Almost an hour later a crackling noise came from the speakers above, followed by the announcement that made my stomach drop.

"Passengers traveling to London on Flight PK-787, please proceed to the boarding gate."

This was it. No more delays. No more holding on.

I swallowed hard, glancing at the aunty beside me, who was now adjusting her handbag and fixing her shawl, completely unbothered by the announcement. Meanwhile, my heart was hammering against my ribs.

She must've noticed my face drain of color because she patted my hand gently. "Ghabrao mat, beta. Pehli dafa thoda ajeeb lagta hai, magar dekho, Allah har jagah hota hai." (Don't worry, dear. The first time always feels strange, but remember, Allah is everywhere.)

I nodded, inhaling deeply. "Shukriya, aunty."

She smiled warmly before standing up. "Chalo, chalain?" (Come, shall we go?)

I picked up my bag, adjusting it over my shoulder, and followed her towards the gate, my legs feeling slightly unsteady. People were already forming a line, handing over their boarding passes. Baba's words from earlier echoed in my mind, reminding me of everything I had to do—passport, ticket, seat number. I repeated them like a mantra.

When my turn came, I handed over my boarding pass with shaky fingers. The airline staff scanned it, nodded, and gestured toward the entrance leading to the jet bridge.

I stepped forward, my heart pounding. No turning back now.

The cold air from the bridge hit me as I walked, my grip tightening on the strap of my bag. The sound of my footsteps felt louder than usual, or maybe it was just my nerves making everything sharper, heavier.

As I reached the plane's entrance, the flight attendants greeted us with polite smiles. I forced myself to return one, even though my mind was spinning.

I stepped inside, the unfamiliar scent of the aircraft filling my senses—cool, slightly metallic, mixed with the faintest hint of coffee. The overhead lights cast a dim glow, and passengers were already settling into their seats, placing bags in the compartments above.

Aunty found her seat first, a few rows to theright. She turned around, giving me a small wave. "If you need anything, bata dena, beta!" (Let me know if you need anything, dear!)

I smiled, comforted by her presence, before checking my ticket again and finding my seat. A window seat. Good. At least I'd have something to look at when the reality of this journey fully hit me.

Sighing, I placed my bag under the seat in front of me and buckled in.

My phone vibrated in my lap.

A message.

I glanced down, my breath hitching the moment I saw the name.

Zavian Noraiz.

I stared at it for a second, my heart doing something strange in my chest.

I hesitated before unlocking my phone.

One message. Short. Clipped. Yet enough to make my stomach flip.

"Safe travels, Mashal-e-Mehtaab."

I blinked, my fingers tightening around my phone. There it was again. That name. No one had ever called me that before.

Mashal-e-Mehtaab.

A flame beneath the moonlight.

_

As soon as the plane lifted off the ground, I plugged in my headphones, gripping the armrest tightly. My stomach flipped—Ya Allah, takeoff was horrifying. The moment the wheels left the runway, my eyes did an involuntary somersault, my breath catching in my throat.

I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to relax. It's fine. Totally fine.

A quick glance to my right. Empty seats. Thank God. No awkward small talk, no forced smiles. Just me, my music, and the quiet hum of the plane. A small mercy.

Just as I started to settle in, I caught sight of my seatmate—auntie.

She was sitting two rows to my right, squished between two men, her tiny frame barely visible. Her eyes met mine, and I raised my brows before subtly motioning towards the empty seat beside me.

Auntie's face lit up. Without hesitation, she grabbed her handbag and shuffled her way out, mumbling something to the men beside her, who barely noticed. Within seconds, she was beside me, adjusting her dupatta as she sighed dramatically.

"Bas, beta, I was about to suffocate there!" she huffed, settling in. "Zindagi bhar ka safar lag raha tha between those two giants." (It felt like a lifetime between those two giants.)

I bit back a laugh, nodding. "Now you can breathe, Auntie."

She patted my hand fondly. "Allah tumhara bhala kare, beta. You saved me." (May Allah bless you.)

And just like that, the journey became a little less lonely.

_

It was a thirteen-hour flight, and London was five hours behind. My flight had taken off at midnight, which meant by the time I landed, it would still be early morning there. My brain tried to do the math, but exhaustion was already sinking in, making everything hazy.

Auntie adjusted her seat, letting out a small sigh. "Long flights are a test of patience, beta. But at least you have me to keep you entertained," she said with a mischievous smile.

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Auntie, you're the highlight of this flight."

She grinned, reaching into her bag and pulling out a small container. "Homemade biscuit chahiye?" (Want some homemade biscuit?)

I burst out laughing. "Auntie! We're thirty thousand feet in the air. Who eats homemade biscuits on a plane?... Not that the offer is tempting."

She clicked her tongue. "Arey, isme kia hai? I always carry it for my son, but a little taste won't hurt." (What's the big deal? I always carry it for my son...)

I shook my head, grinning, taking one, before leaning my head back against the seat. The cabin lights had dimmed, and a soft hum filled the air. The reality of this journey—of truly leaving—settled deeper in my chest.

London. A new chapter. A new life.

I closed my eyes, letting the thought linger as the plane soared through the night.

_

I woke up two hours later to the quiet hum of the plane and the soft rustling of blankets. Auntie was fast asleep beside me, her head tilted slightly to the side, lips parted in deep slumber. Most of the cabin was dark, save for a few dim reading lights scattered around.

Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I reached for my phone, the screen illuminating my face as I unlocked it. A flood of notifications greeted me—messages from Baba, Mama, and nearly everyone else. I bit back a smile, scrolling through them one by one.

Baba: Beta, let me know as soon as you land. And don't forget to eat something on the plane.

