Pakistani Romance Thriller Web Novel "SWEET CONFUSION" by Abrar Nayeem Chowdhury. The Best Thriller of 2025

 

Chapter 1: Midnight Warnings

The golden rays of the late Islamabad sun filtered gently through the sheer white curtains of the 'Chowdhury residence', casting playful patterns on the marble floor of the drawing room. Outside, the rustling leaves of the old gulmohar tree whispered with the soft afternoon breeze, its scarlet flowers scattering here and there like forgotten jewels across the courtyard.

A calm quietness hung in the house — the kind that only came before something important — broken only by the distant sounds of children playing cricket in the nearby lane and the faint again calls echoing from a distant mosque. A familiar scent of sandalwood and fresh jasmine filled the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly baked samosas that sizzled in the kitchen, reminding everyone that Ammi was preparing for a special guest.

In the middle of this peaceful scene sat Ayesha Chowdhury Neela, poised elegantly on the deep beige sofa set her father had bought from Lahore last winter. She looked radiant, almost like a painting caught in the gentle light, wearing a simple yet graceful sky-blue shalwar kameez that perfectly complimented her fair, honey-toned complexion. Her dark, waist-length hair was parted neatly to the side, cascading softly down her shoulders like a silken waterfall.

Her long fingers gently flipped through the pages of an old poetry book — her favorite collection of Faiz Ahmed Faiz — though her eyes barely scanned the words. Her mind was elsewhere, distracted by the restless energy that had taken over her usually quiet home for the past two days.

Why this sudden fuss? Why all the secret calls and preparations? she wondered, casting a glance toward the kitchen where her mother’s anxious figure kept appearing and disappearing.

“Ayesha, beta!” her mother’s voice floated from the corridor, firm but laced with excitement. “He will be here any moment now. Please, sit straight. And for Allah’s sake, put that old book away — what will he think?”

Ayesha let out a soft sigh but smiled to herself. Another distant relative from somewhere far off, she thought. Probably here to enjoy Islamabad’s early summer. Or is this another one of their ‘surprise proposals’? She felt her heart skip a small, cautious beat at the thought.

“Ammi... who exactly is coming? You’ve been acting strange for days,” she asked, loud enough for her mother to hear.

Her mother peeked out from behind the kitchen door, adjusting the edge of her pastel pink dupatta. Her face held that familiar, guilty smile — the one she used when trying to hide something.

“Just...a guest. A relative from Bangladesh,” her mother replied mysteriously. “You'll see for yourself soon. Be polite, beta.”

Ayesha raised an eyebrow. Bangladesh? That was rare. The last time any relative from that side of the family had visited was nearly ten years ago, and even that had been rushed and forgettable.

Before she could ask further, the doorbell rang, sharp and clear, cutting through the late afternoon quiet like a soft alarm.

Ayesha's heart gave a tiny flutter — nervous excitement or vague irritation, she couldn’t tell. She straightened the dupatta on her shoulder, smoothed the creases in her kameez, and turned her gaze toward the door.

Her father hurried out from the study, adjusting his spectacles with a smile that barely hid his own excitement.

The door creaked open wide.

Standing at the threshold was a man who didn’t look like the usual distant relative from Bangladesh Ayesha had imagined.

He was tall — maybe six feet — dressed in a dark emerald green kurta that fit perfectly on his lean, well-shaped frame. A simple leather bag rested by his side, and a polite, quiet smile played on his lips. His black hair, ruffled slightly by Islamabad’s early evening breeze, gave him a casual charm.

But it was his eyes that struck Ayesha the most — deep, intelligent, and observant — as if they missed nothing.

“Assalamu Alaikum, Uncle,” Neel greeted warmly, bowing his head with quiet grace.

Her father broke into a wide, pleased smile, stepping forward quickly and clasping Neel’s hand in both of his.

“Walaikum Salam, beta! Allah ka shukr, you’ve reached safely!” he said with hearty joy. “After so many years... a Chowdhury from Dhaka finally graces this old house again! Welcome, welcome!”

Neel smiled genuinely, the slight nervousness in his eyes replaced by warmth.
“Thank you, Uncle. I hope I’m not troubling you all with my sudden arrival.”

“What trouble, beta?” her father chuckled, pulling Neel gently inside. “It’s an honor. This house feels young again because of you. Your mother was right — you should visit Islamabad at least once in your life!”

