Borders Couldn’t Separate Us

Chapter 10 - Visa Approved

After convincing his mother, life became unexpectedly beautiful.

Not perfect.

But beautiful.

For the first time in many years, Burhan felt as though he was walking toward something instead of simply surviving another day.

Every morning began with Zehra.

Every night ended with Zehra.

Between those two moments lived the rest of life.

Nearly six months passed that way.

So quietly.

So quickly.

Sometimes Burhan genuinely wondered where the days were disappearing.

A normal day would begin with a simple message.

"Good morning."

Then another during lunch.

A photograph during the afternoon.

A voice note before Maghrib.

A random complaint about weather.

A picture of tea.

A joke.

A prayer.

And somehow midnight would arrive before either of them realized how much time had passed.

Inside Lasalas Club, Burhan had become himself again.

The cheerful Burhan.

The one who cooked for everyone.

The one who drove people to appointments.

The one who helped whenever somebody called.

The one who laughed loudly.

The same Burhan who had disappeared during the engagement slowly returned.

One Friday evening Aziz watched him preparing biryani for fourteen people and finally asked,

"Tell us honestly. What happened to you?"

Burhan laughed.

"Nothing."

Nobody believed him.

Because happiness leaves fingerprints.

At work, life was equally good.

Sales continued growing.

Customers trusted him.

Management appreciated him.

Even difficult days felt lighter because somewhere in Karachi, someone wanted to know how his day had gone.

And perhaps that is one of the greatest gifts of love.

Not excitement.

Not romance.

But knowing your ordinary life matters to someone.

Meanwhile, Zehra was completing her final year.

Assignments.

Projects.

Exams.

Family gatherings.

Everything continued normally.

Yet somehow every future plan now included Burhan.

Sometimes she would send photographs of rainy Karachi evenings.

Sometimes pictures of books spread across her study table.

Sometimes nothing more than a cup of tea.

And somehow Burhan would stare at those photographs longer than necessary.

Because they no longer felt like photographs.

They felt like pieces of home.

One night during a late conversation, Burhan asked softly,

"If everything works out... where would you like to live?"

There was a small pause.

Then Zehra replied,

"Wherever you are."

Burhan smiled silently.

Outside his window, Abu Dhabi traffic continued moving.

Inside his heart, everything stopped for a moment.

Then he laughed softly.

"Even Abu Dhabi?"

"Even Abu Dhabi."

"It's very hot here."

"So?"

"You'll complain after one week."

Zehra laughed.

"Then buy a bigger air conditioner."

Burhan laughed too.

"That is your solution?"

"Obviously."

"And what if the air conditioner stops working?"

"Then I'll complain to management."

"You haven't even moved here yet."

"I like being prepared."

For several moments both continued laughing.

Nothing important had been said.

Yet somehow Burhan carried that conversation in his heart for days afterward.

Because for the first time, they were not discussing distance.

Or borders.

Or visas.

They were discussing ordinary life.

And ordinary life was exactly what he wanted with her.

Simple words.

But some words stay forever.

Still...

behind all the happiness waited a reality neither could avoid.

The border.

One evening Burhan sat alone inside his car after work.

The city lights reflected across the windshield.

For several minutes he remained still.

Then a thought entered his mind.

They had spoken about marriage.

They had spoken to families.

They had spoken about the future.

Yet he had never actually stepped inside Pakistan.

For the first time, dreaming no longer felt enough.

Reality wanted answers.

That night he opened his laptop.

Then another website.

Then another.

Then another.

Visa requirements.

Marriage procedures.

Cross-border applications.

Invitation letters.

Success stories.

Failure stories.

The more he researched, the more confused he became.

Every source said something different.

Some people called it simple.

Others called it impossible.

Soon research became routine.

Most nights everyone at Lasalas Club slept long before Burhan.

At two o'clock in the morning, he sat scrolling through immigration forums.

Reading stories of Indo-Pak couples.

Reading approval stories.

Reading rejection stories.

Sometimes he felt hopeful.

Sometimes discouraged.

Sometimes both within the same hour.

On certain nights he even opened flight websites.

Calculating routes.

Checking ticket prices.

Imagining Karachi airport.

Imagining the moment he would finally see Zehra standing in front of him.

Would she look exactly like her photographs?

Would her smile be the same?

Would his heart recognize her immediately?

The questions followed him everywhere.

One evening Zehra noticed his mood immediately.

"What happened?"

Burhan hesitated.

Then answered honestly.

"I am trying to find answers."

"What answers?"

"Our future."

The reply made Zehra quiet.

Because she understood exactly what he meant.

A few days later Burhan learned he would need an invitation from Pakistan.

When he mentioned it, Zehra immediately spoke to her father.

Burhani Ismail listened carefully.

Then smiled.

"Don't worry."

"I will arrange it."

The words brought unexpected comfort.

Not because the problem disappeared.

But because Burhan no longer felt alone.

Two families were now walking toward the same destination.

Weeks passed.

Research continued.

Unfortunately, most information remained discouraging.

One night after reading another negative discussion online, Burhan finally called Zehra.

His voice sounded unusually serious.

"I've decided something."

"What?"

"I am going to apply directly."

Silence.

Then she asked softly,

"And if it gets approved?"

Burhan answered immediately.

"Then I move forward and I won't look back."

"And if it doesn't?"

For several moments he could not answer.

Because speaking those words felt painful.

Finally he whispered,

"Then we stop here."

The sentence hurt both of them.

As though he had forced himself to say something his heart completely rejected.

On the other side of the call, Zehra remained silent for a few seconds.

Then softly replied,

"Don't worry, Burhan."

Her voice carried a calmness stronger than his fear.

"Allah will do what is best for us."

Burhan listened quietly.

"I pray every day."

She smiled.

