The Qureshi house hummed with quiet anticipation — the kind that made even the ceiling fan spin slower in suspense. The drawing room looked like it had been lifted straight from a wedding catalog: fresh flowers in every corner, the finest china making its annual appearance, and trays of snacks so perfectly arranged they could be part of an art exhibit. The air carried the scent of freshly brewed chai and the unmistakable nervous energy that always simmered in with such visits.
Zaryab entered like a man stepping into a board meeting he didn't ask for — crisp white kurta, polished shoes, and that confident tilt of the chin but holding onto a polite composure. Saniya, trailing behind him, was the picture of sisterly stress — bangles jingling as she fidgeted and prayed silently that her brother wouldn't ruin their social credit in the next hour. And then came Rukhsana Khala — strutting in like a peacock at a pigeon convention with a smug sense of superiority, her abaya swishing dramatically as if it had its own personality.
On the other end, the Qureshi family had prepared for this moment with careful deliberation. Fazeela welcomed them with a tight smile, the kind that screamed "I'm polite, not thrilled." Her hands trembled slightly as she offered chai, though whether from nervousness or anything else, only Allah knew. Aanya perched on the sofa, pretending to be uninterested while secretly watching everyone like it was a live telecast of Rishta Chronicles: Season Finale. Qureshi Sahab, ever the patriarch, sat regal and dignified — though the way he kept adjusting his waistcoat betrayed his inner turbulence.
Raneya, meanwhile, was still in her room.
The tea had barely kissed the table when the men made their grand escape to the "manly corner" for their ritualistic conversation about careers, dreams, and thinly veiled evaluations.
"So, Zaryab beta," Qureshi Sahab began, stroking his beard like a wise judge in a historical drama. "What are your future plans?"
Zaryab straightened like someone had hit a 'posture' button. "I'm working at a reputable firm, but I plan to start my own business soon. I believe financial independence is essential before starting a family."
"Hmm. Very mature," Qureshi Sahab nodded, eyes narrowing approvingly. "A man should have vision."
The subtext hung in the air like thick fog: We're watching you, beta. Impress us or go home alone.
Back in the more exciting corner of the room, Saniya and Aanya had cozied up like two spies sharing classified gossip.
"So?" Aanya grinned, nudging her friend with theatrical subtlety. "What do you think?"
Saniya smirked feigned ignorance, but her smirk betrayed her interest. "About what?"
Aanya rolled her eyes."Oh, don't play dumb. About your brother and my sister! Think they'll be a match made in a "desi drama" heaven?"
Saniya leaned in, whispering, "Well, I've heard Raneya is gorgeous and sharp-tongued. That might just be what Zaryab needs — someone who doesn't fall for his 'Mr. Good Boy' act."
Aanya giggled. "Oh, she won't fall for anything except maybe a scholarship or a UN petition. Zaryab's ego better buckle up. She doesn't just smile and nod; she has opinions"
Meanwhile, in another corner, the most animated discussion was taking place between Rukhsana and Fazeela. Rukhsana Khala was performing an entire monologue in the far corner like a villain in a melodramatic soap opera.
"Haye, Fazeela, why are you looking so pale today?" she asked, sipping her chai like it was imported from Paris. "Are you fasting without sehri or just tired of life?"
Fazeela sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Nothing like that, Rukhsana. Just household work never ends, you know how it is."
Rukhsana scoffed as she rolled her eyes, placing her cup down with flair. "Tch tch tch. Your daughters are so busy with their own affairs that they leave their poor mother to do all the chores. My daughters would never let me lift a finger. MashAllah, I'm fresh, relaxed, and sexy," she said, patting her cheeks with dramatic effect. "You know, people ask me what my secret is. I tell them: raise daughters, not lazy freeloaders."
Then, as if she were auditioning for a fashion show, she stood up and spun — abaya flaring like a satin tornado. "Evil eyes beware! Bad nazar has a black face, and this face?" — she winked — "is VIP property."
Fazeela, who had been sipping her tea like it was sedative, finally snapped, "Rukhsana, please sit down before your catwalk turns into a health emergency. Your face isn't exactly sponsored by L'Oréal either."
The room burst into laughter at Fazeela's quick-witted response. Even Rukhsana cracked up, dabbing her eyes with the corner of her dupatta.
Just then, Saniya and Aanya returned from their giggling session, both looking like they had a secret to spill.
"Alright, enough stand-up comedy, aunties," Saniya said, still chuckling. "Should we go fetch Raneya now?"
Fazeela took a deep breath, standing as if heading into war. "Yes. Let's not keep the groom waiting."
As the women moved toward Raneya's room, Rukhsana fixed her dupatta like a queen adjusting her crown and whispered under her breath, "Let's see if this girl is even half as impressive as her reputation."
Everyone laughed.