FATE WOVE OUR STORIES

The Memory of Rain

Some memories never really leave you.

They grow quieter with time, buried beneath years of new faces, new places, and moments that seem far more important. Yet sometimes, without warning, a familiar sound, a name, or even the smell of rain is enough to bring them rushing back.

For Hala, one such memory always began with rain.

She was sitting on the wide veranda of her grandparents’ house, her little feet swinging above the floor as she watched the rain pour into the courtyard.

The sky was grey, the trees moved wildly with the wind, and the house was filled with the voices of relatives preparing for a family gathering.

Hala, however, had been given one very important instruction.

Stay inside.

She had already broken it.

“Hala!”

She froze.

Slowly, she turned around.

Hashim stood at the entrance of the veranda with his arms folded across his chest. Even then, he somehow had the serious expression of someone who believed himself to be much older and wiser than everyone around him.

Hala stared at him.

“What?”

“You know exactly what.”

“I don’t.”

“You were told not to go outside.”

“I didn’t.”

Hashim glanced towards the muddy footprints leading from the courtyard to where she was sitting.

Hala followed his gaze.

The footprints were definitely hers.

She quickly tucked her feet underneath herself.

“I was only checking the rain,” she said innocently.

Hashim raised an eyebrow.

“Checking the rain?”

“Yes.”

“And you had to walk through the mud to do that?”

Hala nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yes.”

He stared at her for a few seconds.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re boring.”

Hashim shook his head.

“I’d rather be boring than covered in mud.”

Hala looked down at her dress.

There was mud all over the bottom of it.

She immediately tried to hide it.

Hashim noticed.

Of course he did.

“Hala.”

“What?”

“Did you fall?”

“No.”

“Did you walk through the mud?”

“No.”

“Then how did the mud get on your dress?”

She thought carefully.

Then her face brightened.

“Maybe the mud came to me.”

Hashim was silent.

For a moment, he tried to maintain his serious expression.

He failed.

A laugh escaped him.

Hala smiled proudly.

“I told you.”

“What did you tell me?”

“That I’m right.”

“That isn’t what I said.”

“It is.”

Hashim shook his head again, but this time he was smiling.

“Come inside before you catch a cold.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Hala.”

“I want to watch the rain.”

“You can watch it from inside.”

“No. It’s better from here.”

Hashim sighed.

He knew there was no point arguing with her.

So instead, he sat down beside her.

Hala looked at him in surprise.

“You’re staying?”

“For five minutes.”

She smiled.

“Ten.”

“Five.”

“Eight.”

“Five.”

“Seven?”

“Six.”

“Deal.”

They sat quietly, watching the rain.

Neither of them knew that years later, Hala would barely remember what the family gathering had been about.

She would forget what food had been served, who had arrived, and what everyone had spent the afternoon discussing.

But she would remember the rain.

She would remember the veranda.

And she would remember Hashim sitting beside her, pretending to be annoyed while secretly trying not to laugh.

Back then, life was simple.

There were no difficult decisions.

No complicated relationships.

No unexpected people.

No futures waiting to collide.

Just a little girl, a rainy afternoon, and a boy who had no idea how important that ordinary memory would become.

Neither of them knew how much their lives would change.

Neither knew how many people would enter their lives.

Neither knew that some bonds were meant to remain exactly where they were, while others were waiting somewhere ahead, hidden by time.

They simply lived in the moment.

Unaware that fate had already begun weaving their stories together.

Years Later

Lahore had a way of making every day feel louder than the last.

Traffic filled the roads from early morning, cafés stayed crowded until late, and university students seemed to appear everywhere with bags hanging from their shoulders and complaints about assignments.

Among them was Hala Noor.

At eighteen, Hala had perfected the art of looking completely calm even when she was running five minutes late.

“Hala! Wait!”

She heard her friend’s voice behind her and kept walking.

“Hala!”

Still nothing.

Her friend finally caught up with her and grabbed her arm.

“I’ve been calling you!”

Hala looked at her.

“You were?”

“Yes!”

“When?”

“For the last five minutes!”

Hala glanced at the phone in her hand.

“I didn’t hear it.”

Her friend stared at her.

“You were literally holding it.”

“That doesn’t mean I heard it.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

Hala smiled.

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“I accepted it as one.”

