The Heir Of His Heart

Riyadh – 1:17 AM

‎Everyone in the house was asleep. Except Mehrma Al Rahman.

‎The dim desk lamp barely lit the room, but her sketchpad glowed with life. Her pencil danced across the paper, tracing the outline of a dress no one would ever see — not her mother, not her father, not even the mirror.

‎She paused.

‎Breathed.

‎Then turned the page… and started another design.

‎This was her world. Secret. Silent. Sacred.

‎Because in her family’s eyes, fashion designing wasn’t a career — it was a disgrace. A path for “ungrateful girls.” A rebellion.

‎Her father, Nooruddin, had made it clear:

‎"Respect is in silence, not in show."

‎Her mother, Zahra Yasmin, had reminded her every day:

‎"A girl’s honor is her obedience."

‎So Mehrma obeyed.

‎At least on the surface.

‎But every night, behind a locked door and muffled heartbeat, she became Aliza bint Noor — a name no one could trace, no one could shame.

‎Under that name, she launched a small online brand. Quiet. Clean. Anonymous.

‎Just sketches turned into outfits. Outfits turned into orders.

‎Behind her locked bedroom door

‎The room was quiet — but mehrma's heart was anything but.

‎Her hands trembled slightly as she moved the cursor and clicked open the email again, just to be sure. Just to believe it wasn’t a mistake. That she wasn’t dreaming.

‎> “Congratulations, Aliza bint Noor.

‎You’ve been selected as the Rising Visionary Designer of the Year.

‎Your invitation is attached.”

‎The words stared back at her like light breaking through years of silence.

‎She gasped softly.

‎And then—

‎She fell into sajdah.

‎No hesitation. No second thought.

‎Her forehead pressed against the prayer mat she never moved from its corner.

‎Her tears spilled silently onto the fabric as her lips whispered over and over:

‎"Shukr Alhamdulillah... Shukr Ya Allah..."

‎She wasn’t crying because she’d won.

‎She was crying because He — her Rabb — had seen her.

‎He had watched every silent sketch, every hidden stitch, every night she’d swallowed tears while designing behind closed doors.

‎No one in her family knew.

‎No one in the world knew Aliza bint Noor was her.

‎But He knew.

‎And today, that was enough.

‎As she stayed in sajdah, the weight she had carried for years lifted slightly.

‎For the first time, her secret didn’t feel like a burden — it felt like a trust.

‎But then the harsh reality sink in. She doesn't know what to do.

‎She couldn’t attend the award ceremony publicly.

‎Not as Mehrma Al Rahman. Not even as Aliza bint Noor.

‎She closed the laptop slowly. Her fingers trembled, but her eyes were steady.

‎“Someday,” she whispered. “Someday they’ll know... but on my terms.”

‎---

‎

‎AL RAHMAN RESIDENCE – DINING ROOM – MORNING

‎

‎Sunlight poured gently through the lace curtains, casting golden patterns across the elegant breakfast table. The soft clink of cups and dishes filled the quiet, cozy space. The scent of cardamom tea mingled with the warm aroma of freshly made parathas.

‎Zahra Yasmin, dressed in a simple yet graceful shalwar kameez, sat at the head of the table. Her dupatta neatly in place, she moved with quiet efficiency as she served breakfast to her family with practiced ease.

‎Nooruddin Al Rahman, stern but composed in his pressed white kurta, read the morning newspaper. His glasses rested halfway down his nose, and every now and then, he took a sip of tea, brow furrowing at the headlines.

‎Ibrahim Al Rahman, Mehrma’s elder brother, scrolled lazily through his phone in one hand while buttering toast with the other. His tailored shirt and polished watch hinted that he was already dressed for a busy workday.

‎Mehrma sat beside her brother, wearing a long sky-blue kurti over jeans. Her hair was tied in a neat ponytail, her dupatta draped casually over one shoulder. Her backpack rested by her chair—college books on top, but tucked safely beneath them was her true treasure: her fashion design portfolio.

‎Zahra,"You need to eat something, sweetheart. Tea alone won’t carry you through the day."