"And one day those prayers will be answered."

For the first time that evening, Burhan smiled too.

Because sometimes faith borrowed from someone else is enough to keep moving.

A few weeks later, carrying a thick file of documents, invitation letters, passport copies, photographs, and forms, Burhan finally walked into the visa office.

His heart was beating harder than he expected.

The waiting area felt colder than usual.

People sat quietly holding folders and passports.

When his turn arrived, he stepped forward respectfully and handed over his documents.

The officer looked through the file carefully.

Then suddenly looked up.

"Ladki ka chakkar hai?"

Burhan blinked.

The officer leaned back in his chair.

"Batao abhi."

A small smile appeared on his face.

"Any girl affair?"

For a second Burhan did not know whether to laugh or panic.

But he remained calm.

"No sir."

The officer raised an eyebrow.

"No?"

Burhan smiled politely.

"I want to visit my uncle."

The officer continued staring.

"From India it was difficult."

Burhan continued respectfully.

"Since I am working in UAE, I thought I should visit him."

The officer looked unconvinced.

Completely unconvinced.

For a few seconds neither spoke.

Then finally the officer closed the file.

"Hmm."

He stamped several pages.

Accepted the application.

Then handed Burhan a receipt.

"You will receive a call if approved."

That was all.

The conversation lasted only a few minutes.

Yet when Burhan walked back outside, it felt as though he had submitted much more than documents.

He had submitted hope itself.

Now all that remained was waiting.

And waiting turned out to be harder than paperwork.

Far harder.

For three months Burhan checked updates almost every day.

Every unknown number made his heart race.

Every notification felt important.

Every morning began with hope.

Every evening ended with uncertainty.

Sometimes he appeared confident in front of everyone.

But late at night, staring at the ceiling above his bed, fear returned.

What if one stamp decided everything?

What if one rejection ended years of prayers?

What if politics proved stronger than love?

Meanwhile, in Karachi, Zehra continued praying quietly after Maghrib.

Not dramatic prayers.

Simple prayers.

The kind spoken softly through tears.

The kind only Allah hears.

Days became weeks.

Weeks became months.

Still nothing.

Then one ordinary morning at work, while reviewing reports and replying to customer emails, Burhan's phone rang.

An unfamiliar number.

At first, he almost ignored it.

Probably another sales inquiry.

Another supplier.

Another customer.

But something made him answer.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other side spoke calmly.

For several seconds, Burhan listened without saying a word.

Then he froze.

Completely froze.

The office around him continued normally.

Phones rang.

Printers worked.

Someone laughed from another department.

A customer walked past carrying documents.

But everything suddenly sounded distant.

His visa had been approved.

Approved.

After months of uncertainty.

After months of research.

After months of praying, hoping, doubting, and waiting.

Approved.

The call ended.

Yet Burhan remained seated exactly where he was.

Unable to move.

Unable to think properly.

Slowly he lowered his eyes toward the phone in his hand.

And suddenly every late night returned to him.

The visa forums.

The rejection stories.

The endless government websites.

The flight routes.

The calculations.

The fears he never admitted fully to anyone.

The possibility of losing Zehra before even meeting her.

The possibility that one border could decide everything.

And now...

all of it had led to this moment.

His hands trembled slightly.

Without thinking further, he opened w******p.

Zehra.

For several seconds he simply stared at her name.

Smiling.

Almost disbelieving.

Then he typed:

"Zehra..."

He stopped.

Deleted it.

Typed again.

"It's approved."

And pressed send.

The message delivered instantly.

Then came the longest few seconds of his life.

Seen.

Nothing.

Burhan stared at the screen.

Then:

Typing...

Stopped.

Typing...

Stopped again.

He laughed nervously.

Even now she was making him wait.

Then finally her message appeared.

"Alhamdulillah."

Burhan closed his eyes briefly.

A second message arrived.

"I told you."

Then another.

"Allah listens."

For a moment he could not reply.

Because suddenly the approval no longer felt like a visa.

It felt like permission.

Permission to continue.

Permission to hope.

Permission to finally meet the girl who had slowly become the most important part of his ordinary days.

Somewhere in Karachi, Zehra sat staring at her screen with tears gathering quietly inside her eyes.

For months she had prayed after Maghrib.

Sometimes confidently.

Sometimes fearfully.

Sometimes asking Allah for patience.

Sometimes asking only for one opportunity.

And now the answer had arrived.

Not dramatically.

Not loudly.

Just as a simple message.

"It's approved."

She smiled through tears.

Then whispered softly,

"Alhamdulillah."

Only then did Burhan hear his manager's voice.

"Everything okay?"

Burhan looked up.

For several seconds he could not speak.

Then slowly a smile spread across his face.

The kind of smile that appears only a few times in life.

His eyes shone.

And quietly he said,

"Sir..."

He paused.

"I think my life just changed."

That night, Burhan barely slept.

Not because of anxiety.

Because of excitement.

For months, Karachi had existed only inside photographs, voice notes, video calls, and dreams.

Now it existed inside a visa stamped with his name.

For months, Zehra had existed only on screens.

Inside messages.

Inside calls.

Inside imagination.

Now she existed at the end of a journey he could finally take.

The distance between Abu Dhabi and Karachi had not changed.

The borders had not moved.

The governments had not changed their policies.

Yet everything felt different.

Because for the first time, Burhan was no longer imagining the journey.

He was about to begin it.

And somewhere in Karachi, beneath the same night sky, Zehra lay awake too.

Smiling.

Thinking about airports.

Thinking about arrivals.

Thinking about a face she had never seen in real life.

Two cities.

Two countries.

Thousands of kilometres apart.

Yet for the first time, neither of them felt far away.

“Destiny, which had moved so slowly for years, finally seemed to be walking toward them.“