Neel laughed softly. “She insisted I see this side of the family. And Islamabad’s beauty... well, I can already feel it — even from the doorstep.”

As Neel stepped in fully, his gaze shifted... and landed directly on Ayesha.

For a fleeting moment — their eyes locked.
Her heart gave a small, strange flutter.

Na eel’s expression softened into a polite smile.

“You must be Ayesha... my cousin, right?” he said gently.

Ayesha, trying to hide her slight surprise — or was it curiosity — stood gracefully and gave a soft nod.

“Yes... and you’re the guest from Lahore?” she blurted before she could stop herself, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Neel paused — blinking — then chuckled deeply, amused.

“Lahore?” he repeated with an easy smile. “No... I’m from Dhaka. Bangladesh. I thought Uncle mentioned...?”

Her cheeks flushed ever so slightly.

Before she could say anything, her father hurried in with a nervous laugh.
“Haha! Don’t mind her, Neel beta! Ayesha’s sense of humor is sharp. She loves teasing guests — keeps our house lively!”

Neel smiled a sparkle in his eye.
“Is that so?” he said playfully, glancing at Ayesha. “Then I guess I’ll have to stay alert during this visit. I might become the next victim of her jokes.”

Ayesha pressed her lips together to suppress a smile.
“Only if you give me a reason to,” she said softly, eyes dancing just a little.

Neel raised both hands lightly in surrender.
“I promise to behave, cousin. Full diplomacy from Dhaka.”

Her father laughed heartily.
“That’s the spirit, beta! Come — come inside. Put your bag here. Tea and samosas are almost ready. Ayesha, serve some water to our guest.”

Ayesha sighed inwardly but moved gracefully towards the dining trolley. As she poured the water into a glass, she stole another glance at Neel.

This cousin from Bangladesh was certainly not what she had expected.
Calm, confident, and far too handsome for a quiet family guest.

Neel, meanwhile, stood by the door awkwardly.

“Uncle, forgive me — I brought some sweets from Dhaka. Though they might be different from the ones here...” He bent down to unzip his leather bag, pulling out a carefully packed box.

“Aray wah! Dhaka’s sweets!” her father exclaimed happily. “Mishti doi? Or chanar jilapi?”

Neel smiled. “Both, Uncle. And some sandesh too. Ammi said Aunty liked those the most.”

Ayesha’s mother peeked from the kitchen, face lighting up.
“Neel beta! You remembered? Allah bless you — I haven’t tasted proper Dhaka sandesh in years!”

“Ammi packed them herself,” Neel said warmly. “With strict instructions: ‘Don’t dare forget this!’” He mimicked his mother’s voice softly, making everyone chuckle.

Ayesha couldn’t help herself.
“Seems you follow orders well, cousin,” she teased gently, offering him the glass of water.

Neel took it, his fingers brushing against hers lightly — enough to send a faint electric tingle through both of them.

He smiled. “Only when they come from dangerous women like my mother... or you.”

Ayesha’s eyes widened slightly at the playful remark, but she said nothing — hiding her grin behind the tea tray.

Her father grinned. “Good boy, Neel! You’ll survive this house yet.”

Neel sipped the water, glancing again at Ayesha.

“So... you live in Islamabad all your life?” he asked casually.

Ayesha nodded, sitting down gracefully.
“Born and raised here. Islamabad is home — calm, green... boring sometimes. What about you? Dhaka is famous for its noise, its life, and its chaos. Big difference, hmm?”

Neel leaned back slightly, smiling.
“True. Dhaka’s loud and restless. Like a city that forgot how to sleep. But sometimes... noise keeps you alive. I’m already surprised by the quiet here.”

“Wait till night falls,” Ayesha said softly. “Then Islamabad whispers in secret ways.”

Their eyes met again — something unspoken passing between them.

Her father cleared his throat, breaking the moment.

“Enough chit-chat for now — you must be tired after the flight, Neel beta! Freshen up first. Then tea and snacks.”

Neel stood, adjusting his bag.

“Thank you, Uncle. A quick shower and I’ll be ready to face Ayesha’s questions again,” he said with a small grin aimed her way.

Ayesha smirked. “Be prepared. Cousin or not — I have many questions.”

Neel chuckled gently, bowing slightly toward her in mock defeat before following her father down the hall.

Ayesha sat still, staring at the doorway he disappeared through.

