Chapter 3: Truths, Letters & Pasta. Pakistani Romance Thriller Web Novel "Sweet Confusion" by Abrar Nayeem Chowdhury
Chapter 3: Truths, Letters & Pasta
The morning light filtered softly through the sitting room window. It was quiet except for the gentle rustle of newspapers and the occasional clink of teacups.
Neel stood near the doorway, glancing toward Ayesha’s father, Mr. Chowdhury, who sat absorbed in the editorial page.
He cleared his throat softly.
"Uncle... may I speak with you? Privately?"
Mr. Chowdhury looked up over his glasses, folding the paper slowly.
"Of course, beta. Come... sit. You seem troubled. Something on your mind?"
Neel sat carefully across from him, fingers lacing nervously. He hesitated.
"It’s... about Ayesha. And Tariq. About what happened in Lahore."
A long silence.
Mr. Chowdhury sighed deeply, setting his paper aside.
"So... the past rises again. I wondered how long it would stay buried. What did Tariq tell you, Neel?"
Neel’s eyes were steady. "He implied Ayesha left him because she could not accept... certain things that she was unreasonable. But when I looked into her eyes last night... I saw something else. Fear. Hurt. And truth. Uncle... I need to know. What happened?"
The old man rubbed his temple slowly.
"Tariq proposed to Ayesha with promises... sweet words. But later... he changed. Possessive. Angry. He told her she’d be the first wife only — that a second would surely come, as was his right. And when Ayesha objected, he raised his hand..."
He broke off, his voice rough.
"She slapped him first — yes — but only in defense. Only after he threatened her. My daughter is proud... but she was terrified that day. She ended it. And the Lahore families turned against us."
Neel leaned forward.
"So the whispers... the talk about her temperamental... they were lies?"
Mr. Chowdhury gave a bitter smile.
"Lies, dressed as honor. Ayesha’s courage became her shame, in their eyes. But she did what was right. I stood by her then... and I will now."
Neel stood, firm.
"Thank you, Uncle. I had to hear it... the truth. I will not believe Tariq again. Ayesha deserves better."
Just then — a knock at the front gate.
A postman’s voice called:
"Daak! Registered letter! Chowdhury Saab’s house?"
The servant fetched it.
Ayesha’s mother appeared, wiping her hands.
"Who sends registered letters these days? Strange..."
Ayesha herself came from the kitchen, curious.
"For whom is it?"
The servant handed her the crisp brown envelope.
On the front — her name.
No return address.
She frowned, breaking the seal.
One folded paper inside.
As her eyes ran over the neat black writing, her face went pale. Her hand shook.
Neel caught her arm.
"Ayesha? What is it? What’s written there?"
She read aloud softly.
"‘Your past follows you. Lahore remembers. Leave now... or suffer the consequences. This family will never escape shame. Your Dhaka cousin cannot save you.’"
Silence fell — sharp and awful.
Her mother gasped, snatching the letter.
"Astaghfirullah! Who dares send such filth to my daughter? Who — why now?"
Mr. Chowdhury’s face darkened.
"Lahore’s poison... Tariq, no doubt. Coward. Snake."
Neel’s voice cut through the tension, steady as steel.
"No. He won’t frighten us. He won’t frighten me. Ayesha... listen to me."
She turned to him, eyes wide, breath shallow.
"No matter what comes... I’m with you. No matter what they write. No matter what they say. I believe you. And I’ll stand by you... as long as you let me."
A softness came into her frightened face — the barest hint of a smile.
"Neel... you shouldn’t have to bear this. You’re not even—"
He shook his head gently.
"I am now. I’m here. With you. No matter what Lahore thinks. Or says. Or does."
A tear escaped down her cheek.
"Thank you... for believing me."
Her mother gathered her close, voice shaking.
"We’ll burn this evil letter. We won’t bow to fear. Allah is greater."
But fear hung thick in the air.
Later that Afternoon...
In the bright warmth of the kitchen, Ayesha and her mother stirred pots and pans. The scent of garlic, tomatoes, and fresh basil filled the air.
"Careful, beti — not so much salt! Pakistani pasta is delicate, you know, not like those Italian recipes..." her mother teased.
Ayesha laughed softly, the sound like soft bells.
"Ammi, you always say that. But you never follow your own rule — you love salt!"
"Because life needs spice, child — and so does food! Besides... you smile again. That is worth extra salt today."
At the door, unnoticed, Neel leaned quietly, watching. He saw her smile—a real smile—for the first time since he had arrived. Her laughter danced in the sunlight, illuminating her face with beauty and lightness, as if the shadow of fear had never touched her. In that moment, his heart swelled, warm and certain. This was where he wanted to be—with her—no matter what darkness Lahore might bring. Forever, if she would let him.
To Be Continued.........
Pakistani Romance Thriller Web Novel "Sweet Confusion" by Abrar Nayeem Chowdhury.
Copyright © Abrar Nayeem Chowdhury.
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