Mama: Did you sleep? Don't drink cold water, and keep your scarf on when you land—it's chilly there.

Nimra: Miss me yet?

Ali: Try not to get lost at Heathrow.

I rolled my eyes at Ali's text, shaking my head as I typed out quick replies. Then I saw Baba's last message.

Baba: Most probably, Uncle Noraiz will pick you up from the airport.

I exhaled in relief. Thank God. Less stress, more easy conversation. Uncle Noraiz was always warm, always easygoing. His presence meant I wouldn't have to struggle through the awkward first moments of arrival alone.

Yawning, I stretched my legs as much as I could in the cramped space, then leaned back against the headrest, staring at the tiny window. The sky outside was an endless sea of black, speckled with stars, the occasional flicker of city lights below barely visible.

A new life was waiting for me on the other side of this flight. The thought sent a strange flutter through my chest—half excitement, half nerves.

I sighed, locking my phone and closing my eyes again. Just a few more hours.

A soft chime echoed through the cabin, followed by the flight attendant's voice announcing breakfast service. I blinked awake, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as the overhead lights flickered on, casting a dim glow over the passengers.

Auntie beside me stirred, stretching her arms with a satisfied sigh. "Bas shukar hai, kahin toh roti milegi," she mumbled sleepily, making me stifle a laugh. (Thank God, we'll finally get some real food.)

The flight attendants moved down the aisle, handing out trays. When one reached us, she smiled. "Good morning! Would you like the omelet or the continental breakfast?"

I hesitated, glancing at the options. Plane food was... questionable. "Omelet, please," I said, hoping for the best.

Auntie, however, had no such reservations. "Beta, yeh omelet kaisa bana hai? Masala wala hai ya woh angrezi pheeka wala?" she asked, peering suspiciously at the tray. (Dear, is this an Indian-style omelet or one of those bland English ones?)

The flight attendant blinked, clearly taken aback, before offering a polite smile. "It's a standard cheese omelet, ma'am."

Auntie let out a dramatic sigh. "Pheeka wala hi hoga." (Of course, the bland one.) She reluctantly took the tray, muttering something about how no one made food like back home.

I bit back a grin, picking up my fork as I peeled back the foil covering my meal. The omelet did, in fact, look depressingly plain. But hunger won over disappointment, and I took a bite, chewing slowly.

Not the worst thing I'd eaten. Not the best, either.

Auntie watched me, then nodded knowingly. "Dekha? Maine kaha tha." (See? I told you so.)

I laughed, shaking my head as I reached for the tiny croissant. The plane hummed steadily, and as I sipped the warm tea from the small plastic cup, I allowed myself to settle into the moment.

One meal closer to landing in London.

The pilot's voice crackled through the speakers, announcing our descent into London Heathrow. My heart gave a little jolt—almost there.

Auntie beside me clutched her seat's armrests, murmuring a quiet dua under her breath. "Allah reham kare, bas araam se utaar de." (May Allah have mercy, just let us land safely.)

I smiled, patting her hand reassuringly before unbuckling my seatbelt. "I'm going to freshen up," I whispered.

Navigating through the narrow aisle, I made my way to the bathroom, ignoring the slight tremble in my legs from sitting too long. Inside the tiny space, I took a deep breath, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

No signs of exhaustion. Good.

My kameez shalwar still looked crisp, the light embroidery catching the dim cabin lights just right. I smoothed down the fabric, adjusting my coat over it. My jhumkas dangled prettily, just as they should. I ran my fingers through my hair, taming any rebellious strands. Not a mess. Perfect.

Splashing cold water onto my face, I let out a slow exhale. This is it. London.

I pulled out my lip balm, adding just a touch before stepping out and heading back to my seat. Auntie beamed at me as I sat down, her gaze approving.

"Bilkul shahzadi lag rahi ho," she said, nudging my arm. (You look just like a princess.)

I laughed softly, shaking my head. "Bas dua karein immigration smoothly hojaye." (Just pray I get through immigration smoothly.)

Auntie chuckled, nodding. "Aray beta, tension mat lo. Tum toh mashallah bilkul shareef bachi lagti ho." (Oh dear, don't worry. You look like such a well-mannered girl, mashallah.)

I smiled, but deep inside, nerves started creeping in. The finality of it all. The landing, immigration, stepping into a completely new world.

The plane jolted slightly as it descended further. My hands curled around the armrests, my heartbeat steady but alert.

Bismillah. Almost there.

_

I adjusted my dupatta around my neck, its soft fabric a comforting weight against my skin. Auntie turned to me with a warm smile as we stepped out of immigration, the crisp London air greeting us through the automatic doors.

"Well, beta, yahan toh tumhari nayi zindagi shuru ho rahi hai," she said, squeezing my hand. (Well, dear, your new life begins here.)

I smiled, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement settle in my chest. "InshaAllah."

Before parting, she pressed a small piece of paper into my hand. "Mera number aur ghar ka pata. University se door nahi hai. Aana zaroor." (My number and home address. It's not far from the university. You must visit.)

I looked at the neat writing, warmth spreading in my heart. "Of course, Auntie. Aap ka achaar bhi wapas dena hai." (Of course, Auntie. I also have to return your achaar.)

She laughed, patting my cheek. "Bachay, achaar return nahi kiya jata. Lekin agar aayi toh naye wale ka dabba mil jayega." (Child, achaar isn't returned. But if you visit, you'll get a new jar.)

With a final hug, she walked off toward her ride, leaving me standing outside the airport, gripping my suitcase.

I inhaled deeply, the cool air filling my lungs.

London.

A new beginning.