A Vow across the Borders

The sun dipped low behind the old neem trees in the Malhotra mansion's garden, spilling a warm saffron glow across the lawn. Wind teased the ends of Noor’s dupatta as she sat cross-legged on the swing, a delicate porcelain teacup nestled in her hands. Across from her, Murtasim lounged in a cushioned wooden chair, sleeves rolled up, shawl draped carelessly over one shoulder, eyes fixated on her with a faint smile playing on his lips.

To their right, Zain and Haya sat sharing mock tales of childhood. For once, Haya wasn’t taunting anyone or hiding bitterness—her laughter was genuine, soft, and carried on the breeze like a forgotten melody returning home.

There was a kind of peace in the air. The kind that made even birds pause in flight to listen.

The conversation stilled as footsteps echoed from the path.

A tall man strode toward them, his walk confident, almost cocky, in a tailored black jacket, aviators tucked into his shirt, and that unmistakable aura of someone who carried both mischief and power.

“Noori!” the man exclaimed suddenly.

Noor’s teacup almost slipped. She looked up—and in the next second, her face bloomed with emotion.

“Numair!” she stood up, abandoning everything, and rushed to him.

He caught her in a warm, tight hug, spinning her slightly before setting her down. “God, look at you! You’ve turned from a clumsy tomboy into a goddess in uniform.”

“And you’re still insufferable,” she said, half-laughing, half-choked up.

Everyone else watched—wide-eyed and confused.

Murtasim’s brows drew together. He rose slowly, something unreadable in his eyes as he watched the embrace too long. His jaw ticked. His fingers clenched slightly.

Zain leaned toward him and muttered, “Relax, you look like you’ll burn holes through his back.”

“Who is he?” Murtasim asked through gritted teeth.

Noor turned to the group, slipping her arm around Numair’s. “Relax. This charming idiot is Numair Singh Malhotra. My brother.”

“You never mentioned a brother,” Zain said, blinking.

“Half-brother technically. My mother’s firstborn. Raised abroad. He stays mostly in Dubai with my uncle’s family.”

Numair waved playfully. “Pleasure to meet you all. And I must say, some of you are quite the surprise packages.”

His eyes landed on Haya. She looked away instantly, clearly caught off guard.

Their eyes locked—just for a second too long.

Zain noticed it.

So did Noor.

Her lips twitched into a knowing smirk.

She turned to Haya, her tone light yet laden with meaning.
“See, I once said... the right ones don’t rush in. They arrive with the scent of twilight and the timing of fate. When you least expect—yet exactly when your heart’s ready.”

Haya looked at her, then back at Numair—who still hadn’t looked away.

“Would you all like some more tea?” Noor asked, breaking the tension gently as she rang the bell for the staff. “It’s getting cold, and this evening’s far too pretty to waste.”

Murtasim settled beside her again, this time closer. His hand brushed hers under the carved wooden table, their fingers interlacing briefly before she pretended not to notice.

Soon, an attendant arrived with a fresh tray of Kashmiri kahwa and soft nankhatai biscuits.

Everyone had a cup in hand, warmth seeping into their palms and, slowly, their conversations.

Numair chatted animatedly with Zain and Murtasim, discussing the wedding invites their families had taken to the elders just that morning. “Seems like I came just in time,” he said, sipping slowly. “A little more and I would’ve missed my Noori’s wedding.”

“You won’t,” Murtasim said softly, eyes fixed on Noor.

“No, he won’t,” Noor echoed, smiling.

Zain suddenly grinned. “Guys, did you hear the one about the doctor who married the patient?”

Everyone groaned in sync—except Numair who encouraged, “Hit me with it.”

Zain winked. “She said he had good patience.”

Haya covered her face with both hands. “No more, please.”

Noor elbowed him playfully. “You're going to kill my medical brain with these.”

Zain grinned. “I’m just warming up.”

As the laughter simmered, Murtasim’s eyes drifted again toward Noor and Numair. Watching their inside jokes, their laughter, that natural closeness—it stirred something ugly in him, even if he couldn’t name it. Until Noor had said brother, he’d felt a slow fury build in his chest.

Possessiveness.

But now? He just felt like an idiot.

From across the table, Noor caught Murtasim watching her again. Her cheeks warmed, but she didn’t look away this time.

“Everything okay?” he asked, voice low.

She nodded, glancing at her brother and Haya, now caught in a mild yet unmistakable banter.

“It’s strange,” she whispered. “To see things finally falling into place.”

Murtasim’s gaze softened. “They were always meant to. Some stories just take a little longer to find the right chapter.”

She looked at him then. Really looked. Her heart echoed with something close to peace.

And for the first time in a long time, she believed—the chaos of fate always led somewhere beautiful.