Raneya cried through the night—not just for the life that was being stolen from her, but for the piece of herself that had been ripped away and tossed aside like old dreams in a dusty corner. She cried for the girl who once believed in possibility, who thought determination alone could move mountains. Now, she could barely move from her bed.
But the universe has a cruel sense of timing.
Because just as she was drifting between heartbreak and exhaustion, the morning sun decided to be a show-off. Golden rays poured through the curtains like a nosy relative peeking in to see the private affairs of their home.
And there he was.
Her father.
In the doorway.
The grim reaper of freedom.
"Get ready," he said, voice as cold as the morning breeze and just as unwelcome. "The groom's family will arrive soon."
Raneya's heart dropped to her stomach, which was already queasy from crying and existential dread. She sat up, a mess of tangled hair and defiance, trying once more to reason with him, to find some shred of compassion in his heart. "Please, Baba. I don't want this. I don't want a life that isn't mine."
He didn't even blink.
"This is the life you will lead now," he said flatly, as if he were reading the back of a cereal box.
And just like that, the door to her dreams wasn't just shut—it was slammed, padlocked, and maybe even boarded up for dramatic effect.
The tears came again, stubborn as ever. Her heart broke as she realized there would be no more fights, no more pleas. There was only the crushing weight of a future decided for her, a future she had never chosen.
Just then, as she slowly turned to the mirror, preparing herself for the life that awaited, her mother and sister barged into the room like a fashion police raid. They were carrying what could only be described as a green explosion—a bottle-green A-line dress and an emerald necklace that looked like it could pay for her entire college tuition… twice.
Fazeela cooed like a pageant coach. "Raneya, you'll look so beautiful. Like a Mughal princess—but, you know, more… obedient."
They proceeded to dress her like a mannequin with no opinions. She stared at herself in the mirror, unblinking, as they clipped, pinned, and powdered her face into submission.
Her mother's voice droned on, a background track to her inner rebellion. "Daughters who strive to keep the pride of their parents never feel unhappy. They prosper. Learn to live for your parents. We want to get through with our duty while we still can. Life is unpredictable…"
Raneya blinked. Twice. Once for every ounce of willpower she was using to not yell, "Yes, life is unpredictable—especially when you're auctioning off your daughter like she's a cow at a village fair."
She sighed and slumped into her reflection. "Prosper," she muttered bitterly, "As in, spiritually? Emotionally? Or just with more cooking skills?" Fazeela snorted, sighing disappointed in reply. She was not willing to spoil such an auspicious moment because of this loose lipped daughter of hers.
Meanwhile, outside...
Zaryab—the man of the hour, the potential prince (or prankster)—stood leaning against his shiny car like he was auditioning for a budget cigarette ad. He was tall, dark, and handsome—exactly how girls in TV dramas described trouble. A faint haze of smoke drifted lazily from his lips as he stared at nothing, oozing confidence and secondhand smoke.
His sister and unofficial PR agent., Saniya, approached from behind, her arms crossed and a scowl on her face. "Zaryab!" she snapped, "What the hell are you doing? You look like a roadside Romeo who's about to sing a sad song!"
Zaryab flicked the cigarette away, stubbing it out beneath his heel, and turned to her, unfazed, "Relax, Saniya. It's called a vibe. Try it sometime."
"Oh, please." She rolled her eyes so hard they nearly fell out. "You're supposed to make a good impression, and here you are, smoking like a teenage boy going through heartbreak after a cricket loss."
Zaryab smirked. "Jealous, are we?"
Saniya gagged dramatically. "Of you? I'd rather kiss a lizard."
He lit another cigarette with theatrical flair. "I'm just being real. They'll get used to me eventually. Go back in the car for a while and let me be," he said, lighting another cigarette."
Saniya was not impressed. "You think this is funny? If you don't shape up, I'll tell Khala about this. She'll have a nice little talk with you."
