01-06-2025, 10:24 PM
(This post was last modified: 01-06-2025, 10:27 PM by Rajeev Gupta. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
The next day, Fatima was using her phone just replying to people who commented on her quotes.
“Amir, beta, can I use your laptop for a bit?” Fatima asked, holding her dead phone in one hand, her voice soft but eager. “My phone’s battery is gone, and I need to check something on Facebook.”
Amir frowned, setting the comic down.
“Mom, no way. I don’t want your friends calling you on my laptop or sending messages. It’s my stuff, okay?” His tone was firm, his eyes narrowing at the thought of his gaming time being interrupted.
Fatima stepped closer, her smile warm but pleading. “Please, Amir, I promise I’ll log out after. No one will call or message. I just need to check my account for a minute. I’ll be quick, beta.”
Amir crossed his arms, shaking his head. “No, Mom. You’ll forget to log out, and then I’ll have to deal with all those notifications. I’m not letting you mess up my laptop.”
Fatima’s eyes lit up with an idea, her smile turning playful. “What if I buy you that new Spider-Man suit you’ve been wanting? The one with the red and blue design? If you let me use the laptop, I’ll get it for you, I promise.”
Amir paused, his eyes widening. He loved Spider-Man, and the suit he’d seen at the market was perfect—shiny, bright, just like the one in his comics. He thought for a moment, tapping his fingers on the bed. “You’re serious? You’ll really buy it?”
“Yes, beta, I swear,” Fatima said, nodding quickly. “Just let me use the laptop for a little while, and I’ll get you the suit next time we go to the market.”
Amir sighed, a grin breaking through. “Fine, Mom. You can use it. But you better log out, and I’m holding you to that Spider-Man suit.”
Fatima laughed, rushing over to him. She planted a quick kiss on his cheek, her face beaming. “Thank you, beta! You’re the best son ever!”
“Enough, Mom!” Amir groaned, wiping his cheek with a shy smile. “Just go use it and be quick.”
Fatima hurried to his desk, her green salwar kameez swaying as she moved, her plump figure bouncing slightly with each step. She sat at the laptop, her fingers already tapping the keys to open Facebook, her excitement bubbling over.
Amir shook his head, picking up his comic again. He didn’t care much about his mom’s Facebook obsession. It was just her way of passing time while Dad was away. He knew her faith was strong—her prayers, her modesty, her loyalty to their family would keep her from doing anything wrong.
FATIMA CHANGED HER PROFILE PICTURE TO THIS
![[Image: pic-34.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/wxmPnnVZ/pic-34.png)
He flipped a page, losing himself in Spider-Man’s adventures, the hum of the laptop fading into the background.
The next day, night had settled over the house, the air cooler but still heavy. Amir was in his room, hunched over his laptop, playing a racing game. The screen glowed with speeding cars, the sound of engines roaring through his headphones. He leaned forward, his fingers flying over the keys, dodging obstacles in the game. The house was quiet, Fatima asleep in her room after another long day of prayers, cooking, and checking her phone until it died again.
Suddenly, a loud ping interrupted his game. A Facebook call popped up on the screen, the name “Vivaan” flashing. Amir frowned, recognizing the name from the call he’d seen on his mom’s phone the day before.
“What the heck?” he muttered, hitting “end call” without a second thought. He went back to his game, steering his car through a sharp turn. But another ping came, and Vivaan’s name appeared again. Amir’s jaw tightened, his focus broken. “Not again,” he grumbled, ending the call with an angry click.
The game was intense, and he didn’t need some random guy messing it up.
When the call came a third time, Amir slammed his hand on the desk. “Are you kidding me?” he said, cutting the call again.
He was about to log out of his mom’s account, furious that she’d forgotten to sign off as promised. But curiosity stopped him. Who was this Vivaan guy, and why was he calling his mom much? Amir clicked on Vivaan’s profile; his game paused on the screen.
Vivaan’s Facebook page loaded, and Amir scrolled through it. The man was a businessman, his profile picture showing him in a sharp black suit, his thick beard neatly trimmed, his dark eyes confident.
Every photo was polished, Vivaan in suits, standing by a shiny black car, or posing in what looked like an office.
![[Image: 64edc8b45a4d2498975d4505c531ed92-high.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/fTM36QsR/64edc8b45a4d2498975d4505c531ed92-high.png)
One post showed him at “Vivaan Enterprises,” his company, with a caption about a new business deal. Another had him leaning against his car, a proud smile on his face.
