"Echoes of the Nikaah"

"Kitaabon ke panno mein dhoondti thi sukoon apna,

Magar kismat ne aaj ek naya sa-haf khola hai,

Ek nazar mein hi badal gayi dastaan saari,

Jab ek shayar ka waasta ek shehzade se hota hai."

*•.¸♡.....♡¸.•*

Delhi University in early winter carried a charm that was difficult to explain and almost impossible to forget.

It wasn't just the weather; it was the way the city itself seemed to pause and catch its breath.

The mornings arrived with a gentle mist that lingered lazily over the old red-brick buildings, wrapping the historic campus in a quiet veil of silver.

The tall trees swayed softly in the cold breeze, their leaves whispering against one another like old friends exchanging secrets.

The sun had only just begun to rise above the skyline of the city, its pale golden rays filtering through the branches and falling across the wide courtyards. It was a soft, hesitant light that didn't quite warm the skin but made everything look like a vintage photograph....nostalgic, blurred at the edges, and beautiful.

Students had already begun filling the campus, their breath visible in the chilly air as they hurried toward their respective departments. But today was not an ordinary day.

Today was the day of the Annual Cultural Festival.

On this particular day, Delhi University transformed into something that felt almost magical. It was as if the mundane world of lectures and exams had been pushed aside to make room for color and soul.

Colorful banners stretched between the buildings, snapping in the wind. Brightly painted stalls had been set up across the lawns, displaying everything from handmade jewelry to stacks of old Urdu poetry books.

Strings of decorative lights hung from trees, ready to illuminate the campus once evening arrived and the stars took their place.

Music floated through the air from distant speakers where rehearsals for performances had already begun. The sharp, rhythmic sound of a tabla clashing with the modern beat of a guitar created a strange, beautiful harmony that echoed through the corridors.

The scent of freshly brewed chai, roasted bhutta, spicy samosas, and buttery pav bhaji mixed together in the cold air, making the entire campus smell warm and inviting.

Groups of students walked excitedly across the pathways. Girls in long embroidered kurtas, elegant palazzos, and delicate chiffon dupattas laughed together while adjusting their bangles and earrings.

Some had carefully applied kohl around their eyes, making their gazes look deep and mysterious, while others wore simple makeup that made them glow in the winter sunlight.

Boys tried to appear confident in neatly pressed shirts, jackets, and expensive sneakers, though most of them kept nervously adjusting their hair whenever a group of girls walked past.

Everywhere there was laughter. Excitement. Energy.

But among all those students moving across the courtyard, there was one girl whose presence seemed to bring a different kind of brightness with her.

Her name was Mariyam Ansari.

Mariyam walked through the campus courtyard with a lightness in her step that made it seem as if she carried sunshine wherever she went. She wasn't trying to stand out, yet she did, effortlessly.

She was dressed in a simple white cotton kurti, delicately embroidered along the neckline with soft blue thread. Her sky-blue churidar fit neatly around her legs, and a light chiffon dupatta rested gracefully over her head and shoulders, pinned just so.

The winter breeze occasionally lifted the edge of her dupatta, revealing glimpses of her long dark braid that fell down her back. Her complexion held a soft natural glow, untouched by heavy layers of makeup.

But it was her eyes that drew attention.

Warm. Deep. Honey-brown.

The kind of eyes that seemed to sparkle even when she was doing nothing more than walking quietly.

And at the moment, those eyes were filled with mischief.

Beside her walked her younger sister, Noorjahan Ansari.

Noorjahan looked strikingly similar to Mariyam, sharing the same expressive eyes and delicate features.

But where Mariyam's face constantly radiated a playful, almost chaotic energy, Noorjahan carried a more composed and thoughtful expression. She was the anchor to Mariyam's sail.

Noorjahan adjusted her black shawl around her shoulders, feeling the bite of the Delhi wind, and sighed dramatically.

"Ya Allah, Mariyam appi," she muttered, her voice laced with the kind of frustration only a younger sister can manage. "Aapka yeh be-fikra-pan (carefreeness) kisi din humein kisi badi musibat mein daal dega."

Mariyam glanced sideways at her, a small smile playing on her lips. "What now, Noor? The day has barely started, and you're already making faces like you've been forced to eat bitter gourd."

Noorjahan stopped walking and placed her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowing. "Aapne mujhse wada kiya tha. Don't play innocent with me."

Mariyam blinked, her long lashes fluttering. "Did I? My memory is a bit foggy in this winter mist."

