29-06-2025, 12:39 PM
CHAPTER – 58
The wedding had left a vibrant afterglow, its music and laughter still echoing in their minds as Feroz, Danish, and Kavya stepped out of the car and into the quiet of their home. The night air was cool, a stark contrast to the warm, bustling energy of the venue. Kavya’s emerald-green sleeveless kurta shimmered faintly under the streetlights, her dupatta now slightly askew from the evening’s festivities. Danish, his tie loosened and jacket slung over one shoulder, was still buzzing with energy, recounting a hilarious moment from the dance floor to Kavya, who laughed softly, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Feroz, at sixty, carried himself with a quiet dignity in his cream sherwani, though his silver-flecked hair was slightly tousled from the night’s revelry. His mind, however, was elsewhere, replaying the evening—not just the wedding’s joy, but the fleeting, charged moment when his eyes had met Kavya’s.
Inside, the house was a haven of warmth, the soft glow of lamps casting long shadows across the living room. The trio shed their shoes at the entrance, the clink of Kavya’s bangles mingling with the faint hum of the air conditioner. Danish flopped onto the couch, stretching out with a contented sigh. “That was one hell of a party,” he said, grinning at Kavya. “Did you see Uncle Raza trying to do that bhangra move? Nearly took out the dessert table!”
Kavya chuckled, settling into an armchair, tucking her legs beneath her. “He was having the time of his life,” she said, her voice warm with affection for the chaotic joy of the night. She glanced at Feroz, who had moved to the sideboard to pour himself a glass of water, his movements deliberate, almost contemplative. The memory of their earlier moment—her adjusting her hair, the glimpse of her underarm, their locked gazes—lingered in her mind, stirring a quiet flutter in her chest. She pushed it aside, focusing on Danish’s animated chatter.
Feroz turned, glass in hand, and leaned against the sideboard, his gaze settling on the two of them. The room felt intimate, the three of them cocooned in the afterglow of the evening. He took a sip of water, then set the glass down, his expression shifting to one of quiet resolve. “You two,” he began, his voice steady but carrying a weight that drew their attention. Danish sat up slightly, his grin fading into curiosity, while Kavya’s fingers paused on her dupatta, her eyes meeting Feroz’s with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty.
“I’ve been thinking,” Feroz continued, his tone warm but firm, “about you both, about your future.” He paused, letting the words settle, his eyes moving between Danish and Kavya. “Tonight, seeing you together, seeing how well you fit into this family, this community—it made it clear. You shouldn’t wait. I’m going to speak with Maulana Qasim tomorrow to start arranging your marriage. You should marry as soon as possible.”
The words landed like a gentle thunderclap, filling the room with a sudden, profound stillness. Danish blinked, caught off guard, his mouth opening as if to protest, but no words came. Kavya’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening on the armrest. The idea of marriage wasn’t new—she and Danish had talked about it, dreamed about it—but Feroz’s declaration, delivered with such conviction, felt like a tide pulling them forward.
Feroz carried an authority that was both paternal and persuasive, his charming presence amplified by the sincerity in his eyes. Kavya felt a rush of emotions: excitement at the thought of solidifying her bond with Danish, a touch of nervousness at the speed of it all, and, inexplicably, a flicker of awareness of Feroz himself—his steady gaze, the way he seemed to see her so clearly.
Danish recovered first, running a hand through his hair. “Abbu, that’s… wow, that’s sudden,” he said, a nervous laugh escaping him. “I mean, we’ve talked about it, but so soon?” He glanced at Kavya, searching her face for her reaction. “What do you think, Kavya?”
Kavya’s lips parted, but she hesitated, her mind racing. Feroz’s words had stirred something deep within her—a sense of inevitability, but also a quiet question about what this haste meant. She glanced at Feroz, his expression a mix of encouragement and quiet determination, and she felt the weight of his belief in their future. “I… I think it’s a beautiful idea,” she said finally, her voice soft but steady. “But it’s a lot to take in. We’d need to plan, to talk it through.” Her eyes flicked to Danish, seeking his reassurance, but she couldn’t help noticing Feroz’s faint smile, as if he’d expected her measured response.