Amir scrolled further, seeing more car photos, more suits, more posts about his business success. “Why’s this non-Musslim guy calling Mom?” Amir muttered to himself. “Maybe he’s just a friend of my mom who likes her quotes.”
Before he could log out, another call from Vivaan popped up. Amir groaned, ending it instantly. Then a message appeared: “Please pick up the call, I need to hear your voice.” It was meant for Fatima.
Amir’s eyes widened, his curiosity spiking. He clicked the message, opening a new window of their chat history. His heart sank as he saw that his mom and Vivaan had been talking for the past week.
He noticed something else—Vivaan was the only “kafir” his mom allowed to message her. All her other chats were with women from the mosque, sharing recipes or prayer times.
But Vivaan’s name stood out, his messages frequent, his likes on every single one of Fatima’s quotes and her profile picture.
Amir wanted to know more about this guy. He scrolled to the top of their chat, determined to read every message from the start.
Vivaan had liked every quote Fatima posted, every word about faith and love, and even commented on her profile picture, calling it “beautiful” and “graceful.” What did that mean? Amir’s fingers moved fast, scrolling up to the very first message.
Facebook Chat between Fatima Shaikh and Vivaan
Vivaan: Hi, Fatima! Your profile picture is so lovely. You look so peaceful and graceful. I’m Vivaan, nice to meet you!
(No reply for 5 days)
Vivaan: Hello again! I saw your quote about faith today. It’s beautiful, just like your photo. Do you always share such wise words?
(No reply for another day)
Vivaan: I hope I’m not bothering you, Fatima. I just really like your posts. They’re so different from what I usually see on here. I run a business, Vivaan Enterprises. What do you do?
(Finally, a reply from Fatima)
Fatima: Hello, Vivaan. Thank you for your kind words. I’m just a mother and wife, taking care of my home and my son. Your business sounds interesting! What are Vivaan Enterprises?
Vivaan: Thanks for replying! I was starting to think you’d never answer, haha. Vivaan Enterprises is my company—we deal in textiles, exporting fabrics to different cities. It’s a lot of work, but I love it. Your quotes are so calming, Fatima. Are you very religious?
Fatima: Yes, I’m Musslim. I pray five times a day and try to live by my faith. It keeps me strong. Your work sounds busy! Do you travel a lot for it?
Vivaan: I do travel sometimes, but mostly I’m in my office here in Lucknow. Your faith sounds beautiful. I’m Hiindu. Your quotes make me think about life differently. Do you have a big family?
Fatima: Just my husband and my son, Amir. My husband works far away, driving a rickshaw, so it’s mostly me and Amir at home. Your pictures make you look rich, Vivaan! All those fancy suits and that car!
Vivaan: Haha, you think so? I guess I do alright, but I don’t like to show off. The car’s nice, though—gets me around fast! Your life sounds so peaceful, Fatima. I’ve never met a Musslim woman like you before. You’re so dedicated to your family and faith. It’s inspiring.
Fatima: You’re too kind, Vivaan. I’ve never had a Hiindu man talk to me this much! It’s nice, but I’m just a simple woman. I only joined Facebook to connect with my mosque friends.
Vivaan: Well, I’m glad you did. Your posts brighten my day. Tell me more about your son. Is he into sports or college?
Fatima: His name is Amir. He loves playing outside with his friends, kicking a ball around. He’s a good boy, but he’s always busy! What about you? Do you have kids?
Vivaan: No kids, just me and my work. I spend most of my time building the business. Your son sounds like fun. Does he like your quotes too?
Fatima: Haha, Amir thinks my Facebook is silly. He’s too busy with his games. Your business sounds like a big deal. Do you make all those fabrics yourself?
Vivaan: We source them from local weavers, then ship them out. It’s a lot of organizing, but I like it. I bet Amir would like my car, though! Boys love fast cars, right?
Fatima: Oh, he’d love it! He’s always asking for toys or a bicycle. Maybe one day you can tell me more about your work. I have to go now, time to cook dinner.
Vivaan: Faizan, you mentioned about your husband’s name Faizan? Does he drive a rickshaw in the city? I think I might know him.
Fatima: Yes, Faizan drives a rickshaw. Do you know him?
Vivaan: I do know Faizan. We’ve crossed paths in the city. He is a good man.
