the moment she could remember, she had been the forgotten one, an unwelcome presence in her own home. Her quiet pleas for love, for a kind word, or even a fleeting glance of approval from her parents were left unanswered, leaving her to navigate the silence of neglect. Every celebration, every small joy, was something she observed from the shadows, yearning for even the smallest acknowledgment that never came.

But amid this darkness, there was one light that never dimmed—her elder sister, Inaya. Inaya had always wrapped Sifnaa in a love that was tender and fierce, as if she were trying to fill the aching void that their parents had left behind. Whenever their parents turned away, Inaya was there, a steady source of comfort. Yet, as much as Inaya tried, there was a truth that Sifnaa could not escape: “Woh jo walidain ka pyar hai, uski kami koi puri nahi kar sakta.” (No one can fill the space of a parent’s love.)

Sifnaa had dreams. She was a medical student, a path that demanded dedication, sacrifice, and courage. Her eyes sparkled with the desire to heal, to bring hope to others, even as she herself bore the weight of a wounded heart. Yet the cost of her education was no small burden, and it was Inaya who quietly took it upon herself to support her sister’s ambitions. Inaya used her own money, every hard-earned rupee, to cover Sifnaa’s expenses, hiding this from their parents, who believed that their wealth was reserved solely for Inaya’s comforts.

Their parents, blind to their own cruelty, saw Sifnaa as a stain on their reputation, an unwanted name that was better left unspoken. “Ek sharam hai woh,” (She is a disgrace,) they’d mutter, dismissing her as an unfortunate presence. They lavished their affection and pride on Inaya, showering her with privileges and opportunities, while barely tolerating Sifnaa’s existence.

What they didn’t know, however, was that their “perfect” daughter, the one they so proudly claimed as their own, had defied their narrow-heartedness. Inaya not only cared for Sifnaa but had become her silent benefactor. The money their parents believed was being spent on Inaya’s luxuries was, in truth, funding Sifnaa’s medical education. And although Sifnaa had chosen a path of healing and kindness, her parents had no idea that she was walking a path they would never approve of.

It is a deep shame on parents who can see only one child, blind to the other, lost in their own biases. They failed to see Sifnaa’s goodness, her unwavering patience, her deep faith. In her gentle nature, Sifnaa embodied the teachings of her faith, finding peace in her quiet prayers and solace in the thought that Allah hamesha unki madad karta hai jo doosron ki madad karte hain. (Allah always helps those who help others.)

And perhaps that was why Allah had blessed her with a sister like Inaya. Inaya was her shield, her confidante, the only family who loved her with no conditions, no reservations. Sifnaa’s kindness and resilience had attracted a kindred spirit, a sister who protected her as fiercely as she loved her.

Though life had been harsh, and though her parents saw her only as an unwelcome shadow, Sifnaa clung to the belief that she was seen by Allah, and that her struggles were known. And, in Inaya, she found the quiet, steady love that reminded her of this truth every day.

On the other side in school

Abeeha's POV

As soon as Sifna joined us, her usual quiet smile in place, we fell into step together, making our way toward class. But beneath that cheerful exterior, I could see her sadness—she hides it well, but after all these years, Sidra and I can sense it. It weighs on my heart, knowing how harshly her parents treat her. It feels so unfair, almost cruel. How could anyone overlook such a pure soul? Her parents wanted a son after their first daughter, hoping for a boy to fulfill some dream of theirs. But when Sifna was born, another daughter, they turned cold. As if it were her fault, as if her presence was some kind of mistake. She never asked for anything more than their love and approval, yet they act as if she’s an obligation, something they must endure.

And still, she loves them with her whole heart. Our Sifna, she’s so softhearted that she’d do anything for them—she’s even willing to sacrifice herself for parents who wouldn’t blink if she disappeared. "Kaash kisi ko kabhi aise maa-baap na milein" (I wish no one ever gets parents like hers), I think to myself, feeling a bitter pang. No one deserves to feel this unworthy.

You know, all her educational expenses are covered by her elder sister, Inayah di, who shoulders every burden Sifna’s parents refuse to carry. Inayah di is kind, and she loves Sifna deeply, supporting her dreams in the ways their parents never could. And it’s funny, actually—Inayah di has the same name as my would-be bhabhi (sister-in-law), Inaya. This strange coincidence makes me think about family, about all the ways we show or withhold love. Why is it that some people, like Inayah di, give so freely, while others, like Sifna’s parents, hold back?

I, Sidra, and Sifna have been best friends since sixth grade. We’re more like sisters now—each of us unique, each of us adding something the other two need. Sidra and I? We’re tough, the wild ones, the ones who don’t mind making noise or breaking rules. Sifna, though—she’s the gentle one, and we can’t help but want to protect her from every sharp edge the world might throw her way.