"Yes!" Noorjahan exclaimed, her voice rising slightly. "Aapne kaha tha ke hum sirf Mushaira (poetry competition) ke liye aayenge. Hum ghazals sunenge, aap apni entry jama karwayengi, aur phir seedha ghar. Magar yahan toh manzar hi kuch aur hai."

Mariyam nodded slowly, looking thoughtful. "Yes... I remember saying something like that. Or maybe it was a dream? Everything is so pretty today, it's hard to tell."

Noorjahan pointed toward the long row of stalls they had already visited...the earring stall, the book stall, the handmade card stall. "Then explain to me why we have been wandering around this campus for the last one hour like tourists! We haven't even reached the literature department yet."

Mariyam burst into laughter. It wasn't a small, polite giggle intended to keep up appearances. It was a full, warm, and honest laugh that seemed to ripple through the air like music. It was a sound that made people stop and look, not because it was loud, but because it was infectious. A few nearby students turned their heads, caught in the gravity of her joy.

"Arre Noor," Mariyam said between giggles, wiping a stray tear from the corner of her eye. "Festival saal mein ek hi baar hota hai. Look at the colors! Look at the people! Life isn't just about reaching the destination; it's about the vibrancy of the path you take."

Noorjahan folded her arms, unimpressed. "And?"

"And tum aise behave kar rahi ho jaise main tumhe zabardasti tumhari rukhsati (bridal send-off) par le ja rahi hoon," Mariyam teased, her eyes dancing with light.

Noorjahan's eyes widened, her cheeks flushing a light pink. "Mariyam! Khuda ka khauf karein! (Have fear of God!) People are listening!"

Mariyam grinned mischievously, leaning in closer. "Sach toh kah rahi hoon. That same look of doom on your face. You should relax. Look at you, all stiff and worried."

"You are impossible," Noorjahan whispered, shaking her head. "Truly impossible."

Mariyam leaned even closer, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "Waise agar nikah ki baat nikal hi aayi hai... toh pehle main tumhari 'zimmadari' se azad houngi. I'll find someone who can actually tolerate your constant sighs of 'haye Allah'."

Noorjahan gasped, her jaw dropping. "Mera?! I am younger! And I am the one trying to be responsible here!"

"Bilkul," Mariyam said, nodding firmly.

"With whom? Tell me, who is this imaginary person you've already picked for me?" Noorjahan asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Mariyam looked around dramatically, scanning the crowd as if searching for a candidate, before lowering her voice to a conspiratorial level. "Us ladke ke saath... jo kal tumhe library mein dekh kar teen baar gir gaya tha. He had so many books in his hand, and the moment he saw you, it was like his gravity failed. Poor boy."

Noorjahan stared at her in horror, her mind flashing back to the clumsy incident in the library. "Mariyam appi! That was an accident! He tripped over a rug!"

Mariyam laughed again, a sound that felt like the first warm day of spring. "Tripped over a rug? Noor, there was no rug. He was just mesmerized. You should have seen his face! It was as if he'd seen a ghost, or a princess. Probably both."

Noorjahan shook her head in total defeat, unable to keep the scowl on her face any longer. "Wallah, Allah hi tumhe hidayat de. I don't know how I ended up with you."

Mariyam looped her arm through Noorjahan's, pulling her close. The bond between them was evident in the way they leaned into each other, a silent language of shared history and deep affection. "Chalo ab. Enough with the library boys. We have important business."

"Where now?" Noorjahan asked, though she already knew she had no choice in the matter.

"Canteen," Mariyam announced, her tone leaving no room for argument.

"No!" Noorjahan groaned. "We just had breakfast at home. Ammi made parathas!"

"Yes, we had breakfast. But we haven't had festival chai," Mariyam pointed out, as if it were the most logical thing in the world.

"No, Mariyam. We are not going to the canteen. It's crowded, it's noisy, and we are already late for the registrations."

"Mujhe chai chahiye," Mariyam insisted, pouting slightly. "My brain doesn't function without the scent of tea leaves. Do you want me to forget my lines during the poetry reading? Is that what you want?"

"Tumhe har dus minute mein chai chahiye hoti hai!" Noorjahan countered.

Mariyam tilted her head thoughtfully, a serene expression on her face. "That is because chai is not just a drink, Noor. It is an emotion. It is the solution to every problem... from broken hearts to cold mornings. Now, come on."

Noorjahan rolled her eyes, but her footsteps followed her sister's lead. "You are unbelievable. Truly, one of a kind."

Mariyam simply smiled, her honey-brown eyes catching the sunlight as they headed toward the brick building of the canteen. "Phir bhi tum mere saath hi ghoom rahi ho. It's called 'Mohabbat', Noor. You can't escape it. You love me too much to leave me alone."