Context: The Feud Between Faizan and Vivaan
Unbeknownst to Fatima, Vivaan was not just a casual acquaintance of her husband, Faizan. He was Faizan’s biggest enemy, a fact that simmered beneath the surface of their interactions. Two years ago, Faizan, eager to improve his family’s financial situation, had saved up to invest in a small business venture.
He partnered with Vivaan, whose textile company, Vivaan Enterprises, seemed like a golden opportunity. Faizan, trusting Vivaan’s polished demeanor and promises of profit, poured his savings into a deal to supply rickshaws with custom fabric seats, hoping to earn extra income.
Vivaan, however, had other plans. He manipulated the deal, inflating costs and delivering substandard materials to the rickshaw cooperative Faizan worked with.
When the cooperative rejected the faulty goods, Faizan was left with a massive debt, his savings gone, and his reputation damaged among his fellow drivers.
Vivaan walked away with the profits, leaving Faizan to bear the loss. The betrayal crushed Faizan, who had trusted Vivaan as a business partner.
Their family’s financial stability crumbled, forcing Faizan to work longer hours in the city, scbanging by to pay off the debt. He never told Fatima the full story, sparing her the pain of knowing how deeply Vivaan’s actions had hurt them.
But Faizan’s anger toward Vivaan burned hot, a quiet rage he carried every time he drove his rickshaw through the city streets.
Fatima, unaware of this history, saw Vivaan only as a polite man on Facebook, someone who liked her quotes and seemed friendly. She had no idea that the man messaging her was the same one who had ruined her husband’s dreams, plunging their family into financial hardship.
After few chats.....
Vivaan: Of course, Fatima. I’ll be here. Your posts make me smile every day. Talk soon?
Fatima: Maybe later, Vivaan. I’m busy with my family. Take care.
(Messages continue over the week, with Vivaan commenting on every new quote, asking small questions about Fatima’s day, and sharing bits about his business. Fatima replies politely but briefly, keeping the conversation light)
(Recent message, from yesterday)
Fatima: Vivaan, I’ll talk to you later. I have to pray and take care of Amir now.
Vivaan: Alright, Fatima. I’ll wait to hear from you. Your voice would be nice to hear, though. Goodnight.
Amir scrolled down to the latest message, his eyes narrowing. Vivaan’s interest in his mom was clear—he liked every post, every quote, and kept messaging her, even when she didn’t reply right away.
“Amir, beta, can I use your laptop for a bit?” Fatima asked, holding her dead phone in one hand, her voice soft but eager. “My phone’s battery is gone, and I need to check something on Facebook.”
Amir frowned, setting the comic down.
“Mom, no way. I don’t want your friends calling you on my laptop or sending messages. It’s my stuff, okay?” His tone was firm, his eyes narrowing at the thought of his gaming time being interrupted.
Fatima stepped closer, her smile warm but pleading. “Please, Amir, I promise I’ll log out after. No one will call or message. I just need to check my account for a minute. I’ll be quick, beta.”
Amir crossed his arms, shaking his head. “No, Mom. You’ll forget to log out, and then I’ll have to deal with all those notifications. I’m not letting you mess up my laptop.”
Fatima’s eyes lit up with an idea, her smile turning playful. “What if I buy you that new Spider-Man suit you’ve been wanting? The one with the red and blue design? If you let me use the laptop, I’ll get it for you, I promise.”
Amir paused, his eyes widening. He loved Spider-Man, and the suit he’d seen at the market was perfect—shiny, bright, just like the one in his comics. He thought for a moment, tapping his fingers on the bed. “You’re serious? You’ll really buy it?”
“Yes, beta, I swear,” Fatima said, nodding quickly. “Just let me use the laptop for a little while, and I’ll get you the suit next time we go to the market.”
Amir sighed, a grin breaking through. “Fine, Mom. You can use it. But you better log out, and I’m holding you to that Spider-Man suit.”
Fatima laughed, rushing over to him. She planted a quick kiss on his cheek, her face beaming. “Thank you, beta! You’re the best son ever!”
“Enough, Mom!” Amir groaned, wiping his cheek with a shy smile. “Just go use it and be quick.”
Fatima hurried to his desk, her green salwar kameez swaying as she moved, her plump figure bouncing slightly with each step. She sat at the laptop, her fingers already tapping the keys to open Facebook, her excitement bubbling over.
