Chapter 1
Threads of Fate
Some memories never truly leave us.
With time, they grow quiet. They become buried beneath new faces, new places, and moments that seem far more important at the time. But sometimes, without warning, a familiar voice, a name, or even the scent of rain can bring those memories rushing back.
For Hala, one such memory always began with rain.
She was sitting on the spacious veranda of her grandparents’ house, her little feet swinging above the floor as she watched the rain pouring into the courtyard.
The sky was grey, the trees swayed restlessly in the wind, and the house was filled with the voices of relatives preparing for a family gathering.
But Hala had been given one very important instruction.
Stay inside.
She had already disobeyed it.
“Hala!”
She froze.
Slowly, she turned around.
Hashim stood in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest. Even at that age, he had the sort of serious expression that made him look as though he considered himself far older and wiser than everyone else.
Hala looked at him.
“What?”
“You know exactly what.”
“I have no idea.”
Hashim glanced at the muddy footprints stretching from the courtyard to the spot where Hala was sitting.
Hala followed his gaze.
Those footprints were definitely hers.
She immediately tucked her feet beneath herself.
“I only went out to watch the rain,” she said innocently.
Hashim raised an eyebrow.
“To watch the rain?”
“Yes.”
“And you had to walk through the mud to do that?”
Hala nodded as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Yes.”
He stared at her for a few moments.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re boring.”
Hashim shook his head.
“I’d rather be boring than covered in mud.”
Hala glanced down at herself.
The bottom of her outfit was covered in muddy splashes.
She immediately tried to hide it.
Hashim noticed.
Of course, he noticed.
“Hala.”
“What?”
“Did you fall?”
“No.”
“Did you walk through the mud?”
“No.”
“Then how did mud get all over your clothes?”
She thought about it carefully.
Then, suddenly, her face brightened.
“Maybe the mud came to me.”
Hashim fell silent.
For a moment, he tried to maintain his serious expression.
He failed.
A laugh escaped him.
Hala smiled proudly.
“I told you!”
“Told me what?”
“That I was right.”
“I never said that.”
“You did.”
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 looks better from here.”
Hashim let out a long sigh.
He knew there was no point arguing with her.
So, instead, he walked over and sat beside her.
Hala looked at him in surprise.
“You’re sitting down?”
“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 anything about that family gathering.
She would forget what had been served for lunch, who had visited, and what everyone had spent the day talking about.
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 to hold back his laughter.
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 one day.
Neither of them knew how much their lives were about to change.
Neither knew how many people would eventually enter their lives.
And neither knew that some relationships were meant to remain exactly as they were, while others were waiting for them somewhere beyond the veil of time.
They were simply living in that moment.
Unaware that fate had already begun weaving their stories together.
Years Later
Every day in Lahore seemed noisier than the one before.
Traffic began building up on the roads early in the morning, cafés remained crowded late into the night, and university students could be seen everywhere, bags slung over their shoulders as they complained about their assignments.
Hala Noor was one of them.
At eighteen, Hala had mastered the art of looking perfectly calm, even when she was five minutes late.
“Hala! Wait!”
She heard her friend calling behind her but kept walking.
“Hala!”
Still, nothing.
Finally, her friend caught up with her and grabbed her arm.
“I’ve been calling you for ages!”
Hala looked at her.
“You were calling me?”
“Yes!”
“When?”
“For the past five minutes!”
Hala glanced at the phone in her hand.
“I didn’t hear you.”
Her friend stared at her.
“Your phone was literally in your hand!”
“That doesn’t mean I’m supposed to hear you.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
Hala smiled.
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“I’ve decided to take it as one.”
Her friend rolled her eyes, and the two headed towards the 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 sort of life she enjoyed.
She was young, carefree, and convinced she had plenty of time to figure everything out.
She had no idea that life rarely waited for anyone to feel ready.
That afternoon, when Hala returned home, she had already forgotten about the assignment she was supposed to start.
She dropped her bag onto the sofa and headed towards the kitchen.
“Mama?”
There was no answer.
“Mama?”
“I’m here.”
Hala found her mother arranging things on the kitchen counter.
“I’m hungry.”
“You just got home.”
“Exactly.”
Her mother looked at her.
“The kitchen is full of food.”
“I know.”
“Then help yourself.”
Hala placed a hand over her heart.
“Your own daughter is starving, and you’re telling her to get her own food?”
Her mother burst out laughing.
“Drama queen.”
“I prefer the term emotionally expressive.”
“Of course you do.”
Hala opened the refrigerator.
Then she stopped.
“Mama?”
“Hmm?”
“Why is there so much food in here?”
Her mother avoided her gaze.
“We’re having guests.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
Hala closed the refrigerator.
“Who?”
“Family.”
“That explains absolutely nothing.”
Her mother smiled.
“You’ll find out.”
Hala narrowed her eyes.
She knew that smile.
It was the same smile mothers wore when they knew something their children didn’t.
“Mama…”
“Go and 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 do I need to change?”
“Because I said so.”
Hala let out a dramatic sigh.
“Fine.”
She picked up her bag and started towards the stairs.
Then she stopped halfway.
“Mama?”
“Yes?”
“Is something going to happen?”
Her mother’s expression changed for just a moment.
Then she smiled again.
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
Hala regarded her suspiciously.
That answer did absolutely nothing to reassure her.
Absolutely nothing.
On the other side of the city, Hashim Shahveer was finishing another long day at his office.
At twenty-nine, he had already established a successful career in law.
After completing his legal education at the University of Oxford in Britain, he had returned to Pakistan and made a name for himself as a respected lawyer in Lahore.
His desk was covered with files, but all his attention was focused 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?”
Silence lingered on the other end for a few moments.
Then the voice on the phone suddenly became unusually cheerful.
“You’ll find out when you get home.”
Hashim frowned.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Your nothing sounds suspiciously like something.”
A laugh came from the other end.
“Just come home.”
The call ended.
Hashim stared at his phone for a moment.
He had a feeling there was much more to the story than he was being told.
He turned his attention back to the file, but the thought remained in the back of his mind.
Something was happening.
He just didn’t know what.
That evening, when Hala came downstairs, she was wearing a simple outfit, her hair loosely tied back.
She expected the usual family gathering at home.
Instead, she found several relatives already seated in the drawing room.
Her steps slowed.
She looked around.
Everyone seemed strangely happy.
Almost suspiciously happy.
Her eyes immediately found her mother.
“Mama?”
Her mother smiled.
“Come here.”
Hala entered the room.
“What’s going on?”
Before anyone could answer, the sound of a car stopping outside reached them.
Suddenly, the entire room fell silent.
Hala looked towards the door.
A few moments later, it opened.
Hashim walked in.
He greeted the elders before looking around the room.
His gaze settled 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, it seemed, never changed.
But neither of them noticed the knowing looks the elders exchanged.
Neither noticed that this gathering was about much more than an ordinary family visit.
And neither had any idea that, before the night was over, a conversation would begin—one that would quietly turn their future in an entirely different direction.
Because sometimes, life changes without warning.
Sometimes, all it takes is an ordinary evening.
And sometimes, the people sitting around you already know that your story is about to change—
while you remain completely unaware.
— End of Part One —