Noorjahan sighed dramatically, though she squeezed Mariyam's arm back. "Because unfortunately... you are my sister. And I have to make sure you don't burn the campus down with your 'energy'."

Mariyam squeezed her arm affectionately. "Exactly. Now, let's go. I can already smell the ginger and cardamom."

The two sisters began walking toward the university canteen, weaving through the groups of laughing students and the drifting scents of the festival.

Mariyam was busy telling Noorjahan about a poem she had started writing the night before, her hands moving animatedly as she spoke.

She was completely unaware that the world was about to shift.

She didn't know that inside that crowded, noisy canteen, a man who lived his life in shades of grey and cold silence was waiting.

She didn't know that a small, unexpected collision...a moment of pure, clumsy fate...would quietly change the direction of her life forever.

The girl with careless laugh was about to meet the man who had forgotten how to.

As the sisters neared the entrance of the canteen, the air grew thicker with the sounds of clattering plates and the hum of a hundred different conversations.

Mariyam was mid-sentence, her hands moving as she described the final stanza of her poem, while Noorjahan navigated the sea of students with a weary, protective gaze.

They had no idea that inside, the very air was about to change.

The university canteen during the festival was not merely a place for food; it was a battleground of energy. It was a sprawling hall where the ceiling was high but the space felt cramped, filled with the echoes of scraping chair legs, the rhythmic thump-thump of a nearby dhol, and the sharp, metallic clanging of large tea kettles. Steam rose in thick plumes from the service counter, carrying the heavy, intoxicating aroma of fried pakoras and over-boiled, sweet milk tea.

In the far corner, near the large glass windows that looked out onto the mist-covered lawn, stood a man who seemed to exist in a different time zone altogether.

Faisal Siddiqui.

He didn't belong in this chaos.

Anyone looking at him could see that.

He stood with a predatory sort of stillness, leaning one elbow against the high marble counter. He was dressed in a charcoal-grey wool coat that whispered money and South Delhi sophistication. Underneath, his white shirt was crisp, its collar sharp enough to cut, and his dark trousers were tailored to a perfection that made the frantic students around him look like sketches compared to his finished portrait.

Faisal was checking his watch...a heavy, silver piece that glinted under the fluorescent lights. His jaw was set, a faint line of irritation etched between his dark, heavy brows.

Ten minutes, he thought, his inner thoughts a cold, rhythmic pulse.

Ten minutes of this sensory assault, and then I'm leaving. Hamza can handle the sponsorship details himself.

Faisal Siddiqui hated crowds.

He hated the way they moved without logic, the way their laughter felt too loud for no reason.

He liked the silence of his office, the smell of expensive leather, and the predictable outcomes of business deals.

This festival was a mess of unpredictability.

"Aapki coffee," the canteen server said, sliding a steaming paper cup toward him.

Faisal nodded, his fingers wrapping around the cup. The heat was grounding. He turned, intending to weave through the crowd and find the exit, his mind already half-way into the meeting he had scheduled for the afternoon.

At that exact moment, Mariyam burst through the canteen doors.

She was still looking back at Noorjahan, her face lit with a triumphant grin. "See? I told you we'd make it before the fresh batch of samosas was gone! Look at the steam, Noor! It's..."

She was moving too fast. She wasn't looking ahead.

Faisal was stepping forward, his stride long and purposeful.

The collision was inevitable.

Mariyam's shoulder slammed into Faisal's chest with a force that sent a jolt through both of them. The cup in Faisal's hand tilted, the lid popped off, and a wave of dark, scalding espresso splashed across the pristine white fabric of his shirt and the lapel of his grey coat.

The world seemed to drop into a vacuum of silence.

Mariyam gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, her honey-brown eyes widening until they were vast pools of shock.

Noorjahan, standing a few feet behind, let out a strangled, "Ya Allah!"

Faisal didn't move.

He stood frozen, looking down at the dark, steaming stain spreading across his chest.

He could feel the heat of the liquid seeping through his undershirt, stinging his skin, but it was the violation of his order...his perfection...that hit him harder.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he lifted his gaze.

Mariyam was staring at him, her breath coming in short, panicked hitches.

For a second, she was just a girl who had made a mistake. But as she looked up into his face...into those cold, midnight-dark eyes that felt like they were judging her entire existence... something shifted in her.

Faisal spoke first. His voice was low, vibrating with a controlled, dangerous edge that made the nearby students stop talking.

"Kya aapko zara barabar bhi ehsaas hai," he began, each word a cold drop of water, "ke aapne abhi kya kiya hai? (Do you have even the slightest realization of what you've done?)"

