The morning sun rays filled the room of mysha with the golden hues over her chaotic little sanctuary. Her alarm has been ringing from few minutes ago but she didn't budged a bit , unaware , cocooned in the blanket. Somewhere in the background her younger sister shouting out loudly like a battle cry.
"Appi , you're late again! , your students will riot if you keep this up! " Her sister Rida shrieked loudly
Mysha groaned blindly reaching for the alarm clock , shutting it off , She peeked one eye open, only to realize her sister wasn't bluffing. It was 8:45 a.m. Her lecture was scheduled for 9:30 a.m., and she was nowhere close to being ready.
"Why do mornings hate me?" she muttered, leaping out of bed and tripping over a pile of books. The stack collapsed with a thud, scattering her precious English literature notes everywhere.
Her mother's voice floated up the stairs. "Misu! If you don't come down now, you're going to miss breakfast!"
"No time, Ammi!" she shouted back, hopping around the room on one foot as she tried to find her other shoe.
"Breakfast is important!" her mother snapped. "I don't care if the queen of England is calling you; you'll eat before you leave!"
She rolled her eyes but obeyed. Skipping breakfast wasn't worth the lecture that would follow. Downstairs, she found her younger sister smirking at her over a plate of parathas.
"You look like you fought with a tornado and lost," her sister teased.
Mysha shot her a glare, stuffing a paratha into her mouth. "At least I'm productive, unlike someone who spends all day scrolling Instagram."
The banter continued until Mysha finally managed to leave the house, her scarf fluttering behind her like a banner of determination. She darted through the streets, dodging vendors and cyclists, balancing her books precariously in one hand and a cup of chai in the other.
By the time she reached the university, she was panting, her kurta slightly stained with chai, and her hair refusing to stay in place. "Made it," she muttered to herself, ignoring the amused looks from her students as she marched into the lecture hall.
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Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, Arsalan's day was unfolding in perfect order.
The faint chirping of birds , after praying namaz , doing adhkar (tasbih ) accompanied the steady rhythm of his push-ups. At 5 a.m. sharp, Arsalan was already in his home gym, his focus unwavering. His morning workout and praying namaz was sacred, a ritual that set the tone for his meticulously planned day.
After a quick shower and a perfectly brewed cup of coffee, he dressed in his crisp white coat and headed to his clinic. His presence was commanding yet calming, and the staff greeted him with respect and a touch of nervousness.
"Good morning , Dr Arsalan , here's yours today's schedule" his assistant said handing him his schedule
He nodded glancing over the schedule ..
As patients trickled in, Arsalan moved seamlessly from one consultation to the next. A nervous mother-to-be entered his office, her husband pacing nervously behind her. Arsalan's voice was calm and steady as he reassured them. "Everything looks fine. Just follow the instructions, and you'll be holding your baby in no time." he gave a professional nod assuring them
His kindness was matched by his discipline. While he was understanding, he didn't tolerate carelessness, whether from his staff or his patients. When a nurse fumbled with a patient's report, he raised an eyebrow. "Attention to detail is not optional," he said, his tone firm but not harsh.
Arsalan's world was one of order and precision, a stark contrast to the whirlwind that was Mysha's life.
(Attention , here Arsalan has a private clinic and he had additional training and expertise in treating a wide range of medical conditions across various age groups before pursuing his Ob gyn speciality.)
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Back in the university , Mysha was wrapping up her lecture , animatedly explaining the Chaucer 's Age to her students .
Her passion for literature was undeniable , and despite her often chaotic demeanor , her students adore her .
"Ma'am how do you make Chaucer and Shakespeare sound so fun ? " One curious student asked
She grinned "Because they were secretly a drama queen just like me ."
Laughter filled the room as Mysha felt a surge of satisfaction
This was her element-bringing life to stories, finding joy in words, and making even the most reluctant students appreciate the beauty of literature.
But as the day wore on, a dull headache began to creep in. By the time her last lecture ended, she felt like her head was being squeezed in a vise. She brushed it off as fatigue, refusing to let anything ruin her day.
It wasn't until she was back at her grandparents' house later that evening that the headache worsened, accompanied by chills and nausea. Her mother noticed immediately.
"Misu, you don't look well," she said, her voice tinged with concern.
"I'm fine, Ammi," Mysha insisted, though her pale face and trembling hands said otherwise.
Her mother wasn't convinced. "You've been burning up for three days now. Enough is enough. You're going to the doctor tomorrow, no arguments."
She groaned. "Ammi, I don't need a doctor. Just give me some tea and I'll be fine."
Her mother's expression was firm. "Enough arguments. Your uncle will take you in the morning."
Defeated, Mysha buried herself under the blanket, muttering about how the universe seemed determined to ruin her life.