You might wonder how the three of us are in such an expensive school together, given everything Sifna has gone through. But it’s because of her hard work. She earns her place here every single day, with top scores and scholarships, working harder than anyone else. It’s also because her sister steps in to cover any costs beyond the scholarships. And then, my bade papa (elder uncle), who owns the school, allows me to study here as well.

Our Sifna loves stationery—the colorful pens, notebooks with intricate designs. But she never lets herself indulge, never buys these small things that make her happy, as if they’re somehow selfish. She doesn’t want to "waste" her sister’s money, as she calls it, no matter how many times we tell her it’s okay. When Sidra and I try to gift her something, she always resists, smiling shyly, refusing at first. It takes all of our begging, teasing, and coaxing to get her to accept even the smallest present.

And that’s just who she is. Sifna is gentle, kind, and so selfless it sometimes makes me ache. She always thinks of others before herself, and her innocence and kindness shine through in everything she does. Sidra and I? We can be rough around the edges, but she softens us, makes us want to be better. She’s like a little light in our lives, a part of our very souls.

In her, I see such goodness, such beauty, that sometimes I wonder if the world even deserves someone like her. She’s our charm, our heartbeat, and Sidra and I have sworn to protect her from anyone or anything that might cause her pain. Because if she won’t defend herself, we’ll do it a hundred times over. She deserves that much—and so much more.

Sifna's POV

I held the warm food in my hands and quietly murmured, Alhamdulillah (all praise is for Allah), feeling grateful for every blessing before me. Sidra, who had handed me the food, gave me her usual kind smile—a silent reminder of the love and support that surrounded me. After Allah, I trusted these girls with my heart and soul. Inshallah (God willing), one day, Allah will grant me the love of parents, but until then, I have my sisters—Sidra, Abeeha, and Inayah Di—who mean everything to me.

Inayah Di, my elder sister in spirit, is protective and caring, like a light guiding me through every dark moment. And Sidra and Abeeha—my best friends—are my companions in every dream, especially in our shared goal to become doctors. Unlike me, they come from wealthy families; both Sidra’s and Abeeha’s parents are successful businesspeople, well-known and respected. But despite the weight of family expectations, they chose a path to serve others, seeing honor in helping people rather than just upholding a legacy.

Inshallah, after our 12th, we plan to sit for the NEET exam together. I pray that Allah keeps us united and blesses our efforts, for the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said, “The best of people are those who are most beneficial to people.”

As we entered the classroom, we found our usual seats together, feeling each other’s presence like a shield against the world. But almost immediately, I could feel the stares, the usual whispers that followed Sidra and Abeeha—the wealthy daughters of business families, sitting with me, a girl of modest means. The stares grew, until one of the classmates muttered loudly enough for us to hear, “How can they sit with her? She doesn’t have any high status.”

For a moment, I felt a pang of hurt, a reminder of the judgments I faced daily. But before I could react, I saw Sidra’s and Abeeha’s expressions change, their eyes narrowing as they exchanged a glance and glaring at them.Her words were like a stone cast into still water, breaking the silence and drawing everyone’s attention. We don’t need your approval or your opinions about who we sit with. Sifna is our soul and our sister, and nothing you say will change that.”

Their fierce loyalty brought a warmth to my heart that outweighed the sting of the earlier comment. I felt my confidence return, reminding myself of Allah’s words in Surah Al-Hujurat, verse 11: “O you who have believed, let not a people ridicule [another] people; perhaps they may be better than them.” I silently thanked Allah for placing such true friends in my life, who stood by me even in the face of others’ shallow judgments.

Trying to lighten the moment, I looked over at Sidra and Abeeha, my eyes twinkling. “Tum log ghar se padhai karke aaye hona? Aaj chemistry mein exam hai humara.” (You two studied at home, right? We have our chemistry exam today.)

They exchanged a playful glance, with Sidra pretending to panic. “Arrey yaar, bhul gaye! Tu toh cheat karwayegi!” (Oh no, we forgot! You’ll have to help us cheat!)

I laughed, gently reminding them, “Cheating is haram (forbidden), as the Prophet (peace be upon him) said, ‘Whoever cheats is not of me’” (Sahih Muslim). They nodded, grinning, “We know, Sifu! Humai jitna aata hai, khud ki aqal se karenge.” (We know, Sifu! Whatever we know, we’ll do it with our own wisdom.)

I felt pride swell in my heart as I replied, “MashAllah, that’s the spirit of my sisters.”

The teacher entered, and the class quieted down as we began preparing for the exam. As I received my paper, I took a deep breath, whispering Bismillah (In the name of Allah). Then I recited the supplication: Allahumma la sahla illa ma ja’altahu sahla, wa anta taj’alul hazna idha shi’ta sahla (O Allah! There is nothing easy except what You make easy, and You make the difficult easy if it be Your Will). With Sidra and Abeeha beside me, I felt strengthened in both purpose and faith, and I began the test with confidence, trusting in Allah’s guidance and the love of those around me.

So my beautiful readers this is the chapter. Hope you enjoyed it.

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