Feroz nodded, stepping closer to the couch, his presence commanding yet gentle. “Of course, you’ll plan,” he said, his voice softening. “But life moves fast, and when you know something is right, you don’t wait. I’ve seen enough to know you two are meant for this. Maulana Qasim will help set a good date, and we’ll make it happen—simple, meaningful, surrounded by family.” He looked at Kavya, his eyes holding hers for a moment longer than necessary, and she felt that same flutter from earlier, a warmth that was both comforting and disorienting given his age and stature.
Danish leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his expression a mix of excitement and apprehension. “Okay, Abbu, let’s say we do this. What’s the rush? Why now?” His tone was curious, not defiant, and he reached for Kavya’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
Feroz’s smile deepened, lines crinkling around his eyes. “Because tonight reminded me how precious time is,” he said, his voice carrying a quiet intensity. “Seeing you both, surrounded by love, laughter, family—it’s what life’s about. I want to see you start that journey together, not later, but now.” His gaze shifted to Kavya, and for a fleeting moment, she felt the weight of his attention, as if his words were meant for her as much as for Danish. She wondered, briefly, if the intensity of the evening—their shared glance, the unspoken connection—had influenced his urgency.
Kavya squeezed Danish’s hand back, grounding herself. “Let’s talk to Maulana Qasim,” she said, her voice gaining confidence. “We’ll figure out what feels right.” She looked at Feroz, her smile warm but tinged with curiosity, as if trying to decipher the layers behind his words. Feroz nodded, satisfied, and picked up his glass again, taking a slow sip.
“Good,” he said, his tone lighter now. “I’ll call him first thing tomorrow. For now, get some rest—you’ve got a big future to prepare for.” He flashed a playful grin, easing the room’s tension, and Danish laughed, pulling Kavya closer.
As Feroz excused himself to his room, Kavya watched him go, his broad shoulders retreating down the hallway. The night had been a whirlwind—of joy, connection, and unexpected moments—and now, with the prospect of marriage looming, she felt both anchored by Danish’s presence and stirred by the quiet intensity of Feroz’s resolve. The house settled into silence, but the air felt alive with possibility, the future unfolding faster than she’d ever imagined.
The morning after the wedding dawned bright, the golden sunlight filtering through the curtains of Feroz Khan’s home, casting a warm glow across the living room where the trio had shared their late-night conversation. The air still carried the faint echo of the previous evening’s festivities—laughter, music, and that unspoken moment between Feroz and Kavya that lingered in the quiet corners of her mind. Kavya, now dressed in a simple peach kurta, sipped her morning chai at the dining table, her thoughts drifting between excitement and nervous anticipation about Feroz’s declaration. Danish, still half-asleep in his pajamas, scrolled through his phone, occasionally chuckling at wedding photos posted online. Feroz, ever the early riser, was already dressed in a crisp kurta, his silver-flecked hair neatly combed, his demeanor purposeful as he prepared to follow through on his promise.
After breakfast, Feroz excused himself, his phone in hand, and stepped onto the balcony for privacy. The morning breeze carried the distant call of a muezzin as he dialed Maulana Qasim, a respected scholar and family friend known for his wisdom and warmth. The phone rang twice before Maulana’s calm, familiar voice answered, “As-salamu Alaikum, Feroz bhai. What brings you so early?”
“Wa Alaikum As-salam, Maulana,” Feroz replied, his tone warm but resolute. “I need your guidance on something important. It’s about Danish and Kavya—his fiancée. I want to move forward with their marriage, and I’d like your help to set a good date and begin the arrangements.”
Maulana Qasim’s voice carried a smile through the line. “Masha’,.', that’s wonderful news! Danish and Kavya are a fine pair. What’s prompted this urgency, if I may ask?” His tone was gentle, probing, as if sensing the weight behind Feroz’s words.