Zaryab's face froze in mock terror. "Khala? Oh no, not Khala! Please, Saniya, not her!" He made a gesture like he was going to faint. "She'll ruin me! I can't survive that!"
But before Saniya could lecture him back into being human, the atmosphere shifted. A hush fell. The ground shook beneath their feet as a heavy set of footsteps approached. The figure that emerged from the shadows was unmistakable. It was none other than the formidable Rukhsana Khala, cloaked from head to toe in her black niqab and burqa, a walking fortress with a stick in her hand like Thor's hammer. If maternal disappointment had a face—and a weapon—it would be her. She limped forward, her presence enough to make everyone quiver in fear.
Zaryab groaned. "Saniya, please, I'll be good. I promise, no more cigarettes! Let's go inside before—"
But it was too late. Khala had already spotted him. "Zaryab!" she boomed, her voice like thunder. "You selfish boy! You're out here poisoning the air like you're Godzilla on vacation! Do you know how many children are dying because of global warming? Because of you!"
Before Zaryab could respond, she delivered a WHACK across his arm.
"KHALA!" he shrieked, hopping back like a cartoon character causing the cigarette bud to drop to the ground. "That's assault!"
"Call it justice," she said dripping with sarcasm, brandishing the stick again. "You think smoking is cool? You're not cool. You're a walking cautionary tale!" "You're killing the environment, you're killing the air, and worse, you're killing my hope for humanity!" She was on a roll as she swirled around, picking up the hem of her dress like a ballerina, cursing her fate for raising such a foolish nephew. "Why, oh why did I have to bring up a son like you? A useless, no-good brat!"
Saniya covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. Zaryab danced away from each strike like he was dodging bullets in a movie.
She gave him another whack with her stick, and this time, it landed square on his shoulder. Zaryab let out a dramatic howl. "Khala! Please, I'm begging you, stop it!" he whined, holding his arms up in self-defense.
Khala didn't stop. Instead, she circled him like a vulture in a shawl, continuing her verbal assault. "This girl inside is a gem. And you, you're a gutter boy in designer shoes. Do you even deserve a goldfish, let alone a wife?"
Zaryab raised his hands like a criminal surrendering. "Okay! I get it! I'll behave! I'll be charming! I'll act educated! Just stop hitting me!"
Khala raised an eyebrow. "Oh, now you're listening?" She gave him one final thwack on the back, making him stumble forward. "Khala, please!" Zaryab moaned dramatically. "I can't breathe! Enough, okay? I get it!"
Khala paused, eyes narrowed.
"Good," she said, suddenly serene. "Now let's go meet the girl."
They turned to leave… but then—
"Khala? What are you doing?" Saniya asked, frozen mid-step.
Khala had knelt down, picked up the fallen cigarette, and took a puff.
Zaryab gasped in disbelief. "WHAT?! Khala! You're SMOKING?!"
Khala grinned slyly, taking another puff. "Don't mind me, I'm just having a moment," she said, her voice muffled by the niqab. She took a quick glance around to make sure no one saw her, then, without missing a beat, stood up, holding the hem of her abaya like it was a cape and ran towards them, cigarette still in hand.
Khala, now running towards them, yelled back without missing a beat, "It's called research, Zaryab. I'm making sure I understand the issue before I lecture you again!"
Zaryab and Saniya just stared without a word.
"She's... unbelievable," Saniya whispered.
"She's a menace," Zaryab muttered. "But somehow, she is still my favorite person." They burst into laughter, watching as their fearless Khala waddled in her full glory, cigarette dangling from her lips, her stick flailing behind her like some crazy, rebellious superhero.
As they followed her, Zaryab called out, "Hey Khala—you've been working out? You look kinda slim!"
Without turning, she shouted back, "Finally, someone notices! Unlike you, I evolve!"
Saniya groaned. "Let's just get this over with." Khala, in reply, waved her stick in the air dramatically as she entered the house. "You two better behave, or I'll be back for more!"
And so, the groom's party approached the lion's den.