Dhaka cousin... handsome, clever, unexpectedly charming...

She frowned thoughtfully.

Then who is the Lahore proposal guest Ammi and Abbu were whispering about?

Her curiosity grew sharper — and her heart, for reasons she couldn’t explain, beat just a little faster.

Later that evening, the drawing room was alive with a soft hum from the ceiling fan, punctuated by the rhythmic clinking of teacups. Plates of steaming hot samosas, refreshing cucumber sandwiches, and luscious misti doi sat invitingly on the table, waiting for someone to enjoy them. The elders, however, were gathered in a hushed circle, their murmurs crackling with anticipation.

Ayesha stood near the window, pretending to adjust the curtains but straining to catch each tantalizing whisper behind her.

“Shh, keep it down, Jameela!” her father quietly urged her mother, glancing furtively in Ayesha’s direction. “If she gets wind of this, the surprise will be ruined!”

Her mother sighed, her anxiety palpable. “I can’t help it, Feroz. What if she says no? What if everything falls apart?”

Feroz chuckled softly, taking a sip of his tea, his voice oozing confidence. “Ayesha is practical. She’ll know what’s best for her. And Neel... Neel is the one! A good family, educated, respectful... Besides, he’s family!”

“Family, yes...” Jameela whispered, her concern edging into panic. “But they’ve never really met before today! What if there’s no spark? What if she still dreams of that boy from Lahore?”

Feroz shook his head decisively. “That Lahore boy is off the table. His family declined the rishta subtly. This... this is better. Bangladeshi or not, Neel is one of us. I saw how he looked at her; there’s potential!”

Ayesha’s mother smiled faintly, her eyes drifting toward the hallway. “Neel seemed kind... polite. He even brought me sweets from Dhaka.”

“Exactly! A boy who listens to his mother is a boy who will listen to his wife,” Feroz laughed, his eyes twinkling.

“Feroz... are you sure Neel is unaware of our intentions?”

He hesitated, the gravity of the moment sinking in. “Not yet. Let them meet... let them feel something out—then I’ll have a word with him. Slowly.”

“Hmm... and Ayesha?”

“She’ll come around. I’m sure of it. Tonight, after dinner.”

Ayesha felt a sudden rush of adrenaline. *So this was their scheme!*

In a whirl, she spun around, her heart racing. “Ammi. Abbu. What secrets are you whispering?” She folded her arms, a teasing glint in her eye.

They both froze, caught like deer in headlights.

Her father cleared his throat, a hint of mischief in his tone. “Nothing, beta. Just... family matters.”

Ayesha narrowed her gaze. “Family matters, huh? Lahore boy talk... or Dhaka boy talk?”

Her mother gasped, a hand pressed to her heart. “Ayesha! How could you think that?”

Ayesha stepped forward, her voice sharpened with urgency. “You think I don’t see the covert cleaning spree? The nervous tea preparations? The countless calls to Khala in Dhaka? You’re trying to match me with Neel, aren’t you?”

Jameela opened her mouth in shock, but nothing came out, glancing helplessly at her husband.

Feroz sighed heavily and put down his cup with a decisive thud. “Beta... listen. You’re thirty. We’ve waited, given you time. But now... Neel is a great match. A family boy. Educated. From our own blood. What harm does it do to see if something blossoms between you two?”

Ayesha shook her head, lips pressed together defiantly.

“So that’s why you’ve been treating him like an innocent visitor! You’ve schemed this behind my back!” she exclaimed in frustration.

“Ayesha...” her mother said softly, stepping closer and placing a comforting hand on her arm. “We just want your happiness. Neel is a good boy. Look at him — decent and respectful. Isn’t that better than random suitors from Lahore or who-knows-where?”

Ayesha held their gazes, her heart thundering in her chest. “And what if I don’t feel what you want me to feel? What then?”

A heavy silence fell over the room.

Her father sighed deeply. “Then we won’t push you. But... at least meet him. Talk to him. Figure it out for yourself. Please.”

Her mother leaned in closer. “Beta... for us, just give him a chance."

Ayesha hesitated, torn between anger and confusion.

Before she could respond, a deep voice resonated behind them.

“Maybe you should let her decide for herself, Uncle. Aunty.”

They all turned, startled.

Neel stood in the archway, hands tucked casually in his pockets, his expression calm yet serious.

