"Good morning, ma'am," the children in the class greeted Zoha. She smiled and replied, "Good morning, kids." As she began teaching, Mrs. Swati entered the room and said, "Zoha ma'am, the principal called for you." Zoha excused the children and asked Mrs. Swati to look after the class before heading to the principal's office.

She knocked on the door and, upon receiving permission, entered. Inside, she saw several people. The principal looked at her and gestured for her to take a seat. The principal introduced her to the man sitting next to her, saying, "Miss Zoha, this is Mr. Khalid." Zoha turned to Khalid and introduced herself. The principal then called Bhole bhaiya through the intercom, saying, "Bhole, please show Khalid sir to his class." Khalid got up from his seat and followed Bhole.

Once Khalid left, the principal turned her attention back to Zoha. "Ma'am, did you call me?" Zoha asked. The principal replied with a slight nod and got up from her chair, retrieving something from a cabinet in the office. Zoha's curiosity was piqued, as she was known for being inquisitive. The principal returned to her chair and handed Zoha a bag. Feeling uneasy, Zoha hesitated to speak, but before she could say anything, the principal explained, "When the watchman opened the school gate this morning, this bag was found placed at the gate, and your name was written on it."

Zoha frowned, "But I-" she started to say. The principal interrupted, "Zoha ma'am, I think you should provide your home address for situations like this. I hope you understand what I'm trying to say." Unable to respond, Zoha quietly took the bag and left the principal's office to return to her class.

Finally, the school day ended, and Zoha headed home. As she sat on her beloved scooter, Dhanno, she noticed a golgappa vendor and felt tempted to indulge. She parked her scooter and approached the seller, saying, "Bhaiya, one plate of collapse with extra spicy, please," and ordered another plate for herself.

She lifted her veil and started enjoying the golgappa. Her day had not been great, and she was feeling tired. After taking her packed golgappa and paying for it, she turned toward her scooter but sensed someone standing behind her. When she turned around, there was no one there; everyone else was busy with their work.

She tried to start her scooter, but it wouldn't start, which made her worry. She checked the tires, and they were fine, so it might be a mechanical issue. Frustrated, she thought to herself, "Kya Allah pak, isko bhi abhi kharab hona tha?" She turned on her phone; however, she always had to switch it off and submit it to the principal's office when she arrived at school.

In a hurry to get home after retrieving her phone, she had put it in her handbag without turning it on. She opened her phone and called her sister, saying, "Tell Ammi it will take me some time to get home; I'm having trouble with Dhanno." Her sister replied from the other end, "Appi, why don't you sell this scooter? It keeps breaking down." Zoha felt a flicker of anger and retorted, "Just be quiet! I don't care about what others say. Tell Ammi whatever you want; you'll understand." With that, she hung up.

Zoha began to push her scooter when she heard a car horn and a voice from behind her say, "Hello, Miss Zoha." She looked back to see a man pulling down the window of his car. He asked, "Do you need my help?" A question sparked in Zoha's mind about how to respond, but then she remembered that the principal had introduced this man that morning. She slapped herself inwardly for forgetting.

She replied, "No, I'm alright. I'll manage it myself. Thank you for asking." The man, sensing that she might not recognize him, stepped out of the car and stood in front of her, saying, "I think you didn't recognize me. I'm Khalid, the new teacher at your school." Zoha quickly responded, feeling guilty, "No, no, I know you're the new teacher at our school."

Khalid said, "There is some other issue for which you don't need my help." Zoha thought to herself, "Why is this so sticky?" Her heart responded, "This is called manners, Miss Zoha" Zoha silenced both her heart and mind and replied, "No, it doesn't matter much. I know how to do my work myself, and there's a mechanic's shop in front. After I check it out, I'll go home. You don't need to worry."

She said this as politely as she could and started to walk away. However, Khalid stepped in front of her again after taking four or five steps and said, "Okay, I understand that you don't like accepting help, but I can accompany you home." Zoha replied calmly, "Khalid, you don't need to worry. I will be fine," and she left, perhaps even hurriedly.

Zoha was afraid of going out alone with men; she tried her best to avoid such situations in her life. Whenever a man approached her without reason, she became extremely anxious. Yet, she walked alone in a daze with the person who had saved her and taken her to the hospital.

Khalid watched her go, then sat in his car and drove away.

Zoha looked back once, and when she saw that the car had left, she realized that she might have spoken very rudely to Khalid. Now she was feeling bad about it. She was the kind of person who, after behaving rudely or unkindly toward others, would later feel terrible and criticize herself. "Zoha, you shouldn't have treated him like that," she said to herself, voicing her feelings. "It's no use feeling bad now; what's done is done."

After seeing Dhanno, her favorite BTS song "Magic Shop" played on her phone. She put on her earphones and sat back in the auto-rickshaw, enjoying her journey and the music. When she arrived home and knocked on the door, she was humming the song "You Show Me, I Show You." Her sister, Ayat, shouted from the gate, "Why are you yelling? Do you want to damage my eardrums?"

Zoha moved away and responded, "Subha Subha kiska chehra dekh lia mene! " Irritated, Ayat replied, "Just so you know, it's not morning; it's afternoon." Zoha took off her hijab, teased her with a playful glare, and said, "Whatever."

On Zoha's side, the world is sometimes happy and sometimes sad. Yet, on the other hand, there exists a strange desire in someone's life. Sometimes he hums for no reason, and at other times, he smiles to himself. Occasionally, he dances with his hands in the air, as if he holds her in his arms and is dancing with her. There are moments when he stares at his phone for hours and other times, he remains in one spot, lost in thought. Day and night, he sees a specific face in his mind. Could he be in love?

"Have you fallen in love? You seem to be smiling a lot lately." This unexpected question snapped him out of his daydream. He turned to face the inquisitive friend who had approached him and sank back into the plush leather of his office chair. With a hint of bravado, he replied, "Love and I? That's simply unimaginable."

His companion, a sharp-eyed observer, persisted, "With the way you're carrying yourself these days-the laughter, the lightness in your demeanor-I can't help but worry. It's unusual for you." The man rose from his seat, drawn to the expansive glass window that framed the bustling city below. He gazed out at the lively streets, where people hurried by, lost in their own stories.

Finally, he spoke again, almost as if trying to convince himself. "The day Arsh falls in love, I will not-" He paused, faltering in his conviction, as the weight of his next words loomed large. With a resolute shake of his head, he continued, "I don't believe in love; it's nothing but a distraction and a waste of time." His voice carried a mix of defiance and uncertainty, reflecting the internal struggle he faced between his beliefs and the stir

ring emotions he could no longer ignore.