Amir shook his head, picking up his comic again. He didn’t care much about his mom’s Facebook obsession. It was just her way of passing time while Dad was away. He knew her faith was strong—her prayers, her modesty, her loyalty to their family would keep her from doing anything wrong.
FATIMA CHANGED HER PROFILE PICTURE TO THIS
He flipped a page, losing himself in Spider-Man’s adventures, the hum of the laptop fading into the background.
The next day, night had settled over the house, the air cooler but still heavy. Amir was in his room, hunched over his laptop, playing a racing game. The screen glowed with speeding cars, the sound of engines roaring through his headphones. He leaned forward, his fingers flying over the keys, dodging obstacles in the game. The house was quiet, Fatima asleep in her room after another long day of prayers, cooking, and checking her phone until it died again.
Suddenly, a loud ping interrupted his game. A Facebook call popped up on the screen, the name “Vivaan” flashing. Amir frowned, recognizing the name from the call he’d seen on his mom’s phone the day before.
“What the heck?” he muttered, hitting “end call” without a second thought. He went back to his game, steering his car through a sharp turn. But another ping came, and Vivaan’s name appeared again. Amir’s jaw tightened, his focus broken. “Not again,” he grumbled, ending the call with an angry click.
The game was intense, and he didn’t need some random guy messing it up.
When the call came a third time, Amir slammed his hand on the desk. “Are you kidding me?” he said, cutting the call again.
He was about to log out of his mom’s account, furious that she’d forgotten to sign off as promised. But curiosity stopped him. Who was this Vivaan guy, and why was he calling his mom much? Amir clicked on Vivaan’s profile; his game paused on the screen.
Vivaan’s Facebook page loaded, and Amir scrolled through it. The man was a businessman, his profile picture showing him in a sharp black suit, his thick beard neatly trimmed, his dark eyes confident.
Every photo was polished, Vivaan in suits, standing by a shiny black car, or posing in what looked like an office.
One post showed him at “Vivaan Enterprises,” his company, with a caption about a new business deal. Another had him leaning against his car, a proud smile on his face.
Amir scrolled further, seeing more car photos, more suits, more posts about his business success. “Why’s this non-Musslim guy calling Mom?” Amir muttered to himself. “Maybe he’s just a friend of my mom who likes her quotes.”
Before he could log out, another call from Vivaan popped up. Amir groaned, ending it instantly. Then a message appeared: “Please pick up the call, I need to hear your voice.” It was meant for Fatima.
Amir’s eyes widened, his curiosity spiking. He clicked the message, opening a new window of their chat history. His heart sank as he saw that his mom and Vivaan had been talking for the past week.
He noticed something else—Vivaan was the only “kafir” his mom allowed to message her. All her other chats were with women from the mosque, sharing recipes or prayer times.
But Vivaan’s name stood out, his messages frequent, his likes on every single one of Fatima’s quotes and her profile picture.
Amir wanted to know more about this guy. He scrolled to the top of their chat, determined to read every message from the start.
Vivaan had liked every quote Fatima posted, every word about faith and love, and even commented on her profile picture, calling it “beautiful” and “graceful.” What did that mean? Amir’s fingers moved fast, scrolling up to the very first message.
Facebook Chat between Fatima Shaikh and Vivaan
Vivaan: Hi, Fatima! Your profile picture is so lovely. You look so peaceful and graceful. I’m Vivaan, nice to meet you!
(No reply for 5 days)
Vivaan: Hello again! I saw your quote about faith today. It’s beautiful, just like your photo. Do you always share such wise words?
(No reply for another day)
Vivaan: I hope I’m not bothering you, Fatima. I just really like your posts. They’re so different from what I usually see on here. I run a business, Vivaan Enterprises. What do you do?
(Finally, a reply from Fatima)
Fatima: Hello, Vivaan. Thank you for your kind words. I’m just a mother and wife, taking care of my home and my son. Your business sounds interesting! What are Vivaan Enterprises?
Vivaan: Thanks for replying! I was starting to think you’d never answer, haha. Vivaan Enterprises is my company—we deal in textiles, exporting fabrics to different cities. It’s a lot of work, but I love it. Your quotes are so calming, Fatima. Are you very religious?
Fatima: Yes, I’m Musslim. I pray five times a day and try to live by my faith. It keeps me strong. Your work sounds busy! Do you travel a lot for it?