Her father’s eyes widened. “Neel... beta... you heard...?”

Neel flashed a wry smile. “Hard to miss the family whispers in this quiet house, Uncle.”

Tension thickened the air as silence stretched.

Neel’s gaze shifted gently to Ayesha. “I had no idea they had a plan,” he said, his voice a soft baritone. “They didn’t tell me, either. I came here to reconnect with family... and maybe explore Islamabad a bit.”

Ayesha met his gaze, heart racing. “So you’re not part of this rishta drama?”

Neel chuckled softly, tousling his hair. “Honestly? Not in the slightest. My Ammi just wanted me to feel connected... nothing more. But now I know the truth. It appears we’re both caught off-guard.”

A smile crept onto Ayesha’s lips despite her initial annoyance.

Feroz interjected, still looking uneasy. “Neel beta... we only had your best interests in mind. Two young people from the same blood... perhaps it’s Allah’s will—”

Neel raised a hand gently. “Uncle... there’s no need for explanations. But I think Ayesha and I should talk. Alone. Just once. Like regular people, not like puppets in a family plot.”

Jameela gasped, eyes wide. “Alone?! Beta—”

Ayesha smiled mischievously. “Calm down, Ammi. This is Islamabad, not some melodramatic serial.”

Neel shot her a playful glance, amusement lighting up his features. “Besides, I think your daughter has a hundred questions for me.”

Her father hesitated, glancing at both of them, before finally relenting with a resigned sigh. “Alright. The balcony. Five minutes. No more.”

Neel’s smile widened. “Agreed.”

Ayesha crossed her arms defiantly, turning toward Neel with a spark of determination.

“Let’s see what the Dhaka cousin has to say,” she said, brushing past him with renewed energy as she headed toward the balcony. The night felt electric with possibilities, and she couldn’t wait to see where the conversation would lead.

The balcony door swung open with a creak that echoed in the stillness.

Ayesha stepped outside, a thrill racing through her as the evening breeze lightly brushed against her face. She folded her arms, her gaze darting over the quiet streets of Islamabad below, where secrets seemed to linger in every shadow. Behind her, the sound of Neel’s footsteps drew closer, slow and deliberate, almost reverent.

“So... this is where Islamabad spills its secrets?” Neel’s voice had a playful lilt, brimming with curiosity.

Ayesha flicked her eyes toward him, an eyebrow raised in challenge. “Maybe, but it definitely doesn’t share them with strangers.”

Neel leaned against the railing, a confident grin spreading across his face. “Good thing I’m family then... right, cousin?”

“Temporary family,” Ayesha shot back, her lips curving into a teasing smirk. “You’ll be off to Dhaka before I know it.”

Neel chuckled, the sound was rich and inviting. “Depends. Maybe I’ll stick around if Islamabad has enough secrets to uncover.”

Ayesha studied him, her expression unreadable. “Is that your way of revealing you enjoy this rishta drama?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Not at all. Honestly? I was blindsided by the matchmaking. It felt like a plot twist right at the airport.”

She leaned in closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Welcome to the desi family experience, Mr. Dhaka. Full of drama, zero warning.”

Neel’s grin widened. “And I thought my Ammi was a handful. Looks like my Pakistani relatives give her a run for her money.”

Ayesha let out a soft sigh. “So... we’ve both been caught in their web. Just like characters in an old-school family film.”

“Exactly.” Neel’s smile softened. “But you seem less taken aback than I am. Was this all on your radar?”

She hesitated, her teeth grazing her lip. “Let’s just say... I caught wind of a few whispers. Abbu and Ammi aren’t exactly stealthy.”

Neel chuckled. “Neither is my mother. Before I left, she hinted something vague — ‘You might meet someone nice in Islamabad,’ she said. I assumed it was about sightseeing.”

Ayesha burst into laughter. “Oh, poor you.”

He winked. “Poor both of us.”

An electric hush enveloped them, filled with the sounds of distant traffic and a gentle breeze that danced through the balcony curtains.

“So…” Neel broke the silence, giving her a curious glance. “Ready to unleash your thousand questions, Miss Interrogator?”

Ayesha shot him a playful look. “How about five? Just for now.”

“Five it is.” Neel crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall with a blend of confidence and intrigue. “Go for it.”

“First,” she said, stepping closer, her eyes locked onto his. “What do you *really* do in Dhaka? Your Ammi mentioned ‘business,’ but that could mean anything.”

