Zoya’s heart was pounding.

As Akif disappeared through the tall wooden doors of her family’s house, she could barely breathe. The thought of her father sitting across from him, judging, questioning, calculating every word—it was terrifying.

She didn’t wait.

Without hesitation, she, Aarfa, and Ayaan followed silently, slipping through the garden gate and crouching quietly behind the slightly open window of the main sitting room.

Inside, the tension was thick.

Akif stood at the entrance to a room bathed in dim yellow light. Her father sat on a large armchair in the middle, hands folded in front of him, back straight, eyes cold. Her mother stood near the corner, not speaking, and her elder brother leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

“Sit,” her father said firmly.

Akif nodded, quietly taking the seat across from him. There was no fear in his posture—but his fingers were clenched together on his lap.

“You’re here because you claim to love my daughter,” her father started, each word carefully measured. “So, let’s begin with the basics. Who are you?”

“Akif Malik,” he replied calmly. “Final-year BBA student at St. Xavier’s, Mumbai. My father owns a mid-sized textile business in the suburbs of Mumbai. I plan to start my own company after graduating—already working on the groundwork.”

Her father raised an eyebrow. “So, you don’t have anything right now. Just dreams.”

Akif nodded. “Yes, dreams that I am shaping into a future every single day.”

“And you think that’s enough to deserve my daughter?”

Akif didn’t flinch. “No. Nothing will ever be enough. But what I can do is become enough. I’m not here to prove my worth with money. I’m here to prove it with intent, effort, and loyalty.”

Outside the window, Zoya clutched Aarfa’s arm. Her eyes were wide. Her throat dry. Ayaan was dead silent, fists tight.

Her father leaned forward.

“Have you… touched her?”

Akif’s jaw tightened, but he held eye contact. “No. I would never disrespect her boundaries. I haven’t even kissed her until she let me. Everything between us has always been with her comfort in mind.”

“And what do you know about our family? About our rules? About our honour?”

“I know that Zoya was breaking under the weight of that honour,” he said, voice calm but steely. “And I also know that you love her. Even if your ways hurt her, I know she matters to you. I don’t want to take her away. I want to walk beside her—with your permission if possible.”

There was a long pause.

Zoya’s mother looked down.

Her brother said quietly, “He’s serious.”

Her father’s eyes remained fixed on Akif.

Then, a slow exhale.

“She was our child. We raised her. We gave her everything. And then she ran.”

“She ran,” Akif said gently, “because she had no air left to breathe.”

Silence.

Her father stared at the floor for a long moment before finally speaking again.

“You want to marry her?”

Akif nodded. “Eventually. When I’m settled. When I’ve earned that right.”

“And you plan to become a CEO?”

“Yes, sir. That’s been my dream since I was fifteen.”

Her father leaned back, thinking. Then, finally…

“I’ll allow one thing: calls. Once a day. You may speak on the phone. And you can meet her once in a month. But only here. In Bokaro. You will not take her back to Mumbai.”

Zoya froze behind the window.

“What?” she whispered.

“She stays with us,” her father continued. “You want to prove your worth? Then prove it by becoming the man you claim you’re going to be. Go back. Finish your degree. Build your future. When you have a company—when you are something more than just a boy in love—then I will consider this relationship.”

Akif’s expression remained composed. But his heart throbbed.

“You’re separating us,” he said quietly.

“I’m not ending it,” her father replied. “This is your test. Can you hold onto her, even when distance burns you?”

Akif stood up slowly.

“I’ll wait,” he said. “Even if you had said a year, two years… I would still wait. Because I know what she’s worth.”

Her father didn’t speak again.

As Akif turned and walked out of the room, Zoya quickly stepped away from the window, heart hammering. Her face was pale.

He came outside, his eyes meeting hers.

For a second, no words were exchanged.

And then she fell into his arms, holding him tight.

“What did he say?” she whispered into his chest.

Akif looked down at her, voice barely audible.

“He said… we can talk. But you have to stay. And I have to go back. And only when I’ve made something of myself… he’ll think about it.”

Zoya closed her eyes.

Her chest hurt.

But somewhere… in this aching space… was a sliver of hope.

Because the door wasn’t closed.

Not completely.

And maybe, just maybe, love would be enough to keep them going until it opened again—wide and bright, like the future they dreamed of.

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