Vivaan: I do travel sometimes, but mostly I’m in my office here in Lucknow. Your faith sounds beautiful. I’m Hiindu. Your quotes make me think about life differently. Do you have a big family?
Fatima: Just my husband and my son, Amir. My husband works far away, driving a rickshaw, so it’s mostly me and Amir at home. Your pictures make you look rich, Vivaan! All those fancy suits and that car!
Vivaan: Haha, you think so? I guess I do alright, but I don’t like to show off. The car’s nice, though—gets me around fast! Your life sounds so peaceful, Fatima. I’ve never met a Musslim woman like you before. You’re so dedicated to your family and faith. It’s inspiring.
Fatima: You’re too kind, Vivaan. I’ve never had a Hiindu man talk to me this much! It’s nice, but I’m just a simple woman. I only joined Facebook to connect with my mosque friends.
Vivaan: Well, I’m glad you did. Your posts brighten my day. Tell me more about your son. Is he into sports or college?
Fatima: His name is Amir. He loves playing outside with his friends, kicking a ball around. He’s a good boy, but he’s always busy! What about you? Do you have kids?
Vivaan: No kids, just me and my work. I spend most of my time building the business. Your son sounds like fun. Does he like your quotes too?
Fatima: Haha, Amir thinks my Facebook is silly. He’s too busy with his games. Your business sounds like a big deal. Do you make all those fabrics yourself?
Vivaan: We source them from local weavers, then ship them out. It’s a lot of organizing, but I like it. I bet Amir would like my car, though! Boys love fast cars, right?
Fatima: Oh, he’d love it! He’s always asking for toys or a bicycle. Maybe one day you can tell me more about your work. I have to go now, time to cook dinner.
Vivaan: Faizan, you mentioned about your husband’s name Faizan? Does he drive a rickshaw in the city? I think I might know him.
Fatima: Yes, Faizan drives a rickshaw. Do you know him?
Vivaan: I do know Faizan. We’ve crossed paths in the city. He is a good man.
Context: The Feud Between Faizan and Vivaan
Unbeknownst to Fatima, Vivaan was not just a casual acquaintance of her husband, Faizan. He was Faizan’s biggest enemy, a fact that simmered beneath the surface of their interactions. Two years ago, Faizan, eager to improve his family’s financial situation, had saved up to invest in a small business venture.
He partnered with Vivaan, whose textile company, Vivaan Enterprises, seemed like a golden opportunity. Faizan, trusting Vivaan’s polished demeanor and promises of profit, poured his savings into a deal to supply rickshaws with custom fabric seats, hoping to earn extra income.
Vivaan, however, had other plans. He manipulated the deal, inflating costs and delivering substandard materials to the rickshaw cooperative Faizan worked with.
When the cooperative rejected the faulty goods, Faizan was left with a massive debt, his savings gone, and his reputation damaged among his fellow drivers.
Vivaan walked away with the profits, leaving Faizan to bear the loss. The betrayal crushed Faizan, who had trusted Vivaan as a business partner.
Their family’s financial stability crumbled, forcing Faizan to work longer hours in the city, scbanging by to pay off the debt. He never told Fatima the full story, sparing her the pain of knowing how deeply Vivaan’s actions had hurt them.
But Faizan’s anger toward Vivaan burned hot, a quiet rage he carried every time he drove his rickshaw through the city streets.
Fatima, unaware of this history, saw Vivaan only as a polite man on Facebook, someone who liked her quotes and seemed friendly. She had no idea that the man messaging her was the same one who had ruined her husband’s dreams, plunging their family into financial hardship.
After few chats.....
Vivaan: Of course, Fatima. I’ll be here. Your posts make me smile every day. Talk soon?
Fatima: Maybe later, Vivaan. I’m busy with my family. Take care.
(Messages continue over the week, with Vivaan commenting on every new quote, asking small questions about Fatima’s day, and sharing bits about his business. Fatima replies politely but briefly, keeping the conversation light)
(Recent message, from yesterday)
Fatima: Vivaan, I’ll talk to you later. I have to pray and take care of Amir now.
Vivaan: Alright, Fatima. I’ll wait to hear from you. Your voice would be nice to hear, though. Goodnight.
Amir scrolled down to the latest message, his eyes narrowing. Vivaan’s interest in his mom was clear—he liked every post, every quote, and kept messaging her, even when she didn’t reply right away.
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