Feroz leaned against the balcony railing, his gaze drifting to the bustling street below. “Last night at the wedding, I saw them together—how they fit, how the family embraced Kavya. It felt right, Maulana. Life’s too short to wait when you know something’s meant to be.” His voice softened, tinged with a conviction that carried the memory of the previous evening—the way Kavya’s laughter had lit up the room, the fleeting moment their eyes had met when she adjusted her hair, stirring something unspoken in him.
Maulana Qasim listened thoughtfully, then responded, “Well said, Feroz bhai. A marriage blessed by love and family is a gift from ,.'. Let’s consult the calendar for an auspicious date. Have Danish and Kavya shared any preferences for the timing or the ceremony?”
Feroz paused, considering. “They’re still processing, I think,” he admitted with a chuckle. “I might’ve surprised them last night. But they’re ready, Maulana. Kavya’s sensible, and Danish—well, he’s got a good heart, even if he takes his time. I’d like it to be soon, within a few months, so we can celebrate while the family’s still buzzing from last night’s joy.”
Maulana Qasim hummed in agreement. “Very well. I’ll look at the ---c calendar and suggest a few dates—perhaps in the next three months, after Ramadan, when the community can gather easily. We’ll need to discuss the nikah, the mahr, and the guest list. Would you like me to meet with Danish and Kavya soon to counsel them?”
“Yes, that’d be perfect,” Feroz said, his voice brightening. “They’d appreciate your guidance. Kavya’s new to some of our traditions, and Danish could use a reminder to take this seriously.” He laughed softly, picturing his son’s playful grin. “I’ll bring them to the masjid this weekend if you’re free.”
“Consider it done,” Maulana Qasim replied warmly. “I’ll prepare some advice for them and check the dates. Let’s aim for a simple, heartfelt nikah—nothing too extravagant, but filled with barakah. I’ll call you tomorrow with the details.”
“Thank you, Maulana,” Feroz said, a weight lifting from his shoulders. “This means a lot to me—to all of us.” As he ended the call, he lingered on the balcony, the morning sun warming his face. His mind flickered back to Kavya—her grace, her quiet strength, and that fleeting moment at the wedding that had stirred something in him. He pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the joy of seeing his son settled, but the memory lingered, subtle and persistent.
Back inside, Kavya and Danish were clearing the breakfast dishes, their easy banter filling the room. Danish nudged Kavya playfully, teasing her about her attempt at a dance move the night before. She swatted his arm, laughing, but her eyes flicked to Feroz as he reentered, sensing the purpose in his step. “Everything okay, Abbu?” Danish asked, drying his hands on a towel.
Feroz nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Just spoke with Maulana Qasim,” he said, settling into a chair. “He’s going to help us find a good date for your nikah. I suggested within a few months, after Ramadan. He wants to meet you both this weekend to talk it through.”
Kavya’s heart skipped a beat, her fingers pausing on the mug she was holding. The reality of Feroz’s words from last night was taking shape, and the speed of it both thrilled and unnerved her. She glanced at Danish, who looked equally surprised but excited, his grin returning. “Wow, you’re not messing around, Abbu,” he said, half-laughing. “You cool with this, Kavya?”
Kavya set the mug down, her smile soft but genuine. “It’s… a lot, but it feels right,” she said, her voice steadying as she spoke. “A few months sounds good. I’d love to meet Maulana Qasim and hear his advice.” Her eyes met Feroz’s, and for a moment, she felt the weight of his gaze—warm, encouraging, and tinged with that same intensity from the night before.
Feroz’s smile widened, his eyes crinkling with warmth. “Good. It’ll be a beautiful day, insha’,.'. We’ll make it simple, meaningful—just like you two.” He stood, clapping Danish on the shoulder. “Now, don’t slack off today. You’ve got a wedding to prepare for.” His tone was teasing, but his glance at Kavya held a quiet reassurance, as if to say he’d be there every step of the way.
As Feroz retreated to his study, Kavya and Danish exchanged a look, their excitement tempered by the weight of the moment. The house hummed with a new energy, the future unfolding before them, guided by Feroz’s unwavering vision and the subtle, unspoken threads that connected them all.
