A Vow across the Borders

It had been a peculiar morning.

The house, once thick with tension and cold glances, was uncharacteristically quiet. Noor sat in the back garden, the soft sunlight spilling like honey over the worn stone tiles. Dressed in a powder blue kurti, her long, thick black hair fell down her back in a loose braid. There was a pen in her hand, her wedding planner open on her lap, and a thoughtful look playing on her face.

For once, the silence didn't weigh on her shoulders.

Until it was broken by the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps.

She looked up - and nearly dropped her pen.

Beegum Mehnaz Khan.

Clad in her signature regal saree, gold bangles clinking with every move, a sternness carved into her very bone structure. But today, her eyes weren't icy. They held something else. Something warmer. Something like... curiosity?

Noor stood slowly, cautious. "Beegum Sahiba-"

"Sit," Mehnaz said coolly. "I'm not here to throw cups."

Noor blinked. "That's suspicious."

A pause. Then - barely perceptible - a smirk tugged at the corner of Mehnaz's lips. She took the seat beside Noor on the old garden swing.

"You're different," Mehnaz said quietly. "Not like the other girls I've met."

"Because I don't bow my head when insulted?"

"Because you don't bow at all," Mehnaz replied.

Another silence followed, this time more comfortable than tense.

"You remind me of someone," Mehnaz continued. "Someone I buried long ago."

Noor tilted her head. "You?"

Mehnaz nodded, eyes distant. "Once, I loved a man from across the border. Amritsar. Sikh. He used to say I had fire in my blood. I wanted to marry him. But my family said marrying a man of another religion was a disgrace."

"What happened?" Noor asked softly.

"I obeyed. I let him go. And I married into this household."

Noor's breath caught. "You regret it?"

Mehnaz stared at her hands. "Every single day."

It was the kind of truth that left no room for pretense.

Noor placed her hand gently on the older woman's. "Then let me do what you couldn't. Let me fight."

That was when something cracked in Mehnaz's carefully guarded expression - and for the first time, she smiled. Not her usual sharp-edged grin, but something soft. Fond. Real.

Before Noor could process it, she reached over and hugged her.

A full, warm embrace.

Mehnaz stiffened - out of habit - but then, after a beat, she hugged back.

Just in time for Zain, Murtasim's younger brother, to step out onto the terrace with a glass of juice - and nearly choke.

"UMM... GUYS!" he yelled into the house. "BEGUM MEHNAZ IS HUGGING HER. I REPEAT-HUGGING!"

Seconds later, half the family came running.

"What do you mean she's-" Haya skidded to a halt, eyes bulging.

"No way," muttered another cousin.

Even Jameel Khan, Murtasim's father, walked out with a raised brow. "Are my eyes deceiving me or has the Earth shifted its axis?"

Noor stood, a little flustered, wiping her eyes. Mehnaz stood beside her, arm looped through Noor's, wearing an expression that could only be described as proud.

"She's stubborn, but she's got character," Mehnaz announced. "Reminds me of my youth - when I still had a waistline."

A collective gasp filled the air.

Jameel chuckled, stepping forward. "Well, if my sister can warm up to her, so can I."

He opened his arms.

Noor hesitated only a second before hugging him, too.

"I knew you'd be the hurricane to flip this house," he murmured.

From a distance, Murtasim leaned against the doorframe, watching it all unfold - the girl who had turned their home upside down and somehow made it warmer.

Zain came up beside him. "So... when are you telling her you're hopelessly obsessed?"

Murtasim smiled faintly. "Soon."

And as Noor stood in the middle of a family that once looked at her like a stranger, now being embraced like their own, she knew something had shifted.

Not just in the house.

But in fate itself.