Neel’s smile turned thoughtful. “I run a software firm. I own half of it. We create mobile apps — boring but reliable work. No smuggling, no gang wars... I know, such a letdown.”

Ayesha laughed mischievously. “Honest Dhaka boy? A rare find, indeed.”

“Second question?” Neel asked, eyes glinting with anticipation.

She tilted her head, intrigued. “Why did you really come here, Neel? Was it for family... or an escape?”

His smile dimmed momentarily, replaced by a contemplative gaze. “Both, I think. Dhaka can be a weighty place. Too much noise, too many expectations. I needed a breather. And my mom said Islamabad would heal something in me — didn’t specify what.”

Ayesha studied his face, sensing the depth beneath his words.

“Third question,” she said gently. “What kind of girl does Neel Chowdhury really like?”

He chuckled, impressed. “You dare to ask bold questions, cousin.”

“Then answer boldly.”

Neel held her gaze, a slow intensity building between them. “Someone who speaks her truth, who stands up to her family when they try to scheme behind her back. Someone who refuses to play the silent bride. Someone... like you.”

Ayesha blinked her heart racing, her breath hitching at his words.

“I didn’t ask for compliments, cousin,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

“No flattery here,” he replied, his tone earnest. “Just truth.”

A hint of a smile curled at her lips, a warmth spreading through her.

“Fourth question,” she persisted, regaining her composure. “Will you return to Dhaka and erase this rishta drama from your mind, or will you stay if they push?”

Neel’s expression turned pensive. “That really depends.”

“On what?” She leaned in, intrigued.

“On you.”

A pregnant pause hung in the air.

Ayesha felt a flush warm her cheeks.

“Final question,” she whispered, her heart pounding. “Did you know... you were meant to marry me before this trip?”

Neel shook his head, a gentle smile gracing his lips. “No. But now that I do... I’m glad.”

Their eyes locked in an unmistakable connection, a strange, electric tension weaving between them.

“Ayesha…” Neel’s voice softened, a serious undertone threading through. “Do you want this to happen? Or should we end this entire drama right now — as friends, as cousins?”

Ayesha gazed at him, honesty radiating from his expression.

“I don’t have all the answers yet, Neel,” she whispered. “But this is the first time they’ve picked someone I actually *want* to talk to.”

He laughed, a sound filled with relief. “That’s progress.”

“Tiny progress,” she teased, a playful glint in her eyes.

The silence that followed was comfortable, almost magnetic.

“I don’t want to pressure you, Ayesha,” Neel said cautiously, his voice carefully measured. “But I also... don’t want to leave Islamabad without getting to know you better.”

Her heart fluttered at his words.

“Maybe we should both discover more,” she suggested softly.

He smiled slowly, the promise of something new shining in his eyes. “Deal.”

Just then, footsteps echoed behind them.

“Ayesha, Neel — dinner!” Jameela called from inside, breaking the moment.

Neel shot her a mischievous wink. “Saved by the samosas.”

Ayesha chuckled, the sound light and airy. “Samosas... and the unfolding of this secret matchmaking saga.”

They exchanged a smile — a spark of something fresh, genuine, and filled with potential — before stepping back inside, ready to embrace whatever came next.

The tantalizing aroma of freshly cooked biryani, spicy chicken karahi, and sizzling kebabs enveloped the room as the family convened around a grand dining table. Crystal glasses of lassi clinked and sparkled in the warm light while steaming plates overflowed with vibrant dishes that promised a feast of flavors.

Neel gallantly pulled out a chair for Ayesha, a charming smile lighting up his face.

“Ladies first,” he said, his voice smooth and inviting.

Ayesha shot him a sideways glance, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. “Trying to impress Ammi and Abbu, Mr. Dhaka?”

Leaning closer, Neel whispered mischievously, “Maybe I’m trying to impress you, Miss Islamabad.”

Ayesha nearly burst out laughing but stifled it behind a cough, her cheeks flushing a delightful shade.

Jameela, ever watchful, caught the exchange and beamed. “Ayesha, beta... serve Neel some biryani. He must be starving after such a long flight.”

“Of course, Ammi,” Ayesha replied, eagerly scooping the fragrant rice onto Neel’s plate, the steam rising like a party invitation.

