The Villa — 3rd September — 5:30 AM
Azhan woke before sunrise.
His eyes opened to darkness — the room still, the city quiet outside his window.
He had not slept well.
He had not slept well in six days.
Six days, he thought.
Six days since the airport.
He got out of bed and walked to his private gym.
The room was cold, the equipment gleaming under soft lights.
He started his routine — stretches first, controlled and precise, the way he did everything.
Then the treadmill.
Then the weights.
His body moved automatically.
His mind did not.
Today is her first day of university, he thought.
She will be nervous.
She was so nervous at the airport, in the car.
Please God, help her.
He stopped mid-rep.
What am I doing?
Praying for a stranger?
A student I picked up once?
He was angry at himself.
Six days.
Six days since she had entered his thoughts.
And she didn’t even know.
She didn’t know that because of her, his punctual, controlled life had become up and down.
Back and forth.
He walked across the gym.
Then back.
Then across again.
Saim stood at the doorway, watching.
His best friend — tall, green-eyed, sharp — leaned against the frame, arms crossed.
He said nothing.
He simply watched.
Let him be, Saim thought.
He will tell me when he’s ready.
Azhan continued pacing.
“Who is she?” Saim asked finally.
Azhan stopped.
Looked at him.
“I told you.
When I meet her, I will tell you.
There is no ‘she.'”
Saim smiled — teasing, knowing.
“Bestie, one day I will meet your ‘she.’ I will exchange numbers.
Mark my word.”
Azhan froze.
A feeling came again — tightness in his chest, heat behind his ribs.
He didn’t know what it was.
He didn’t want to know.
He looked at Saim sharply.
“No.
She means…
no ‘she.'”
Saim raised his hands.
“Whatever.
I’m a busy man.
Law firm waiting for me.
See you at night.”
Azhan turned away.
“Night.
Don’t come.”
Saim laughed.
“Sweetheart, you will miss me.
I know that.”
He left.
Azhan stood alone in the gym.
The Room — 6:30 AM
Azhan went to his room.
Shower.
Hot water.
Steam.
The familiar ritual.
When he came out, he stood in front of the mirror.
Water dripped from his hair.
His eyes — blue, tired, restless — stared back at him.
He picked up his earrings.
Silver.
Small.
He remembered the way she looked at them.
At the airport.
In the car.
Her eyes had paused on his rings first — curious, careful, like she had never seen anything like them.
His heart beat faster.
He put the earrings in.
Then his lip ring.
Then he looked at himself again — and took them off.
No, he thought.
No distractions.
He put them on again.
Why am I doing this?
She is a student.
A stranger.
Why do I care how she looked at me?
He left them on.
He dressed carefully — crisp shirt, tailored trousers, polished shoes.
His hospital coat hung on the back of the door.
White.
Professional.
Safe.
Saim appeared in the doorway, already dressed for his day.
“Bride,” he said teasingly, “your patients will be waiting.
Go.”
Downstairs — 7:00 AM
The kitchen was warm.
The lady cook moved quietly, preparing breakfast.
The smell of coffee filled the air.
Azhan picked up a cup.
Black.
Bitter.
Saim sat at the table, eating — eggs, toast, fruit.
“Bestie, please eat something,” Saim said.
“I’m fine.”
“Your dad texted me.”
Azhan paused.
“So?”
“He wants to know.
How much time do you need?”
Azhan was quiet for a moment.
“I need time.”
“How much?
Please reply to him.
Please.”
Azhan nodded — small, almost invisible.
Different cars.
Different directions.
Saim drove toward his law firm.
Azhan drove toward the hospital.
The Hospital — 8:00 AM
The corridors were busy.
Nurses walked quickly.
Doctors reviewed charts.
Patients waited in rows of chairs.
Azhan moved through it all — focused, composed, unreachable.
He checked on his post-op patients.
Reviewed their vitals, their charts, their progress.
He spoke in calm, measured tones.
But his mind was elsewhere.
Her first day, he thought.
Is she eating?
Is she scared?
Did she find her classes?
He passed a group of nurses.
They smiled at him.
Whispered.
“He looks so serious today.”
“More than usual.”
“He never smiles.”
Azhan heard nothing.
He entered the OPD.
Patients waited in long lines.
He worked through them — one after another, efficient and professional.
But between each patient, between each prescription, between each diagnosis —
Her face.
Her eyes.
Her soft voice.
“I…
I did it.”
He shook his head.
Focus, he told himself.
You are a surgeon.
You save lives.
You don’t think about strangers from airports.
He kept working.
The OPD — 2:00 PM
A young woman sat across from him.
She was pretty.
Polished.
Her smile was bright, practiced.
She asked questions about her test results.
He answered.
Then she asked about his evening.
“I’m free tonight,” she said.
“Maybe dinner?”
Azhan didn’t look up from her chart.
“I’m busy.”
She laughed lightly.
“You’re always busy, Dr.
Rehman.
That’s what everyone says.”
He handed her the prescription.
“Take this twice a day.
Follow up in two weeks.”