‎Mehrma,"I have a presentation today, Ammi. A heavy breakfast will just make me sleepy."

‎Ibrahim,"Presentation? Which subject this time?"

‎Mehrma said while sipping her tea,"Development Studies. I’m leading the group."

‎Noorudin ,"Good. Stay focused on your academics. Fashion design and all that—it’s fine as a hobby, but nothing more."

‎A brief pause. Mehrma keeps her eyes on her plate, the smile fading slightly.

‎Zahra,"Your father’s right. These things waste time. Focus on building a real future."

‎Ibrahim ,"Alright, alright—don’t lecture the future fashion queen too much. She might trade the runway for an apron if you keep going."

‎Mehrma,"You worry about your corporate world, bhai. I know exactly where my world is headed."

‎There’s something calm yet defiant in her voice—quiet fire behind her words.

‎She glances at the clock and rises from her seat, brushing imaginary crumbs from her kurti.

‎Mehrma,"I should get going. I don’t want to be late. Wish me luck for the presentation."

‎She slings her backpack over one shoulder. The books peek out in plain sight, but beneath them, her fashion sketches wait—her real work, her real dream.

‎As she steps toward the door, her father’s voice calls out again—firm, but not unkind.

‎Noorudin,"Stay focused on your studies, Mehrma. Everything else is just a distraction. You don't have to waste your dream in. Some useless fashion designing. After all you are going to be married to Faris. "

‎Mehrma,"Some dreams don’t waste time, Baba... they give it meaning."

‎She exits without waiting for a reply, her steps light yet steady. A moment of silence follows. Ibrahim returns to his phone, Nooruddin to his paper—but Zahra watches the door for a few seconds longer, something unreadable in her eyes.

‎Was it pride? Worry? Or perhaps both?

‎

‎---

‎

‎As she enter the University in her black BMW i7 M70 every pairs of eye turned towards her, some from jealousy, some from haters, some from admiration and some from respect.

‎She started to walk towards her class in a graceful way , that scream touch me I will tear you because she was ...."Mehram Al Rahman "

As mehrma started to move towards her class. She met her best friend .... None other than Haya bint Gafoor.

After some lecture as time passes:

Mehrma and Haya are sitting on a bench under a tree during a free period. The sun is soft, and the chatter of students echoes around. Haya is sipping juice while Mehrma looks at her watch, clearly distracted.

---

Haya looked at Mehrma suspiciously.

"Why do you keep checking the time? Are you hiding something from me ? You’ve done it like... seven times in five minutes."

Mehrma nervously chuckled . She thought Ya Rabbi ... Why I'm bad at making excuse.

"No reason. Just... my head’s been pounding since morning. I don’t think I can stay for the next lecture."

Haya become concerned and said ,"You okay? Did you eat something? You don't have to hide anything from me . Wait, let me get you Panadol from my bag—"

Mehrmagently stops her and said ,"No no, it’s okay. I just need some fresh air, maybe some quiet. Thinking of sneaking out. Just for today."

Haya,"Sneaking out? You? The same Mehrma who panics if her attendance drops to 99%?"

Mehrma grinning faintly, trying to act casual

"Desperate times call for desperate measures. I’ll be fine, I promise. I’ll go home, rest, and I’ll be back tomorrow—fresh and alive."

Haya ,"Hmm. You sure it’s just a headache? Or are you hiding something from me?"

Mehrma avoids eye contact and said ,"Come on, Haya. Not everything’s a mystery. Sometimes a girl just needs to escape the chaos, okay?"

Haya ,"Alright, alright. I won’t press. But just so you know—if you're planning to do something not-so-boring, I expect a full update later."

Mehrma smiling softly and said ,"Deal. But for now… let’s stick with “headache.”"

Haya leand closer and said teasing," “Headache” better not have a beard and drive a black BMW."

Mehrma bursts out laughing and said ,"You read too many romantic thrillers, Haya!"

Haya,"What can I say? Life’s more interesting when you imagine your best friend is living a secret double life."

Mehrma said while shaking her head,"See you tomorrow, detective."

Haya,"Take care , mystery girl."

---

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