The sun was bright, but Zoya’s nerves felt like a thunderstorm inside her.

She stood outside the black gate of Akif’s family bungalow, heart thumping like a drum.

"You're nervous," Akif whispered beside her, hiding a smirk.

"Of course I am! What if they don’t like me?"

Akif turned to her, cupping her cheeks. "They’ll love you. Trust me... you’ve already made me fall head over heels. They won’t stand a chance."

Zoya blushed, smacking his chest lightly. "Shut up."

The gate opened before she could panic further, and a sweet voice called out—

"Akif beta!"

A woman in her early 40s ran down the stairs, eyes lighting up as she saw them. Dressed in a simple salwar kameez, with a dupatta swinging behind her, she looked like the kind of mother anyone would wish for.

"Ammi," Akif smiled, stepping forward.

Zoya hesitated until the woman looked directly at her — and smiled so warmly, Zoya nearly melted.

"And this must be Zoya," she said, pulling her into a soft hug. "Akif told us so much. MashaAllah, you’re even prettier in real life."

Zoya stammered out a "thank you, Aunty" while trying not to die from how emotional she felt.

Soon after, the rest of the family came out — Akif’s chill dad with his sarcastic one-liners, his little sister Annie who instantly clung to Zoya and started calling her "bhabhi", and even his older brother who grilled Akif teasingly the entire time.

Everything felt perfect.

Zoya sat in the living room, sipping chai and laughing with Akif’s mom and Annie while Akif, his dad, and his brother talked on the balcony. It was loud, cozy, and overwhelmingly warm.

Until she arrived.

That Aunt.

Rukhsar Chachi.

The door opened with a dramatic creak, and in came a heavily dressed woman with sharp eyeliner and a matching sharp glare. Behind her was her daughter — dolled up, expressionless, and clearly not there by choice.

"Assalamualaikum," she greeted, her tone sugary fake.

"Waalaikumassalam, Chachi," Akif replied, tone cool.

Rukhsar looked at Zoya and smiled. Or tried to.

"And this is...?"

"Zoya," Akif’s mom answered with pride. "She’s a student at Xavier’s. Akif’s very close to her."

"Student?" Rukhsar raised her eyebrows. "From where?"

"Bokaro. But she lives here now with her best friend. She’s very intelligent," Akif’s mom replied before Zoya could.

"Ah," Rukhsar said, dragging the syllable like poison. "Well... girls these days move around so easily. Independence is such a tricky word, isn’t it?"

The room fell silent.

Zoya straightened, refusing to shrink.

“I’m here because I followed my dreams,” she said softly, but firmly. “And I’m lucky to have people who support me now.”

Akif’s mother beamed.

Annie whispered, “Bhabhi 1, Chachi 0.”

Rukhsar’s smile cracked, but she didn’t back down. “Well, I just hope you understand... Akif comes from a respected family. We have traditions, expectations.”

Akif walked in just then, voice calm but cold. “And one of those expectations is to respect the woman I love.”

The room went silent again.

Zoya blinked. Love?

He didn’t realize what he said, and honestly, no one did — because Akif was already offering her a glass of water like nothing happened.

Rukhsar looked like she had swallowed a lemon.

Her daughter sat on the couch awkwardly, not saying a word.

But Zoya... felt something stir inside her.

Love?

Did he just—?

Later that evening, while leaving, Akif’s mother hugged Zoya tightly. “Come again soon. And beta… you already have my blessing.”

---

That night, while walking Zoya home, Akif looked unusually quiet.

"You okay?" she asked.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry about Chachi. She’s been obsessed with marrying off her daughter to me since childhood."

Zoya snorted. "Tell her to move on."

He chuckled. “I think she got the message.”

She smiled. “Your family… they’re lovely. I didn’t expect it to feel so…”

“Like home?”

Zoya nodded. “Exactly.”

He looked down at her. “You are home, Zoya. To me.”

---