The wedding had left a vibrant afterglow, its music and laughter still echoing in their minds as Feroz, Danish, and Kavya stepped out of the car and into the quiet of their home. The night air was cool, a stark contrast to the warm, bustling energy of the venue. Kavya’s emerald-green sleeveless kurta shimmered faintly under the streetlights, her dupatta now slightly askew from the evening’s festivities. Danish, his tie loosened and jacket slung over one shoulder, was still buzzing with energy, recounting a hilarious moment from the dance floor to Kavya, who laughed softly, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Feroz, at sixty, carried himself with a quiet dignity in his cream sherwani, though his silver-flecked hair was slightly tousled from the night’s revelry. His mind, however, was elsewhere, replaying the evening—not just the wedding’s joy, but the fleeting, charged moment when his eyes had met Kavya’s.
Inside, the house was a haven of warmth, the soft glow of lamps casting long shadows across the living room. The trio shed their shoes at the entrance, the clink of Kavya’s bangles mingling with the faint hum of the air conditioner. Danish flopped onto the couch, stretching out with a contented sigh. “That was one hell of a party,” he said, grinning at Kavya. “Did you see Uncle Raza trying to do that bhangra move? Nearly took out the dessert table!”
Kavya chuckled, settling into an armchair, tucking her legs beneath her. “He was having the time of his life,” she said, her voice warm with affection for the chaotic joy of the night. She glanced at Feroz, who had moved to the sideboard to pour himself a glass of water, his movements deliberate, almost contemplative. The memory of their earlier moment—her adjusting her hair, the glimpse of her underarm, their locked gazes—lingered in her mind, stirring a quiet flutter in her chest. She pushed it aside, focusing on Danish’s animated chatter.
Feroz turned, glass in hand, and leaned against the sideboard, his gaze settling on the two of them. The room felt intimate, the three of them cocooned in the afterglow of the evening. He took a sip of water, then set the glass down, his expression shifting to one of quiet resolve. “You two,” he began, his voice steady but carrying a weight that drew their attention. Danish sat up slightly, his grin fading into curiosity, while Kavya’s fingers paused on her dupatta, her eyes meeting Feroz’s with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty.
“I’ve been thinking,” Feroz continued, his tone warm but firm, “about you both, about your future.” He paused, letting the words settle, his eyes moving between Danish and Kavya. “Tonight, seeing you together, seeing how well you fit into this family, this community—it made it clear. You shouldn’t wait. I’m going to speak with Maulana Qasim tomorrow to start arranging your marriage. You should marry as soon as possible.”
The words landed like a gentle thunderclap, filling the room with a sudden, profound stillness. Danish blinked, caught off guard, his mouth opening as if to protest, but no words came. Kavya’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening on the armrest. The idea of marriage wasn’t new—she and Danish had talked about it, dreamed about it—but Feroz’s declaration, delivered with such conviction, felt like a tide pulling them forward.
Feroz carried an authority that was both paternal and persuasive, his charming presence amplified by the sincerity in his eyes. Kavya felt a rush of emotions: excitement at the thought of solidifying her bond with Danish, a touch of nervousness at the speed of it all, and, inexplicably, a flicker of awareness of Feroz himself—his steady gaze, the way he seemed to see her so clearly.
Danish recovered first, running a hand through his hair. “Abbu, that’s… wow, that’s sudden,” he said, a nervous laugh escaping him. “I mean, we’ve talked about it, but so soon?” He glanced at Kavya, searching her face for her reaction. “What do you think, Kavya?”
Kavya’s lips parted, but she hesitated, her mind racing. Feroz’s words had stirred something deep within her—a sense of inevitability, but also a quiet question about what this haste meant. She glanced at Feroz, his expression a mix of encouragement and quiet determination, and she felt the weight of his belief in their future. “I… I think it’s a beautiful idea,” she said finally, her voice soft but steady. “But it’s a lot to take in. We’d need to plan, to talk it through.” Her eyes flicked to Danish, seeking his reassurance, but she couldn’t help noticing Feroz’s faint smile, as if he’d expected her measured response.
