11-10-2024, 07:40 AM
Ayaan leaned back in his seat as the plane ascended into the clouds, the gentle hum of the engines lulling him into a sense of calm. His mind wandered to what awaited him in Dubai—his father’s new life, Zainab, and his baby half-brother, Farhan. Though leaving Sara and Fatima behind had weighed heavily on him, a small part of Ayaan was excited. For the first time in years, he would live with his father. The hope of having a real family again flickered in his chest.
He glanced out the window, the vast expanse of the sky stretching endlessly before him. Rashid, who had barely acknowledged him over the last decade, had finally taken him under his wing, even if it was for this trip. He had spoken to Ayaan over the phone a few times in the past years, but the conversations were always brief and transactional, as if Rashid was ticking off a duty. But this trip? This felt different.
When they landed in Dubai, Ayaan’s heart pounded with anticipation. Rashid’s house was enormous—far more luxurious than the one back home. As they entered the opulent villa, Ayaan's eyes darted from the marble floors to the sweeping staircase, and the glistening chandeliers. It was everything he had imagined and more
Ayaan’s gaze wandered over the grandeur of his father’s Dubai villa. Everything seemed to shine, from the polished marble floors to the sweeping staircase lined with ornate gold rails. He felt small in the midst of such extravagance, but a glimmer of hope flickered inside him. **This is it**, he thought, **a chance to finally be close to my father.**
As they stepped further into the house, **Zainab** appeared, her face framed with a warm, welcoming smile. For a moment, Ayaan genuinely liked her. She looked at him with kindness—her dark hair falling in waves over her shoulder, a stylish dress hugging her figure, making her seem like the epitome of the perfect wife. He felt the sudden urge to believe that maybe, just maybe, Zainab could be the mother figure he had missed.
“Welcome home, Ayaan,” Zainab said, her voice soft and pleasant. “I’ve prepared a room for you upstairs. I hope you’ll be comfortable here.”
Ayaan gave her a shy smile. “Thank you, Zainab… I mean, Auntie.” He hesitated, not sure what to call her. She was, after all, his father's wife.
Before he could say anything else, Zainab led him up the grand staircase and down the hall, where a soft cry echoed from a nearby room. Ayaan’s heart quickened as he peeked inside. **Farhan**, his half-brother, lay in a crib, no more than two years old, with soft wisps of dark hair framing his chubby face. Ayaan felt something unexpected—an overwhelming sense of protectiveness over the small, fragile boy.
Zainab stepped forward, cooing softly at the baby, and Ayaan moved closer, his eyes full of curiosity and tenderness. He bent down over the crib, watching as Farhan’s tiny fists waved in the air. A small smile crept onto Ayaan's face, and he reached out to gently touch Farhan’s hand.
In that moment, a warmth spread through Ayaan's chest. Despite everything, he felt a strong urge to protect his baby brother. **Maybe**, he thought, **this could really be a family. Maybe I can start over.**
But it wasn’t long before the cracks started to show.
---
In the days that followed, Ayaan started to feel the coldness that lay behind Zainab's sweet smile. At first, it was in small, subtle ways. He noticed that the household staff answered to her with an almost fearful respect, and whenever he asked for something—whether it was a small favor or just help finding something—there was a hesitation. A tightness in the air. But whenever Rashid was around, Zainab was all sweetness and light, doting on Ayaan as if he were her own son.
Ayaan tried to brush it off. **Maybe it’s just nerves,** he told himself. **I’m new here.**
But soon, he couldn’t ignore it.
One evening, after dinner, Ayaan overheard Zainab talking to one of the maids in the kitchen. She spoke quietly, her tone icy. “Make sure that Ayaan stays in his room. I don’t want him roaming the house at night.” There was a sharpness in her voice that sent a chill down Ayaan's spine.
He swallowed hard, retreating to his room, feeling the weight of Zainab’s words pressing down on him. From that moment, the small things started piling up. She would often scold him for minor accidents—spilled water at the table, leaving the door open a crack—but always made sure to do it when Rashid wasn’t around. And if Rashid was nearby, she turned into the perfect stepmother, showering him with affection that felt more like performance than genuine care.
It wasn’t just her words; it was her actions. She seemed to subtly isolate him, controlling who he interacted with in the house, limiting his time with Farhan, and always reminding him that this was **her** family, and that he was an outsider.
Ayaan felt increasingly out of place. He wanted to bond with his father, to be close to Rashid again, but Zainab always seemed to find a way to keep him at a distance.
---
One afternoon, Ayaan overheard another conversation that cemented his unease. Rashid was sitting in the lounge, speaking quietly with Zainab. “We need to finalize the contracts for the new building project,” Rashid said, scrolling through some paperwork. “I’ve already contacted the contractors.”
Zainab leaned forward, her tone low but firm. “Why don’t we consider **Imran** for this one?” she suggested, referring to her cousin, a local goon with a shady reputation. “He has experience, and he’s family. Wouldn’t it be better to keep things in the family?”
Rashid hesitated. “Imran’s been in trouble before... I’m not sure it’s the right move.”
Zainab’s voice softened, dripping with false sweetness. “But isn’t it worth the risk? After all, family loyalty should come first, don’t you think?”
Ayaan felt a wave of disgust rise in his throat. He could see how easily Zainab manipulated his father, how she twisted every situation to suit her needs. And Rashid—oblivious and careless—never seemed to see through it.
