Chapter 2: The Call from Lahore. Romance Thriller Web Novel "SWEET CONFUSION" by Abrar Nayeem Chowdhury.

Chapter 2: The Call from Lahore

The night air was soft and still. A faint jasmine scent floated from the garden below, brushing against the senses like a forgotten song.

Ayesha stood by the balcony rail, her shawl loose around her shoulders, the moonlight catching the delicate curve of her cheek. She did not hear Neel step out behind her until he cleared his throat, softly.

 

"Still awake?" His voice was low, and hesitant, like a man walking into dangerous waters.

She turned, surprised but smiling. "So are you, Mr. Dhaka. Couldn't sleep after all that biryani?"

He leaned against the rail beside her, careful not to touch her, though the space between them hummed with an unspoken tension.

"Not the biryani," he said softly. "Too many thoughts in my head."

She laughed lightly. "Thinking of work even in Islamabad? You businessmen never rest."

Neel hesitated. His mother’s warning rang in his ears like distant bells. "No… not work." He paused, searching her face. "Thinking of you."

Her smile faltered, just for a heartbeat. "Me? What for?"

He shrugged, looking away toward the dark outline of Margalla Hills. "You confuse me, Ayesha. I can't make you out. You laugh... you tease... but there’s something you’re hiding."

Her fingers tightened slightly on the balcony rail. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Neel turned to her, eyes serious now, voice gentle. "Why does a beautiful, strong girl like you, at thirty, live so carefully guarded? Why are your parents so... anxious to marry you off?"

A pause.

"And why did you break your engagement to that boy from Lahore?"

For a moment she did not speak. The moonlight touched her face, pale and thoughtful. She sighed.

"So… your mother told you."

Neel felt a flicker of guilt. "She’s a mother. She worries for me. I didn’t want to believe the gossip... but Ayesha..." he touched the cold rail between them, "...I want to hear the truth. From you."

Her laugh was soft — bitter. "Gossip travels faster than truth. Especially between Lahore and Dhaka."

"Tell me, please."

Ayesha turned her face away. "It wasn’t supposed to matter anymore. I thought... maybe here with you, things would be different."

He watched her, silent, waiting.

She drew a shaky breath. "I broke that engagement because I didn’t love him. And because he wasn’t who he pretended to be."

Neel frowned. "But they say he vanished... after you refused him."

Her lips pressed tightly. "He didn’t vanish. His family made him vanish. Sent him away — abroad — to cover the shame. You see, Neel... he hit me."

The quiet words cut like glass in the moonlit dark.

Neel’s hands curled into fists. "He what?"

She smiled, bitter and distant. "Once. Twice. When no one was looking. When I complained... they laughed. I said I was lying. So I ended it. And they sent him far away. Not for his punishment — but for their honor."

Neel felt the old anger rise in his chest. "You should have told this to everyone. Why suffer the whispers?"

Ayesha shook her head. "Who would believe me? His father is a lion in Lahore society. My father is just a quiet professor in Islamabad. It was easier to let them think what they wanted."

There was silence. Only the whisper of leaves below.

Neel spoke slowly. "Is that why you distrust men like me?"

She smiled faintly. "Not you, Neel. It's just... the game of marriage. The expectations. The silent bargains between families."

"But I’m not part of that game, Ayesha," Neel said, his voice firm but laced with a hint of vulnerability.  

"Aren’t you?" she replied softly, her eyes searching his face for sincerity. "Why else would you find yourself here, on this balcony at midnight? Your Ammi is eager for this rishta just as much as everyone else."  

Neel let out a quiet laugh, the sound tinged with bitterness and uncertainty. "Maybe that's true. But I came here tonight for something far more important than that."

"What?"

"To see if there’s truth in your eyes... or secrets."

She turned to him fully now, her face close, moonlit, and honest.

"And what do you see, Neel Chowdhury?"

His heart stumbled. "A woman who’s braver than she shows... and more frightened than she admits."

She said nothing — only stared — but her eyes softened.

"Neel... I won’t lie to you. There are things I can’t say now. Not yet. But..." her voice faltered, "I never wanted to deceive you. Please believe that."

"I believe you," he said, slowly, firmly. "But I’ll find the whole truth... before I let this go any further."

Their eyes locked — cautious, curious, unwilling to fall but already slipping.

Then Ayesha smiled, faintly.

"Careful, Neel. You might not like the truth when you find it."

He smiled back, thinly. "I’d rather face the truth than live in a dream."

The moonlight fell between them — cold and bright — as if the sky itself held its breath, waiting for what was to come.

The morning sun filtered softly through the white curtains of the drawing room, throwing delicate golden patterns onto the marble floor. Ayesha sat quietly on the sofa, flipping through a book she wasn’t reading, her mind heavy with the memory of the moonlit conversation with Neel.

The bell rang sharply.

Ayesha’s mother called from the kitchen.

"Ayesha, darling, see who’s at the door, please? I’ve got flour on my hands!"

With a sigh, she rose, adjusting the corner of her dupatta. The morning felt ordinary. Safe.

She opened the door.

And felt the breath freeze in her throat.

"As-salamu alaikum, Ayesha," came the smooth, familiar voice she had hoped never to hear again.

TARIQ. 

Her ex-fiancé stood there — taller, broader, the same perfectly pressed kurta, the same carefully charming smile. His eyes glittered with something unreadable.

"You... What are you doing here?" Her voice was low, shaken.

"Aren’t you going to invite me in? An old friend deserves at least that, surely?" he smiled, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Before she could reply, Neel stepped into the hallway, buttoning his cuff.

"Who is—" he stopped mid-sentence, eyes narrowing as he took in the stranger.

