Love Unseen

September 1, 2025

“Ah... Alizay, someone took my daughter! How could this happen? How could someone just take my child?” Amina was screaming and crying. Had someone really taken the child?

It was the month of May, and Karachi was bustling as always. Everyone was caught up in their own world. If you went to University Road, even there the traffic was heavy. Amidst that traffic, she sat in a rickshaw. A pink scarf draped over her head, wearing a pink suit, holding notes in her hand, a bag slung over her shoulder. She never kept her notes in the bag—they’d get crumpled. Maybe it was the restlessness in her honey-colored glassy eyes, or the way her glowing complexion carried a hint of anger on her nose—she looked beautiful.

“ugh, I have a lecture! uh, please drop me here, I’ll walk from here,” she said to the rickshaw driver, handing him the fare and stepping out. “Ugh, it’s already 9:15!” she muttered as she entered the university gate, clutching a stack of notes. “I told Mama to get me a folder,” she said, trying to keep the notes from slipping. She was walking fast—maybe the lecture really was important.

While hurrying, she bumped into someone.

“Can’t you see?” Alizay snapped, annoyed. Her notes had fallen all over the ground. She was furious—she had arranged those notes with such effort, and now she’d be late for class again.

The guy she bumped into bent down to help, but Alizay firmly refused and began picking up her notes herself.

“No thanks, I can do it,” she said. Zain looked up at her, and for a moment, he really couldn’t see anything else. He just kept staring at her. Alizay, without even glancing at the man sitting on the ground, picked up her notes and walked away. Her lecture was more important.

“Zain!” someone called from behind. It was Hammad.

“Yeah?” Zain replied.

“What happened, man? You planning to sit there forever?” Hammad teased.

Zain stood up. “If I get to see her again, then maybe,” he thought to himself.

The two of them walked off together.

It was nighttime. He stood in the balcony, taking drags from a cigarette. He didn’t usually smoke, but sometimes, when he missed her too much, he did. Ah, love had even made him take up smoking.

As always, she was in a hurry. As always, she avoided boys. The same honey-colored hair neatly tucked under her scarf, the same glassy honey eyes, the same glowing complexion—nothing had changed. He still remembered her. One year and four months—he had spent all that time trying to forget her. But he never really did. Even today, she lived in his memory.

“Alizay Furqan,” he whispered under his breath.

July 6, 2024 – 32nd Annual Convocation, Karachi University

A male teacher stood on stage giving a speech. All the students’ parents were seated in the audience.

“How long is this guy going to talk?” Zain whispered into Hammad’s ear.

“Zain, behave. It’s the last one—sleep at home later,” Hammad scolded.

“Who said I’m going to sleep? I’m heading to London,” Zain replied.

Hammad gave him a look that said, “Chill, I’m here too.”

Now the teacher was calling out the names of gold medalist students.

“Go on, man, go get your fake gold,” Zain teased as Hammad’s name was called.

“Fake or real, what’s it to you? It’s mine,” Hammad snapped.

“Alright, alright, go. Besides, gold’s forbidden for men anyway,” Zain joked.

“Oh please, now you’re the guardian of Islam?” Hammad shot back and walked off.

All the students were now tossing their caps into the air. Finally, it was over; only for people like Zain—others like Hammad were already preparing for their master’s degrees. And people like him wouldn’t stop even after a PhD—bookworms.

The two of them now stood outside the university.

“Ah, I feel free now,” Zain said, looking up at the sky.

“Man, you’re acting like you studied so hard. I’m still wondering how you didn’t fail,” Hammad said, genuinely surprised.

“Bro, we graduated. Now zip that big mouth of yours,” Zain replied, trying to dodge the conversation.

“Have you seen your face? My feet are cleaner than your mouth,” Hammad snapped.

“No wonder girls curse when they see you,” Zain fired back. He wasn’t one to back down either.

They both got into Zain’s car. His phone, resting on the dashboard, started ringing. The caller ID flashed: Dad Calling.

“Man, they always know the worst time to call,” Zain groaned.