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The next morning, as Mysha reluctantly got ready to visit the clinic, Arsalan was preparing for another routine day. He adjusted his white coat, glancing at the schedule on his desk.
"A full day," he thought, sipping his coffee. He had no idea that today, among the many patients he would see, one of them was about to change his life forever.
And as Mysha trudged into the clinic, muttering under her breath about doctors and injections, fate was quietly smiling. Two worlds were about to collide, and nothing would ever be the same again.
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The clinic's waiting room buzzed with a mix of conversations, the occasional sound of a child crying, and the faint hum of the air conditioning. Mysha sat in the corner, arms crossed tightly over her chest, glaring at her uncle, who was seated beside her with an amused expression.
"I don't understand why I even need to be here," she grumbled. "It's probably just a migraine. I'll be fine in a day or two."
Her uncle smirked. "Tell that to your mother. I'm just the messenger. Besides, a quick check-up won't kill you."
Mysha shot him a glare. "You have no idea how doctors are. They poke and prod like you're some kind of lab rat."
Her uncle chuckled. "Drama queen."
Before Amina could retort, a nurse appeared at the door, clipboard in hand. "Mysha Zafar?"
"That's us," her uncle said, standing up. Mysha remained rooted to her seat, her expression one of defiance.
"Come on, Misu. Don't make this harder than it has to be," he said, pulling her up.
Muttering under her breath, she followed the nurse down the corridor. The walls were painted a calming shade of blue, but to her, it felt more like a path to doom.
"Please wait here. The doctor will see you shortly," the nurse said, gesturing to a room.
As the door closed behind her, she took a hesitant step forward. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic, and the sight of the examination table made her stomach churn. She plopped down on a chair, determined not to look at the medical equipment lined up neatly on the counter.
Minutes passed, each one stretching longer than the last. Her impatience grew, and she was about to storm out when the door opened.
Arsalan walked in , clipboard in hand, exuding an air of calm authority. His sharp features, perfectly trimmed beard, and piercing gaze were enough to make anyone sit up straighter.
Mysha, however, was too caught up in her own irritation to notice. "Finally! Do you know how long I've been waiting?" she snapped, arms crossed.
Mysha raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "I'm Dr. Arsalan Ahmed. And you must be the patient who believes she knows better than her doctor?"
She blinked, momentarily taken aback by his tone. She quickly recovered, though, her natural sass kicking in. "I'm just saying, punctuality is important. Maybe invest in a better clock?"
Arsalan's lips twitched, the hint of a smirk threatening to break through. But he maintained his professional demeanor. "I'll take that under advisement. Now, let's get started. What seems to be the problem?"
"It's nothing," Mysha said dismissively. "Just a headache. My mother's the one making a big deal out of it."
Arsalan's gaze shifted to her pale face and slightly trembling hands. "Headaches don't usually come with fever and fatigue. Let me take a look."
Mysha tensed as he approached, instinctively leaning back in her chair. Arsalan noticed and paused, his voice softening. "Relax. I'm not here to hurt you."
She hesitated but eventually nodded. As he checked her vitals, she found herself studying his face. There was something strangely comforting about his presence, even if he was annoyingly calm and composed.
Arsalan, on the other hand, was equally intrigued. Her sharp tongue and fiery attitude were a stark contrast to the nervous energy she radiated. It was clear she didn't like doctors, but there was a vulnerability beneath her bravado that caught his attention.
After a thorough examination, Arsalan stepped back. "It's likely a viral infection. Nothing serious, but you'll need rest and proper hydration. I'll prescribe some medication to help with the symptoms."
Mysha's relief was evident. "So, no injections?"
He chuckled softly. "No injections. But you'll have to follow the prescription exactly."
She nodded, suddenly feeling more at ease. As Arsalan scribbled on his notepad, she couldn't resist one last quip. "You know, for a doctor, you're not as scary as I expected."
He looked up, a faint smile playing on his lips. "And for a patient, you're a lot more dramatic than I expected."
Their eyes met for a brief moment, and something unspoken passed between them-a spark neither of them fully understood yet.
As Mysha left the clinic, her uncle teased her endlessly about her encounter with the "handsome doctor," but she brushed it off, attributing her flushed cheeks to the fever.
Meanwhile, Arsalan found himself distracted throughout the day, his thoughts drifting back to the feisty young woman with the sharp tongue and nervous eyes.
Neither of them realized it yet, but their first meeting was only the beginning of a story that fate had already started to write-a tale of love, laughter, and the unexpected twists that life has a habit of throwing our way.
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Precap ~
Mysha throws herself into her work, determined to meet the upcoming semester's challenges head-on. Between preparing lectures, dealing with mischievous students, and battling her procrastination tendencies, her days are nothing short of chaotic. But life has other plans.
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