Destined To Be Together

Zoya's POV "Zoya!!!" My mom's voice echoed from downstairs, her tone sharp enough to pierce through my dreams. I groaned and pulled the blanket over my head. Mornings and I were never on good terms. It takes all the willpower I have just to wake up for Fajr salah. "Zoya beta, get up fast! We have to go see a girl today for your bhai, remember?" she yelled again. That line jolted me out of bed. Of course I remembered. How could I forget? Today we were going to meet the girl who might just become my bhabi. Okay, not officially yet, but who knows — she might be by the end of the day. I rushed to the washroom and began my routine, splashing cold water on my face to force myself awake. After a refreshing hot shower, I changed into a simple yet elegant floor-length dress in a soft purple shade. The bodice and sleeves were a light blush pink, giving it just the right balance of simplicity and grace. I applied some eyeliner, kajal, and a hint of lip gloss. Then, I carefully wrapped my matching purple hijab and pinned it neatly. One last look in the mirror — not bad, Zoya. "Zoya! Are you ready?" Mom called again. "Just coming, Mom!" I replied and quickly made my way downstairs. The whole family was already gathered and ready to leave. "Assalamualaikum," I greeted. "Waalaikumussalam," they responded in unison. "MashaAllah, my daughter is looking beautiful today," Dad said warmly, his eyes twinkling with pride. "Thank you, Dad," I smiled back. "Zoya, just a reminder — we’re going to see your future bhabi, not my future jiju," Imran bhai teased, raising his eyebrows mischievously. "Bhai!" I groaned, glaring at him as everyone burst into laughter. "Okay, okay, enough teasing. Let’s get going," Dad said, checking his watch. We all nodded and headed out. As we stepped into the car, I looked at Fahad bhai, who seemed unusually quiet. "Are you nervous, Fahad bhai?" I asked, nudging him gently. "No... I mean, why would I be nervous? Come on, let's go," he said quickly, avoiding my eyes. His tone gave him away. I grinned to myself and followed him into the car. Being the only sister, I was pampered endlessly. My brothers treated me like royalty — overprotective, loving, and always there. As the car rolled toward our destination, I leaned forward. "Mom, please don’t reject her like the others. You’ve already turned down so many proposals." Fahad bhai poked my arm and gave me a 'zip-it' look. "Zoya, beta, accepting or rejecting a girl depends on her character and compatibility," Mom replied calmly. "Fine, fine. But maybe it’s time we look for someone for Imran bhai too?" I said with a teasing smirk. "Ha ha, very funny. I’m not getting married before you, so stop right there," Imran bhai shot back. "Mom! See how he bullies me!" I playfully whined. "Bas karo, both of you," Mom said, half-amused, half-annoyed. "You’re not kids anymore. Behave." I giggled and glanced at Fahad bhai. He remained silent, staring out the window. I knew he liked this girl — Sheefa. She was my senior in university — kind, soft-spoken, and graceful. I had a good feeling about her. Gently, I placed a reassuring hand on Fahad bhai's shoulder. He turned and gave me a nervous but genuine smile. Soon, we arrived. Her house was slightly smaller than ours but beautifully maintained — cozy, warm, and inviting. Her parents greeted us kindly and welcomed us into the living room. Not long after, Sheefa entered with a tray of tea and snacks. She looked stunning in her modest outfit, her hijab neatly draped over her head. She carried herself with grace, but I could sense the nervous energy in her hands. Fahad bhai, the so-called confident one, was staring at her like she was the last drop of water in a desert. I elbowed him discreetly, and he snapped out of it, pretending to sip his tea like nothing happened. She served each of us with politeness and a soft smile. Her eyes briefly met mine — I smiled, and she returned it with a timid one. "Beta, come sit here," Mom said gently, patting the space beside her. Sheefa obeyed, folding her hands in her lap. Mom began asking her questions — about her studies, interests, and dreams. Her answers were honest and thoughtful. You could tell she wasn’t trying to impress — she was just being herself. Mom’s face softened the more they spoke. We could all feel it — she liked her. She glanced at Fahad bhai, who gave her a subtle smile. Mom smiled back, and he visibly relaxed. It was like an unspoken yes had just passed between them. "We really liked her," Mom said, looking at Sheefa’s parents. "So from our side, it’s a yes." Their faces lit up with happiness. "I’d like to say something," Sheefa spoke softly, her voice almost hesitant. "Go ahead, beta," Mom encouraged. "I... I want to complete my studies before marriage," she said, looking down, unsure of what our reaction would be. For a moment, silence filled the room. Then Mom cleared her throat. "Of course, beta. Education is important. But... we can have an engagement ceremony for now, can’t we?" Sheefa looked up, surprise in her eyes, then smiled shyly. "Yes. That would be nice." "I’ll take that smile as a yes," Mom said, chuckling. I clapped my hands. "So we can officially call her bhabi now, right? Imran bhai!" I said, high-fiving him. Fahad bhai and Sheefa both blushed while we all shared a light moment of laughter. After finalizing the engagement date — next Sunday — we said our goodbyes and made our way to the car. I sat beside Imran bhai in the back while Mom and Dad sat in the middle with Fahad bhai. Everyone looked content. I noticed Fahad bhai smiling to himself, lost in thought. I didn’t disturb him. Feeling a little tired, I rested my head on Imran bhai’s shoulder. He didn’t mind — they always call me their princess, and I love every bit of that title. Some time passed before I heard Imran bhai softly tapping my cheek. "Wake up, Princess," he said gently. I lifted my head and looked out the window. We weren’t home. "Where are we?" I asked. "Dad decided we’ll have lunch here," he said, helping me out of the car. It was a large, elegant restaurant. The manager welcomed us and guided us to our table. We placed our orders and settled in. Just then, my phone started ringing — Muskan. "Assalamualaikum, Muskan," I said, picking it up, but heard nothing. No network. "Mom, there’s no signal. I’ll just step out for a bit," I said. "Don’t go far," both my brothers said in unison. I smiled and nodded. I walked a bit until the signal returned. Muskan called again. "Waalaikumussalam, Zoya. Any good news?" she asked eagerly. "Guess what — Mom finally said yes! Her name’s Sheefa." "Ohhh, I know her! She’s your senior, right? A really sweet girl." Before I could respond, I heard loud noises from nearby — shouting, clashing sounds. "Zoya, what’s going on?" Muskan asked, alarmed. "I’ll call you later. Allah Hafiz." I ended the call and cautiously walked toward the noise. Four boys were fighting — two against two. One of them fell to the ground. It was chaotic. Suddenly, I felt a firm hand on my shoulder. I turned around quickly — it was Imran bhai. "Princess, come. It’s not safe here," he said gently, leading me back. At our table, Dad looked worried. "Beta, are you alright?" "Yes, Dad. I’m fine. But... where’s Fahad bhai?" "He went to look for you when we heard the shouting," Mom explained. Imran bhai called him, and soon he returned, concern etched on his face. "Are you okay?" he asked, scanning my face. "Yes, I’m fine," I assured him with a soft smile. The food arrived, and we ate with light chatter. Imran bhai and I couldn’t resist teasing Fahad bhai, and he took it with a grin. After lunch, we drove home, the day settling into my memory like a warm breeze. It had been a good day — busy, exciting, and slightly eventful. I leaned back in the car seat, my eyes fluttering shut again. I couldn’t wait for Sheefa to become a part of our family. Finally, I would have a bhabi — and maybe, just maybe, a new best friend.