Feroz nodded, stepping closer to the couch, his presence commanding yet gentle. “Of course, you’ll plan,” he said, his voice softening. “But life moves fast, and when you know something is right, you don’t wait. I’ve seen enough to know you two are meant for this. Maulana Qasim will help set a good date, and we’ll make it happen—simple, meaningful, surrounded by family.” He looked at Kavya, his eyes holding hers for a moment longer than necessary, and she felt that same flutter from earlier, a warmth that was both comforting and disorienting given his age and stature.
Danish leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his expression a mix of excitement and apprehension. “Okay, Abbu, let’s say we do this. What’s the rush? Why now?” His tone was curious, not defiant, and he reached for Kavya’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
Feroz’s smile deepened, lines crinkling around his eyes. “Because tonight reminded me how precious time is,” he said, his voice carrying a quiet intensity. “Seeing you both, surrounded by love, laughter, family—it’s what life’s about. I want to see you start that journey together, not later, but now.” His gaze shifted to Kavya, and for a fleeting moment, she felt the weight of his attention, as if his words were meant for her as much as for Danish. She wondered, briefly, if the intensity of the evening—their shared glance, the unspoken connection—had influenced his urgency.
Kavya squeezed Danish’s hand back, grounding herself. “Let’s talk to Maulana Qasim,” she said, her voice gaining confidence. “We’ll figure out what feels right.” She looked at Feroz, her smile warm but tinged with curiosity, as if trying to decipher the layers behind his words. Feroz nodded, satisfied, and picked up his glass again, taking a slow sip.
“Good,” he said, his tone lighter now. “I’ll call him first thing tomorrow. For now, get some rest—you’ve got a big future to prepare for.” He flashed a playful grin, easing the room’s tension, and Danish laughed, pulling Kavya closer.
As Feroz excused himself to his room, Kavya watched him go, his broad shoulders retreating down the hallway. The night had been a whirlwind—of joy, connection, and unexpected moments—and now, with the prospect of marriage looming, she felt both anchored by Danish’s presence and stirred by the quiet intensity of Feroz’s resolve. The house settled into silence, but the air felt alive with possibility, the future unfolding faster than she’d ever imagined.
The morning after the wedding dawned bright, the golden sunlight filtering through the curtains of Feroz Khan’s home, casting a warm glow across the living room where the trio had shared their late-night conversation. The air still carried the faint echo of the previous evening’s festivities—laughter, music, and that unspoken moment between Feroz and Kavya that lingered in the quiet corners of her mind. Kavya, now dressed in a simple peach kurta, sipped her morning chai at the dining table, her thoughts drifting between excitement and nervous anticipation about Feroz’s declaration. Danish, still half-asleep in his pajamas, scrolled through his phone, occasionally chuckling at wedding photos posted online. Feroz, ever the early riser, was already dressed in a crisp kurta, his silver-flecked hair neatly combed, his demeanor purposeful as he prepared to follow through on his promise.
After breakfast, Feroz excused himself, his phone in hand, and stepped onto the balcony for privacy. The morning breeze carried the distant call of a muezzin as he dialed Maulana Qasim, a respected scholar and family friend known for his wisdom and warmth. The phone rang twice before Maulana’s calm, familiar voice answered, “As-salamu Alaikum, Feroz bhai. What brings you so early?”
“Wa Alaikum As-salam, Maulana,” Feroz replied, his tone warm but resolute. “I need your guidance on something important. It’s about Danish and Kavya—his fiancée. I want to move forward with their marriage, and I’d like your help to set a good date and begin the arrangements.”
Maulana Qasim’s voice carried a smile through the line. “Masha’,.', that’s wonderful news! Danish and Kavya are a fine pair. What’s prompted this urgency, if I may ask?” His tone was gentle, probing, as if sensing the weight behind Feroz’s words.