She took the paper, smiled again — longer this time — and left.
Azhan called the next patient.
He didn’t think about her.
He didn’t think about any of the women who smiled at him, who whispered about him, who tried to catch his attention.
He only thought about brown eyes.
And he hated himself for it.
The Villa — 10:00 PM
Azhan walked through the front door.
The living room was bright — voices, laughter, the smell of food.
His cousins were eating dinner at the large table.
Amir looked up.
“Azhan, come eat.”
Azhan nodded — cold, distant — and walked toward the stairs.
“He doesn’t care about us,” Sameer muttered.
Amir shook his head.
“He’s just…
tired.”
Sana watched Azhan climb the stairs.
“Ignore him.
He doesn’t have a heart.
It was Uncle who insisted we stay here.”
Amir looked at her.
“Sometimes the past makes you like this.
Cold.
Distant.”
Sana didn’t answer.
She had her own past.
Dark.
Heavy.
She didn’t talk about it.
They ate in silence.
Upstairs — 10:30 PM
Azhan closed the door to his room.
He showered again — hot water, steam, trying to wash away the day.
He changed into comfortable clothes and sat at his desk.
His MS notes were open.
His thesis was waiting.
He couldn’t focus.
He picked up his phone.
Azhan: How was her day?
Did she adjust?
He stared at the screen.
What am I doing?
He pressed send.
Room 101 — 12:00 AM
Riya’s phone buzzed.
She looked at the screen.
Smiled.
Riya: Bro, she is different.
Problem is, she doesn’t eat food properly.
Studies all day.
No phone use.
So sweet girl, Azhan.
Yes, she misses her family a lot.
Azhan: Please take care of her.
Riya blinked.
Riya: ???
What’s going on?
Azhan: Nothing.
She is new, right?
So I’m worried.
California light might fade her.
Riya: Ok, bro.
She is very sweet.
All the girls in the room like her.
You know, she was studying until she fell asleep.
Azhan: What?
It’s 12.
Go tell her to sleep.
Riya: Who said so???
Azhan froze.
He closed his eyes.
Why am I worried if she studies late?
Why is this my concern?
Why did I text her?
She is just an ordinary girl.
A distraction.
He stood up.
Walked across the room.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
His phone buzzed again.
Riya: Bro, she closed her book.
She is sleeping.
You sleep too.
Azhan looked at the message.
A smile — small, almost invisible — appeared on his face.
He put the phone down.
Lay on his bed.
Closed his eyes.
The Dream
He was in a library.
Not a normal library — a vast, endless place, shelves stretching toward a sky made of pages.
Books floated around him, their covers open, their words dancing in the air.
And she was there.
White dupatta.
White hijab.
White mask.
She was reading — calm, focused, peaceful.
The books flew around her like birds, like butterflies, like whispers.
He sat on a wooden bench and watched her.
“Angel,” he said softly.
She didn’t respond.
“C,” he tried again.
She looked up.
Their eyes met.
Brown.
Blue.
His heart stopped.
“How was your day?” he asked.
Her voice was soft — barely a whisper.
“I’m scared.”
The same words, he thought.
From the car.
From the first day.
He opened his arms.
“Come,” he said gently.
“Trust me, my angel.
Come.”
She moved toward him — slowly, carefully.
The books moved with her, floating beside her, around her.
He moved toward her.
She was close now — so close he could see her big brown eyes, her lashes,
He reached for her.
A book flew between them.
It bit him.
He opened his eyes.
The Awakening
The room was dark.
Azhan sat up in bed, his heart pounding.
Saim was sitting in the chair across the room, watching him.
“You smiled in your sleep,” Saim said quietly.
“You talked.
Who is she?”
Azhan’s heart was still racing.
“No one, Saim.
No one.”
“You called her ‘angel.'”
Azhan was silent.
Saim leaned forward.
“At least tell me.
We will figure it out together.
Yours body need bestie.???”
Azhan looked at him — this man who had known him since childhood, who had seen him at his worst, who had never left.
“You know me,” Azhan said quietly.
“No.
This thought…
never.
Please, Saim.
Stop.”
Saim shook his head.
“Look at you.
Just look at yourself.”
Azhan stood up.
Walked to the washroom.
He stood in front of the mirror.
C Ismail, he thought.
I hate you.
Because of you, I am in this state.
I really hate it.
You are an attention seeker.
But his heart whispered back:
She is sweet.
Polite.
Riya said it too.
She is not seeking attention.
She is just…
herself.
He took out his earrings.
His lip ring.
Washed his face.
Came back to the room.
Saim was reading case files on the bed.
Azhan sat beside him, opened his laptop, and began to work.
They didn’t speak.
But Saim watched him from the corner of his eye.
He’s in love, Saim thought.
He just doesn’t know it yet.
He fought himself from dawn to night, A surgeon’s hands, a losing fight.
He asked about her, then denied— The feeling growing deep inside.
She slept in peace, she didn’t know— How far his restless thoughts would go.
Not love—not yet—just something new.
A girl named C.
A sky so blue.
— To be continued…