Neel raised an eyebrow, a twinkle in his eye. “Careful, cousin. If I fall in love with this biryani, I might just fall for the chef too.”

Ayesha rolled her eyes dramatically. “Ah, flattery is so typical of Dhaka boys.”

From the head of the table, Feroz couldn’t hold back a hearty chuckle. “Neel beta, you’ll soon find out — Ayesha doesn’t easily succumb to sweet talk.”

“I’m counting on patience, Uncle,” Neel said with a teasing grin.

Jameela clapped her hands, eyes shining with pride. “Such manners, mashallah! Why can’t the boys in Islamabad be more like you?”

Ayesha sighed, feigning exasperation. “Because boys here only boast about their flashy cars or inflated egos, Ammi.”

Neel burst into laughter. “In Dhaka, our rides are rickshaws and our wallets are often as empty as our promises.”

The room erupted in soft chuckles, the tension easing into joyous camaraderie.

Feroz wiped his mouth theatrically. “Neel beta... how’s that business of yours in Dhaka? I heard you opened another office?”

Neel nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, Uncle! We’ve launched a small branch in Chittagong. Our goal is to expand slowly — custom apps, educational software, you name it!”

“Smart boy,” Jameela praised, her heart swelling with pride. “And thank goodness you’re not chasing after trivial TikTok fame like the boys around here.”

Ayesha raised a finger in playful warning. “Careful, Ammi. You’re making Dhaka sound like paradise!”

Neel met her gaze, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’re welcome to visit anytime... experience the magic for yourself.”

Ayesha tilted her head, intrigue written all over her face. “Will your Ammi be okay if I just drop by?”

Neel chuckled softly, his expression warm. “My Ammi would practically faint with happiness. She’s always asking why I don’t bring home a proper ‘Pakistani dulhan.’”

The term “dulhan” lingered in the air, thick with implications, causing Ayesha to cough awkwardly, her heart racing.

Jameela quickly interjected, her voice bright and hopeful. “We’ve been encouraging Ayesha to visit Bangladesh for ages. Maybe now she’ll finally take us up on it!”

Feroz nodded mischief in his eyes. “It’s a splendid idea! Ayesha needs some fresh adventures. Islamabad has made her a bit too stubborn!”

Ayesha gasped in mock indignation. “Abbu! I’m perfectly adaptable!”

Neel’s grin widened, challenging her. “Prove it! Come to Dhaka. Or are the Islamabad girls too frightened by a little humidity?”

Ayesha smirked, her confidence shining through. “Frightened? I’d handle Dhaka’s heat better than you could handle the icy winters of Islamabad!”

Neel burst out laughing. “Challenge accepted!”

The elders exchanged delighted glances, savoring the playful sparring between the two.

“Neel beta,” Jameela leaned forward, pouring an extra helping of lassi. “Which biryani do you prefer? Ours or Dhaka’s kacchi?”

Neel tapped his chin, grinning widely. “Oh, you’re asking for trouble with that question, Aunty!”

Ayesha whispered with mock sternness, “Say Islamabad, or say goodbye to dessert!”

With a dramatic sigh, Neel surrendered. “Alright, Islamabad biryani wins — or else I’ll be left starving!”

Feroz laughed heartily. “Well done, smart boy. You’re already learning the secret to keeping the women happy!”

Ayesha took a sip of her lassi, glancing at Neel, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Good! At least you’re a quick learner.”

Neel leaned in with a playful challenge in his eyes. “Still slower than you, cousin.”

Their eyes locked, and suddenly, the world around them faded, leaving just an electric connection.

Jameela smiled knowingly. “Feroz... look at them. It’s as if they’re old friends already.”

“Hmm...” her husband mused, a smile playing at his lips. “Mashallah. Perhaps this is a sign from above.”

Clearing her throat, Ayesha broke the spell. “Ammi... dessert now? Or more hints about marriage first?”

Laughter bubbled up once more.

Jameela waved her hand, excitement in her voice. “Dessert, dessert! The gulab jamuns are waiting!”

As she got up to retrieve the sweets, Neel leaned closer to Ayesha and whispered, “Tell me, is this how every Islamabad dinner feels? Like a thrilling spy movie?”

Ayesha’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Only when the hero is caught in a secret rishta plot.”

Neel chuckled, his heart racing. “So, I’m the accidental hero in this story?”