Feroz leaned against the balcony railing, his gaze drifting to the bustling street below. “Last night at the wedding, I saw them together—how they fit, how the family embraced Kavya. It felt right, Maulana. Life’s too short to wait when you know something’s meant to be.” His voice softened, tinged with a conviction that carried the memory of the previous evening—the way Kavya’s laughter had lit up the room, the fleeting moment their eyes had met when she adjusted her hair, stirring something unspoken in him.
Maulana Qasim listened thoughtfully, then responded, “Well said, Feroz bhai. A marriage blessed by love and family is a gift from ,.'. Let’s consult the calendar for an auspicious date. Have Danish and Kavya shared any preferences for the timing or the ceremony?”
Feroz paused, considering. “They’re still processing, I think,” he admitted with a chuckle. “I might’ve surprised them last night. But they’re ready, Maulana. Kavya’s sensible, and Danish—well, he’s got a good heart, even if he takes his time. I’d like it to be soon, within a few months, so we can celebrate while the family’s still buzzing from last night’s joy.”
Maulana Qasim hummed in agreement. “Very well. I’ll look at the ---c calendar and suggest a few dates—perhaps in the next three months, after Ramadan, when the community can gather easily. We’ll need to discuss the nikah, the mahr, and the guest list. Would you like me to meet with Danish and Kavya soon to counsel them?”
“Yes, that’d be perfect,” Feroz said, his voice brightening. “They’d appreciate your guidance. Kavya’s new to some of our traditions, and Danish could use a reminder to take this seriously.” He laughed softly, picturing his son’s playful grin. “I’ll bring them to the masjid this weekend if you’re free.”
“Consider it done,” Maulana Qasim replied warmly. “I’ll prepare some advice for them and check the dates. Let’s aim for a simple, heartfelt nikah—nothing too extravagant, but filled with barakah. I’ll call you tomorrow with the details.”
“Thank you, Maulana,” Feroz said, a weight lifting from his shoulders. “This means a lot to me—to all of us.” As he ended the call, he lingered on the balcony, the morning sun warming his face. His mind flickered back to Kavya—her grace, her quiet strength, and that fleeting moment at the wedding that had stirred something in him. He pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the joy of seeing his son settled, but the memory lingered, subtle and persistent.
Back inside, Kavya and Danish were clearing the breakfast dishes, their easy banter filling the room. Danish nudged Kavya playfully, teasing her about her attempt at a dance move the night before. She swatted his arm, laughing, but her eyes flicked to Feroz as he reentered, sensing the purpose in his step. “Everything okay, Abbu?” Danish asked, drying his hands on a towel.
Feroz nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Just spoke with Maulana Qasim,” he said, settling into a chair. “He’s going to help us find a good date for your nikah. I suggested within a few months, after Ramadan. He wants to meet you both this weekend to talk it through.”
Kavya’s heart skipped a beat, her fingers pausing on the mug she was holding. The reality of Feroz’s words from last night was taking shape, and the speed of it both thrilled and unnerved her. She glanced at Danish, who looked equally surprised but excited, his grin returning. “Wow, you’re not messing around, Abbu,” he said, half-laughing. “You cool with this, Kavya?”
Kavya set the mug down, her smile soft but genuine. “It’s… a lot, but it feels right,” she said, her voice steadying as she spoke. “A few months sounds good. I’d love to meet Maulana Qasim and hear his advice.” Her eyes met Feroz’s, and for a moment, she felt the weight of his gaze—warm, encouraging, and tinged with that same intensity from the night before.
Feroz’s smile widened, his eyes crinkling with warmth. “Good. It’ll be a beautiful day, insha’,.'. We’ll make it simple, meaningful—just like you two.” He stood, clapping Danish on the shoulder. “Now, don’t slack off today. You’ve got a wedding to prepare for.” His tone was teasing, but his glance at Kavya held a quiet reassurance, as if to say he’d be there every step of the way.
As Feroz retreated to his study, Kavya and Danish exchanged a look, their excitement tempered by the weight of the moment. The house hummed with a new energy, the future unfolding before them, guided by Feroz’s unwavering vision and the subtle, unspoken threads that connected them all.
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)