A Vow across the Borders

The night stretched into comfort. The room—still messy from popcorn and overlapping limbs—was now filled with the kind of chatter that only happened in the safety of shared silence.

They all sat in a loose circle on the bed and the floor—pillows dragged around, socks mismatched, faces lit by the soft golden lamp on Noor’s nightstand. A gentle rain pattered against the windows, the kind that made everything feel warmer inside.

Zain stretched and groaned like an old man. “Okay, embarrassing stories. Who’s first?”

Murtasim raised an eyebrow. “You, since you opened your mouth.”

Zain put a hand to his heart. “Rude. But fine. I once proposed to a girl in eighth grade by writing a poem on a samosa wrapper.”

Everyone groaned.

“Why a samosa wrapper?” Nusrat asked through a laugh.

“I thought it was poetic. She liked samosas.”

“She also threw it in the dustbin and told the teacher,” Noor reminded.

“And I got detention,” Zain finished with a sigh. “Romance died that day.”

They were all laughing when Nusrat chimed in. “I once accidentally wore my dupatta inside out to a college fashion show. On stage.”

“That’s cute,” Haya said softly.

“Until I tripped on it, and my heel flew into the judge’s water glass.”

Zain clutched his stomach laughing. “You're dangerous!”

“You’re just jealous I made an impact,” she smirked.

Noor rested her head on Murtasim’s shoulder. “Your turn.”

He shrugged, clearly not interested in playing until Zain narrowed his eyes and said, “I’ll expose your college poetry phase.”

Murtasim sat straighter. “Fine. I once got into a fight at a wedding... because someone tried to touch my shawl.”

“That’s not embarrassing, that’s iconic,” Nusrat grinned.

Numair just shook his head. “You all are insane.”

“You’re next, bhai,” Noor sing-songed.

Numair hesitated. “I once cried watching Lion King at seventeen.”

“CRIED?” Zain asked, dramatically.

“I SOBBED.”

They all broke into chaos.

Even Haya was laughing now, her cheeks warm, her smile bright. Noor looked at her, then at Numair, and her heart softened. Her eyes met Nusrat’s for a second, and without words, she nodded.

The two sisters grinned.

Nusrat clapped once. “Okay! Enough foreplay—truth or dare!”

Zain rubbed his hands. “Now we’re talking.”

The bottle was an old perfume cap. They sat around it like teenagers at a sleepover, spinning it and giggling when it stopped.

Noor. Truth.

“What’s something you never told anyone?”

She thought for a beat. “I like feeding people more than eating myself. I find comfort when someone finishes what I made for them.”

Murtasim stared at her for a long moment after that.

Then Haya. Dare.

Zain smirked. “Text the last person you called and tell them you want to adopt a goat with them.”

She did it. Deadpan. With pride.

Then it landed on Numair.

“Dare!” Zain and Noor said in unison.

He sighed. “That’s a bad sign.”

Zain gave him a wicked grin. “Confess to your crush.”

Noor’s hand found Nusrat’s under the blanket. She squeezed it once, a gentle signal.

Numair blinked. “Right now?”

Noor nodded gently. “Right now.”

He looked down for a second. When he raised his head, his eyes weren’t nervous. They were honest. Soft. Brave.

He turned to Haya.

“I don’t know when it started,” he began, voice low but steady. “But you make me feel calm. You make me want to talk. And I never want to talk. You listen. You don’t try to fix me or pity me—you just... see me. And I like that. I like you.”

Haya’s eyes widened.

Everyone went quiet.

Except Zain, who whispered, “Oh this is better than my soap operas.”

Nusrat threw a pillow at him.

Haya opened her mouth, then closed it. Her voice trembled a little. “I... I like you too. I just didn’t think someone like you could—”

“Someone like me?” he repeated gently.

“I mean, strong. Brave. Good,” she whispered.

He smiled.

And just like that—something soft bloomed in the room.

Noor leaned into Murtasim’s side as the group exploded into teasing and cheers.

And Zain? He stood up, raised his hands dramatically, and said, “And once again, love wins under the influence of peer pressure!”

Another pillow hit him.