“Maybe,” she whispered temptingly. “Or perhaps you’re the unexpected twist.”

Their gazes intertwined, filled with curiosity and a hint of daring.

At that moment, Jameela returned, placing warm gulab jamuns on the table with a flourish.

“Here — sweetness upon sweetness!” she announced joyfully.

Neel beamed. “The perfect conclusion to a dramatic meal.”

Ayesha leaned back, a secret smile playing on her lips. “Oh, Mr. Dhaka, the real drama is just getting started.”

Neel grinned back, excitement lacing his words. “I’m counting on it, Miss Islamabad.”

As the family erupted in laughter and passed around the delectable sweets, two hearts from different cities and countries quietly skipped a beat, both wondering where this thrilling game of rishta would ultimately lead.

Neel lay on the guest bed in Ayesha’s house, his gaze locked onto the ceiling fan as it spun languidly above him. The stillness of the night was broken by the soft buzz of his phone at his side.

“Ammi Calling...”

A grin crept across his face, a mixture of warmth and exhaustion, as he swiped to answer.

“Assalamu Alaikum, Ma... A midnight call? Couldn’t sleep?”

His mother’s voice, familiar yet edged with seriousness, floated through the receiver.

“Wa Alaikum Salaam, baba... no, I can’t rest. My heart feels unsettled. So I called. You sound weary.”

Neel chuckled. “Tired of biryani and rishta games, Ammi. Islamabad is full of surprises.”

A short pause punctuated his words, and then she pressed on.

“They’re pushing you toward this girl, aren’t they? Ayesha?”

His spirits dipped. “Yes... but she’s different. Brave. Not like the others you picked. I genuinely enjoy talking to her.”

Another deeper pause followed one that filled the air with tension.

“That’s what worries me, Neel. Don’t let charm blind you. I called to warn you.”

He sat up, heart racing. “Warn me? About what?”

Her voice dropped to a whisper as if the walls might be listening.

“Before you left, your Abbu revealed something about Ayesha’s family. They’re hiding something.”

Neel’s heart raced; uncertainty gripped him. “What are you saying, Ma? What are they hiding?”

A heavy sigh resonated through the speaker.

“Three years ago, Ayesha was engaged to someone. A wealthy boy from Lahore. A big business family. It ended abruptly. No one knows why. But her family — they begged us to keep it quiet when we first proposed this rishta.”

Neel frowned deeper. “So? An engagement failed. What’s so terrible about it?”

His mother’s voice sharpened, the air thick with concern.

“Because... the boy didn’t break it. Ayesha did. And after that, he vanished without a trace. His family caused a stir... then fell silent. Nobody speaks of it now. But your uncle and aunty are desperate to marry her off quickly — before more rumors surface.”

Neel's eyes went wide with disbelief. “Disappeared? Do you think Ayesha did something? That’s insane, Ammi. She’s not like that.”

“I’m not accusing her, baba. But I don’t trust unfinished stories, and I don’t want you tangled up in this. You’re my only son. My heart. You must understand.”

“Yes, Ammi... but if she’s innocent? If she’s trapped in this too?”

Her voice softened like a soothing balm.

“Maybe... or perhaps there's more behind that charming smile than you realize. Be cautious, Neel. Charm fades, but secrets linger. Promise me — no decisions until you uncover the truth.”

He closed his eyes, absorbing her words.

“I promise, Ma. But what if she’s really innocent? What if she needs help?”

A heavy silence filled the air.

“Then help her, baba. But first — uncover what happened to that Lahore boy. Before this rishta becomes something irreversible.”

Neel sat there, enveloped in silence, heart pounding as echoes of doubt raced through his mind.

His mother exhaled softly.

“Listen to your heart—but don’t let it lead you blindly. Islamabad may be far, but my prayers are with you. Don’t forget that.”

“I won’t forget, Ammi. Thank you.”

An echo of silence settled over the conversation like a curtain falling.

“Rest now. And be watchful of every word they speak. Especially Ayesha’s. Goodnight, baba.”

“Goodnight, Ma."

“Goodnight.”

The call ended, leaving Neel tangled in a web of thoughts, the weight of suspicion heavy in the still air.

Ayesha... what are you hiding?

The fan whirled lazily, whispering secrets that danced in the shadows of the night.

To Be Continued.....


Chapter 2 will be published on 16th June.
©️ Abrar Nayeem Chowdhury