In a close-knit conservative Muslim community, Amina, a young and talented girl, dreams of becoming a fashion designer specializing in modest and hijabi fashion.
As Amina's family pressures her into an arranged marriage, she fears her dreams will be...
As she swung the door open, she froze in place. Standing there, looking equally stunned, was none other than Professor Hassan. Clad in a white kurta pajama, his beard neatly trimmed and his hair perfectly groomed, he looked nothing like the grumpy professor she knew from New York. For a moment, neither of them spoke, both caught off guard. Hassan was taken aback as well, unsure of how Amina, his student, had appeared in front of him.
“A-Amina?” Hassan finally broke the silence, sounding confused.
Amina, who was mentally ransacking her brain for every possible mistake she’d made in his class, blurted out, “Sir... abb aap yahan tak aa gaye meri shikayat lagane?”
Hassan blinked in confusion. “What? Why would I come here just to complain to your mother?”
Amina, still trying to piece things together, folded her arms and raised an eyebrow, “To phir aap yahan kyun aaye hain? Wo bhi New York se...? Ek second aapke pass mera address kaise aaya!!”
Hassan, clearly bewildered, responded, “Meri ammi ne mujhe yeh address diya tha. Main toh bas yahan aya hoon kyunke...”
Before he could finish, from behind them, Amina’s mother, Sayda, called out with amusement in her voice, “Pagal larki, usse andar toh aane do.”
Amina flushed red, realizing she had left him awkwardly standing at the door. She stepped aside in embarrassment, mumbling a quick “Sorry” as she let him in. Hassan shot her one last glance before walking inside and greeted the room with a soft "Assalam-o-Alaikum."
As he entered, the air felt both familiar and strange to him, though he couldn’t quite place why. His mother, Shehnaaz, stood up and introduced him to Amina’s mother and grandmother, although they already knew him. “Yeh mera bada beta Hassan hai,” she said warmly, “Aur Mahira ka bada bhai.”
The words hit Amina like a freight train. Hassan... Mahira ka bhai?! Amina’s heart sank as she looked over at Mahira, who was trying—and failing miserably—not to laugh. Her face turned pale. All these months, she had been bad-mouthing Hassan to his own sister. Realizing the full gravity of her blunders, Amina broke into a nervous sweat.
"Ammi me ek minute aati hu." She quickly excused herself and scurried upstairs to her room, cheeks burning with embarrassment.
Hassan watched her leave with a confused expression but quickly lowered his gaze. He didn’t know what had just happened, but he felt that strange sense of familiarity tugging at him again. Meanwhile, Mahira excused herself and followed Amina, trying to keep her laughter contained until she reached the room.