For the first time in his life, Ayaan understood just how deeply he didn’t belong. This wasn’t his family, not really. And the more time he spent in Dubai, the clearer it became.
He glanced out the window, the vast expanse of the sky stretching endlessly before him. Rashid, who had barely acknowledged him over the last decade, had finally taken him under his wing, even if it was for this trip. He had spoken to Ayaan over the phone a few times in the past years, but the conversations were always brief and transactional, as if Rashid was ticking off a duty. But this trip? This felt different.
When they landed in Dubai, Ayaan’s heart pounded with anticipation. Rashid’s house was enormous—far more luxurious than the one back home. As they entered the opulent villa, Ayaan's eyes darted from the marble floors to the sweeping staircase, and the glistening chandeliers. It was everything he had imagined and more
Ayaan’s gaze wandered over the grandeur of his father’s Dubai villa. Everything seemed to shine, from the polished marble floors to the sweeping staircase lined with ornate gold rails. He felt small in the midst of such extravagance, but a glimmer of hope flickered inside him. **This is it**, he thought, **a chance to finally be close to my father.**
As they stepped further into the house, **Zainab** appeared, her face framed with a warm, welcoming smile. For a moment, Ayaan genuinely liked her. She looked at him with kindness—her dark hair falling in waves over her shoulder, a stylish dress hugging her figure, making her seem like the epitome of the perfect wife. He felt the sudden urge to believe that maybe, just maybe, Zainab could be the mother figure he had missed.
“Welcome home, Ayaan,” Zainab said, her voice soft and pleasant. “I’ve prepared a room for you upstairs. I hope you’ll be comfortable here.”
Ayaan gave her a shy smile. “Thank you, Zainab… I mean, Auntie.” He hesitated, not sure what to call her. She was, after all, his father's wife.
Before he could say anything else, Zainab led him up the grand staircase and down the hall, where a soft cry echoed from a nearby room. Ayaan’s heart quickened as he peeked inside. **Farhan**, his half-brother, lay in a crib, no more than two years old, with soft wisps of dark hair framing his chubby face. Ayaan felt something unexpected—an overwhelming sense of protectiveness over the small, fragile boy.
Zainab stepped forward, cooing softly at the baby, and Ayaan moved closer, his eyes full of curiosity and tenderness. He bent down over the crib, watching as Farhan’s tiny fists waved in the air. A small smile crept onto Ayaan's face, and he reached out to gently touch Farhan’s hand.
In that moment, a warmth spread through Ayaan's chest. Despite everything, he felt a strong urge to protect his baby brother. **Maybe**, he thought, **this could really be a family. Maybe I can start over.**
But it wasn’t long before the cracks started to show.
---
In the days that followed, Ayaan started to feel the coldness that lay behind Zainab's sweet smile. At first, it was in small, subtle ways. He noticed that the household staff answered to her with an almost fearful respect, and whenever he asked for something—whether it was a small favor or just help finding something—there was a hesitation. A tightness in the air. But whenever Rashid was around, Zainab was all sweetness and light, doting on Ayaan as if he were her own son.
Ayaan tried to brush it off. **Maybe it’s just nerves,** he told himself. **I’m new here.**
But soon, he couldn’t ignore it.
One evening, after dinner, Ayaan overheard Zainab talking to one of the maids in the kitchen. She spoke quietly, her tone icy. “Make sure that Ayaan stays in his room. I don’t want him roaming the house at night.” There was a sharpness in her voice that sent a chill down Ayaan's spine.
He swallowed hard, retreating to his room, feeling the weight of Zainab’s words pressing down on him. From that moment, the small things started piling up. She would often scold him for minor accidents—spilled water at the table, leaving the door open a crack—but always made sure to do it when Rashid wasn’t around. And if Rashid was nearby, she turned into the perfect stepmother, showering him with affection that felt more like performance than genuine care.
It wasn’t just her words; it was her actions. She seemed to subtly isolate him, controlling who he interacted with in the house, limiting his time with Farhan, and always reminding him that this was **her** family, and that he was an outsider.
Ayaan felt increasingly out of place. He wanted to bond with his father, to be close to Rashid again, but Zainab always seemed to find a way to keep him at a distance.
---
One afternoon, Ayaan overheard another conversation that cemented his unease. Rashid was sitting in the lounge, speaking quietly with Zainab. “We need to finalize the contracts for the new building project,” Rashid said, scrolling through some paperwork. “I’ve already contacted the contractors.”
Zainab leaned forward, her tone low but firm. “Why don’t we consider **Imran** for this one?” she suggested, referring to her cousin, a local goon with a shady reputation. “He has experience, and he’s family. Wouldn’t it be better to keep things in the family?”
Rashid hesitated. “Imran’s been in trouble before... I’m not sure it’s the right move.”
Zainab’s voice softened, dripping with false sweetness. “But isn’t it worth the risk? After all, family loyalty should come first, don’t you think?”
Ayaan felt a wave of disgust rise in his throat. He could see how easily Zainab manipulated his father, how she twisted every situation to suit her needs. And Rashid—oblivious and careless—never seemed to see through it.
For the first time in his life, Ayaan understood just how deeply he didn’t belong. This wasn’t his family, not really. And the more time he spent in Dubai, the clearer it became.
Feel free to critic
On going
a loving daughter spandana
completed
art by muskan&slaman
aisha - yes lady
On going
a loving daughter spandana
completed
art by muskan&slaman
aisha - yes lady
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