Ayesha couldn’t concentrate on anything for the rest of the day. Three words kept echoing in her mind.
“Ask your father.”
Who had written the letter? And why would her father know anything about it?
When she arrived home, she found her father sitting in the living room, reading his newspaper. She stood near the doorway, holding the envelope tightly in her hand.
“Baba, can I ask you something?”
He looked up and smiled. “Of course, sweetheart. What happened?”
Ayesha sat beside him and placed the old envelope on the table.
“I found this again today. There’s something written on the back. It says I should ask you.”
The moment her father saw the envelope, his smile disappeared.
For several seconds, he didn’t speak. His fingers trembled slightly as he picked it up.
“Where did you get this?” he finally asked.
“You tell me first, Baba. Do you know who wrote it?”
He looked away, avoiding her eyes.
“Some things are better left in the past, Ayesha.”
Her heart sank.
“Why? What are you hiding from me?”
Before he could answer, her mother entered the room. One look at her husband’s face told her that something was wrong.
“Not now,” her father whispered.
But Ayesha stood up, tears gathering in her eyes.
“No! I’ve spent four years wondering about this letter. I deserve to know the truth!”
Her father closed his eyes briefly.
“Please, give me some time,” he said. “I promise I’ll explain everything when the time is right.”
Ayesha couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She turned and hurried to her bedroom, feeling as though the people she trusted most were keeping her outside her own family’s story.
That evening, her phone vibrated.
An unknown number had sent her a message.
“I’m sorry about today. I shouldn’t have asked you about the letter at university.”
Ayesha immediately recognized the sender.
Zain.
She typed a reply.
“You said you knew who wrote it. Tell me the truth.”
His response arrived a minute later.
“I can’t explain everything through messages. Meet me tomorrow at the old garden behind the university. Please come alone.”
Ayesha hesitated. She barely knew him. Why should she trust a stranger with something so personal?
Yet, something about Zain made her believe he wasn’t trying to hurt her.
She finally replied, “Okay.”
The following afternoon, Ayesha arrived at the garden. Zain was standing beneath a large tree, his hands in his jacket pockets.
“You came,” he said.
“You promised me answers.”
He nodded and took a deep breath.
“The person who wrote that letter was someone very close to your family. Someone who disappeared years ago.”
“Who?” Ayesha asked impatiently.
Zain looked directly into her eyes.
“My mother.”
Ayesha stared at him in disbelief.
“Your mother? How could your mother know me?”
“Because,” he replied, his voice breaking slightly, “our families knew each other long before we were born.”
He paused, then added, “And your father was the last person who saw her before she disappeared.”
Ayesha felt cold despite the warm afternoon sun.
Her father had recognized the letter. Zain knew its writer. And somehow, their families shared a past neither of them understood.
Before she could ask another question, Zain’s phone rang.
He glanced at the screen, and his expression changed instantly.
“What’s wrong?” Ayesha asked.
He slowly lowered the phone.
“My father just called,” he whispered. “He told me to stay away from you.”
“Why?”
Zain looked at her with sadness in his eyes.
“Because he says your family destroyed ours.”
Ayesha stepped back, shocked.
And just like that, the first fragile connection between them became the beginning of a mystery neither could escape.
To be continued… ❤️