Mariyam felt the sting of his tone.

Most people would have crumbled, but Mariyam's pride was as stubborn as her laughter. She took a half-step back, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the stain, then back at his face.

"I... I am sorry," she started, her voice a bit shaky but gaining strength. "Galti se hua. The canteen is crowded, and you were walking quite fast yourself."

Faisal's eyebrows shot up.

A flicker of genuine disbelief crossed his face. "Galti? Aap peeche dekh kar bhaag rahi thi. (You were running while looking backward.) You were practically inviting a disaster."

He looked down at his ruined shirt, his jaw tightening. "This was a bespoke shirt. Aur ab, aapki is 'energy' ki wajah se, mujhe poora din is 'daag' (stain) ke saath guzarna padega."

Noorjahan rushed forward, pulling a packet of tissues from her bag. "Please, we are so sorry. Here, let me help..."

"Rehne dein (Leave it)," Faisal said, his hand coming up in a sharp gesture that made Noorjahan freeze.

He didn't look at Noorjahan.

His eyes were locked onto Mariyam's.

Mariyam felt the heat rising in her cheeks...not from embarrassment anymore, but from a budding, fiery irritation. She adjusted her blue dupatta, her chin tilting upward.

"Dekhiye," she said, her voice now clear and ringing through the quieted canteen. "I said I was sorry. I'll pay for the dry cleaning if that's what you're worried about. But you don't need to speak to my sister like she's a servant, Aap yahan coffee ke dukh mein aise khade hain jaise Dilli ke aakhri Nawab hon jinka taj chheen liya gaya ho. (You're standing here mourning a coffee as if you're the last Nawab of Delhi whose crown has been snatched.)"

A collective gasp went around the room.

Faisal's eyes darkened.

Nawab of Delhi?

No one spoke to him this way.

No one.

He was Faisal Siddiqui.

People measured their words before they reached his ears.

"Aapki zabaan bohot chalti hai," he said, stepping an inch closer. The scent of his expensive cologne...sandalwood and citrus...mixed with the smell of the spilled coffee. "Aksar log apni 'bad-tameezi' (ill-manners) ko 'confidence' ka naam de dete hain."

Mariyam didn't flinch.

She could see a tiny drop of coffee on his cheekbone, and for some reason, it made him look more human, less like a statue. "Aur aksar log apne 'takabbur' (arrogance) ko 'sharafat' (nobility) samajh lete hain. It's just a shirt. It's a festival. If you wanted 'tanhayi' (solitude), you should have stayed in your home."

Faisal stared at her.

He looked at the way her braid rested on her shoulder, the way her honey-brown eyes sparkled with defiance, and the way her lips were set in a firm, stubborn line.

Silence stretched between them...not a cold silence, but one thick with a strange, electric tension that neither of them understood.

Suddenly, Faisal felt a ghost of a sensation he hadn't felt in years.

It was a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

He was angry, yes.

He was annoyed, certainly.

But he was also... intrigued.

He let out a short, dry breath that was almost a laugh.

"Mariyam!" Noorjahan hissed, grabbing Mariyam's arm and practically dragging her away. "Chalo yahan se! Khuda ke liye! Before he decides to avenge his shirt!"

Mariyam allowed herself to be pulled away, but she kept her eyes on Faisal until the very last second. She saw him pull a linen handkerchief from his pocket and begin to dab at his chest, his gaze still fixed on her.

As they reached the exit, Mariyam turned back one last time. She saw him standing in the middle of the crowded, messy canteen...the only still point in a turning world.

Faisal watched her go, his fingers tightening around the damp handkerchief.

"Dilli ka Nawab..." he murmured to himself, the words feeling strange on his tongue.

He looked at the doorway where she had disappeared, the blue of her dupatta still burned into his vision.

For the first time in his life, Faisal Siddiqui didn't care about the schedule, the meeting, or the ruined shirt.

He only cared about the girl who wasn't afraid of him.

"Sometimes, the person who destroys your peace is the only one who can truly protect it."

*•.¸♡.....♡¸.•*

A/N:~

Thank you so much for giving my new story a chance!

As an author, the first chapter is always the scariest to share, but I couldn't wait for you to meet the Ansari sisters.

This journey is going to be full of tropes we love...billionaire dynamics, protective heroes, and a lot of emotional angst.

What are your first impressions of Faisal Siddiqui?

Is he the hero Mariyam needs, or the one she should run from?

I'd love to hear your theories in the comments!

If you enjoyed this chapter, don't forget to Vote/Star and add this to your library so you never miss an update!

Thank you for reading!

Your support means the world to me.