Her friend rolled her eyes, and the two continued towards their lecture hall.

University life had quickly become Hala’s favourite kind of chaos.

Lectures, assignments, friends, endless conversations, last-minute studying, and the occasional argument over something completely insignificant—it was exactly the kind of life she enjoyed.

She was young, carefree, and convinced that she still had plenty of time to figure everything out.

She had no idea that life rarely waited for anyone to be ready.

By the time Hala returned home that afternoon, she had already forgotten about the assignment she was supposed to start.

She dropped her bag on the sofa and walked towards the kitchen.

“Mama?”

No answer.

“Mama?”

“I’m here.”

Hala found her mother arranging things on the kitchen counter.

“I’m hungry.”

“You’ve just come home.”

“Exactly.”

Her mother looked at her.

“You have a kitchen full of food.”

“I know.”

“Then take something yourself.”

Hala placed a hand over her heart.

“Your own daughter is hungry, and you’re telling her to serve herself?”

Her mother laughed.

“Drama queen.”

“I prefer ‘emotionally expressive.’”

“Of course you do.”

Hala opened the refrigerator.

Then she stopped.

“Mama?”

“Hmm?”

“Why are there so many things in here?”

Her mother avoided her eyes.

“Guests are coming.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

Hala closed the refrigerator.

“Who?”

“Family.”

“That explains nothing.”

Her mother smiled.

“You’ll find out.”

Hala narrowed her eyes.

She knew that smile.

It was the kind of smile mothers wore when they knew something their children didn’t.

“Mama…”

“Go change your clothes first.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re still wearing your university clothes.”

Hala looked down at herself.

“What’s wrong with them?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why should I change?”

“Because I said so.”

Hala sighed dramatically.

“Fine.”

She picked up her bag and headed towards the stairs.

Then she stopped halfway.

“Mama?”

“Yes?”

“Is something happening?”

Her mother’s expression changed for only a second.

Then she smiled again.

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

Hala stared at her suspiciously.

That answer did not reassure her.

Not even a little.

Across the city, Hashim Shahveer was finishing another long day at his office.

At twenty-nine, he had already built a successful career in law.

After completing his legal education at the University of Oxford in the United Kingdom, he had returned to Pakistan and established himself as a respected lawyer in Lahore.

His desk was covered with files, but his attention was fixed on the document in front of him.

His phone rang.

He glanced at the screen.

Family.

He answered.

“Hello?”

“Hashim, where are you?”

“At the office.”

“You’re coming home tonight, aren’t you?”

He leaned back in his chair.

“Yes.”

“Good. Don’t be late.”

“Why?”

There was a brief silence.

Then the voice on the other end became suspiciously cheerful.

“You’ll find out when you get here.”

Hashim frowned.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“That sounded like something.”

A laugh came through the phone.

“Just come home.”

The call ended.

Hashim stared at his phone for a moment.

He had a feeling there was more to this than anyone was telling him.

He returned his attention to the file, but the thought remained in the back of his mind.

Something was happening.

He just didn’t know what.

That evening, Hala came downstairs wearing a simple outfit, her hair loosely tied back.

She expected to see the usual family gathering.

Instead, she found several relatives already sitting in the drawing room.

Her steps slowed.

She looked around.

Everyone seemed strangely cheerful.

Too cheerful.

Her eyes immediately found her mother.

“Mama?”

Her mother smiled.

“Come here.”

Hala walked into the room.

“What is going on?”

Before anyone could answer, the sound of a car stopping outside caught everyone’s attention.

The room suddenly became quiet.

Hala looked towards the door.

A few seconds later, it opened.

Hashim walked inside.

He greeted the elders before looking around the room.

His eyes landed on Hala.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

Then Hala raised an eyebrow.

“You’re late.”

Hashim smiled faintly.

“And you’re still impossible.”

She smiled back.

Some things, apparently, never changed.

But neither of them noticed the way the adults exchanged knowing looks.

Neither noticed that tonight’s gathering had very little to do with an ordinary family visit.

And neither knew that before the night was over, a conversation would begin that would quietly set their futures on a completely different path.

Because sometimes life changes without warning.

Sometimes one ordinary evening is all it takes.

And sometimes, the people sitting around you already know that your story is about to change—

while you are still completely unaware.