“Pick it up,” Hammad said.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m picking up. God gave everyone one dad, and gave me two,” Zain said, glancing at Hammad.

“Hello, Dad?”

“I’ve been calling from a long time—why aren’t you answering?”

“Dad, I just got here,” Zain replied. Hammad shook his head in sympathy.

“Okay, now go to your aunt’s place. She’s calling you. And it’s Alishba’s birthday—she wants you there too.”

“Dad, why is she remembering me? Alishba and I aren’t even friends—we just talk occasionally.”

Zain could see his evening plans falling apart.

“Zain, shut your mouth and get there quickly.”

“But Dad—” The call had already ended.

“What kind of dad do I have? He’ll do anything for me, but he always gets his way too,” Zain muttered. Still, it was his father’s wish.

At 5 p.m., he entered the lawn. His thick black hair was neatly styled, innocence in his dark eyes, wearing a white T-shirt and black pants, a wristwatch on his fair, veiny hands—he looked good. He wasn’t extremely handsome, but his simple complexion, sharp features, and tall frame made him attractive.

“Zain, seriously? You’re so late,” Alishba said, walking toward him in a golden maxi dress, worry on her face and a phone in her hand, probably calling someone.

“Is something wrong?” Zain asked, judging from her expression and the phone.

“Wait a second,” Alishba said, putting the phone to her ear.

“Hello? Yeah, I’m coming. Just send me your address. Okay.” She ended the call.

“Zain, my parents took the driver, and I can’t risk driving alone with a female friend. So please come with me to pick her up.”

Well, for a friend, that much was expected.

“Alright, I’ll come. After all, you’re not going to give me cake without a gift,” Zain said, hinting that he hadn’t brought one.

Alishba gave him a look that said, “You only think about yourself.”

“Did your friend have to live in the farthest corner of the world?” They had been searching for her house for a while, and Alizay’s place was far from DHA.

Now standing outside her house, they waited.

“You should’ve told her to be ready. Look, now we’re stuck waiting. And your friend couldn’t even invite us inside—we’ve been standing here forever,” Zain complained. He hated waiting.

“Well, who told you to stand outside? Go sit in the car,” Alishba offered.

“Yeah, but—” and the rest of Zain’s words got stuck in his throat.

Love is a journey—

It has no destination, no final stop.

Just keep walking, keep moving,

Love is the only excuse.

It begins deep within the heart,

Then melts into the soul,

Echoing in every whisper.

Sometimes it brings joy, sometimes a shadow of sorrow,

But the color of love never fades.

Every moment holds a new feeling,

Every second tells a new story.

On the path of love, everyone is a little mad.

It is sunlight, it is shade, it is a gust of wind.

It is the song of life,

And the deception of the heart.

She was now stepping out of the house. Ah, those eyes—honey-colored, glass-like eyes, glowing clearly in the light. A neatly draped scarf over her head—someone once beautifully said, “A scarf on the head is the color of simplicity; in every era, it’s the symbol of love.” Dressed in a pink outfit, her honey-colored hair tied back in a loose bun, a sparkle in her eyes, a smile on her lips—Zain thought she looked like a fairy from a magical land.

They were now sitting in the car. Zain quietly took his place in the driver’s seat.

What just happened? he thought, shaking his head. But that face kept flashing in his mind again and again.

The two girls were sitting in the back.

“You look really nice, Alizay,” said Alishba. Zain felt something missing in her words.

“Well, I had to look good—it’s my friend’s birthday after all,” Alizay replied.

Zain closed his eyes and then opened them again.

“What blush are you wearing? Your cheeks look so cute,” Alishba said, admiring her. But Alizay’s cheeks were naturally red—it always looked like she was wearing blush.

Alizay gestured toward Zain.

“Oh, he’s my cousin,” Alishba said softly. But her voice still reached Zain’s ears.

“Hmm, now just sit quietly,” Alizay told Alishba.

Both Alishba and Zain understood what she meant—she wouldn’t speak freely in front of a stranger. And even though Zain didn’t want to admit it, he liked that. In this modern age, someone still values modesty.

Love, and everything in between... this was just a glimpse. Thank you for reading.