"Ah... the guest from Dhaka. You must be the cousin. Neel, is it? I’ve heard about you." Tariq extended a hand, smirking slightly.

Neel didn’t take it. His voice was cold. "And you are?"

Tariq chuckled softly. "Tariq Ahmed. Ayesha’s... old friend. Almost family, once upon a time."

Ayesha stepped between them quickly. "Tariq, you shouldn’t be here. This is not your place anymore."

His smile slipped just a little. "Is that how you welcome an old lover? After everything? I came to talk. To explain. Things were left unfinished. You owe me that."

Neel’s jaw tightened. "She owes you nothing. Whatever your story was, it’s over. You shouldn’t have come."

Tariq turned to him, amused. "And who made you her protector, cousin? You’ve only just arrived. You know nothing about us."

Ayesha’s eyes flashed. "Enough, both of you! Tariq — why are you here? You left. Your family sent you away. Why now?"

Tariq stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Because I heard the rumors. Of this... new rishta. You think you can escape the past so easily, Ayesha? You think no one will tell him what you did?"

Neel stepped forward, his voice low and dangerous. "What did she do? Or what did you do to her? We know, Tariq. I know. You’re the one who should be ashamed."

A pause.

Tariq’s smile twisted. "Did she tell you the truth? Or just her pretty version of it? I didn’t hit her. She hit me — for daring to say I’d take another wife after her. That’s the real reason she ran. Because she couldn’t accept my rights as a man. Ask her."

Silence fell like a heavy curtain.

Ayesha’s face was white as paper. Her hand trembled against the door.

"You’re lying, Tariq. You said it to hurt me. To scare me. You raised your hand... and I left. Because no woman deserves that."

Tariq shrugged. "Believe what you want. But remember... in Lahore, everyone heard my side. The respectable side. Not yours. Do you think this cousin from Dhaka will change that? His family will never accept you once they know."

Neel's voice was as hard as iron. "It's good that I make my own decisions, without Lahore gossip. Leave, Tariq, before I make you."

For a moment the two men stared — tension thick as storm air.

Then Tariq smiled coldly.

"Careful, cousin. You don’t know what pit you’re stepping into. Islamabad whispers louder than Lahore these days. Good luck with your Rishta... you’ll need it."

He turned, walking down the marble steps into the morning sun.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Ayesha stood frozen, her breath shallow, hands clenched.

Neel touched her arm gently.

"He won’t come back. I won’t let him."

Her voice was soft. Broken. "But the damage is done. He’ll spread his lies again... ruin everything..."

Neel shook his head. "Let him. I’ll hear only your truth, Ayesha. Only yours."

She closed her eyes, leaning against the door.

"I thought I’d left the past behind... but Lahore follows me still."

Neel smiled faintly. "Then let Dhaka protect you now."

And in the quiet house, with the scent of jasmine drifting through the open window, the shadow of the past slowly lifted... just a little.

The night was thick with silence. In the quiet of his hotel room, Tariq sat by the window, the glow of his phone screen casting sharp shadows across his face.

He checked the time. 12:46 AM.

He smiled thinly.

And dialed.

The call connected.

A voice answered, low and smooth — carefully disguised.

"You’re late, Tariq. I was beginning to think you’d lost your nerve."

Tariq chuckled softly. "Nerve? Never. But I was enjoying the scenery... and seeing Ayesha again."

A pause. The voice darkened. "I told you to be careful. You weren’t supposed to show your face. The plan—"

"Relax. I wanted her to see me. To remember. To feel afraid. It worked. She’s trembling like a frightened bird. And the Dhaka cousin? He’s furious. Just as you said."

A low laugh from the other end. "Good. That fool Neel will think twice before touching her hand. Especially when he hears more of your version. Islamabad gossips faster than Lahore, you know."

Tariq smiled. "I gave him a taste of the truth. Or at least... the truth we want. He believes she broke the engagement because of me — because I said I’d take another wife. The cousin’s too proud to admit he doubts her. It’s perfect."

The voice was quiet. "So. You’ve thrown the stone. Now the ripples will spread. Soon the families will tear it all apart themselves. No need for us to lift a finger."

"Except one thing. The Dhaka boy is too curious. Too sure of her. He may not let go so easily."

A pause. 

Then the voice said softly, dangerously:

"Then make him let go. Break him, Tariq. Use her past. Use her shame. Or... use force. I don’t care. But I want that rishta ruined before it reaches Lahore. Understand?"

Tariq’s smile thinned. "Why so bitter, old friend? Still angry your sister was rejected by Ayesha’s brother? This is family vengeance... over an old proposal?"

A harsh breath at the other end. "You know what they did to my family’s honor. My sister cried for months when that rishta was broken. They called her 'not good enough.' They laughed behind our backs in Lahore clubs. This is more than pride. This is punishment."

Tariq laughed softly. "And revenge tastes best served cold. Don’t worry. I’ll give you your ruin. And I’ll get what I want, too. She’ll come crawling back when the Dhaka boy leaves her standing. Alone. Shamed."

A silence. Then - 

"And if she doesn’t?"

Tariq’s smile was cold as steel. "Then I’ll make her mine... one way or another."

The voice chuckled darkly.

"Good. Finish this, Tariq. Lahore is watching."

Click.

The call ended.

Tariq sat in the darkness, the phone resting on his palm, the ghost of that cruel smile still on his lips.

Outside, the city of Islamabad slept — unaware that the old wounds of Lahore were waking once again.

Abrar Nayeem Chowdhury

Chapter 1: https://storylinespectrum.blogspot.com/2025/06/romance-thriller-pakistani-web-novel.html