The following days for Mysha passed in a blur of lectures, essay evaluations, and endless cups of chai to keep her energy levels high. The college semester was in full swing, and as a young professor, she found herself juggling her responsibilities with the utmost care. Well, most of the time.
“Miss Zafar, you’ve written ‘Shakespeare’ instead of ‘Shaw’ on the assignment instructions!” a student pointed out in class, suppressing a chuckle.
Mysha froze mid-sentence, then sighed dramatically. “Well, congratulations, Hamza. You’ve successfully spotted the typo of the century. Shall we frame it for posterity, or can we move on?”
The class erupted into laughter as Hamza sank into his chair, thoroughly embarrassed. Mysha smirked, her sharp tongue earning her respect and slight fear from her students.
By the end of the day, she was exhausted but content. Teaching literature was her passion, and no matter how chaotic things got, she always felt a sense of fulfillment when her students left with a deeper appreciation for the subject.
As she packed her things to leave, a fellow professor walked in with an envelope in hand. "Mysha, you’ve been requested to judge the inter-college literary competition this weekend. It’s a big deal, you know. Some very reputed names are attending.”
Mysha frowned, taking the envelope. “Judge? Why me? Surely, there are more experienced professors for this kind of thing.”
The other professor shrugged. “Apparently, the students suggested your name. They think your critiques are fair but hilarious.”
“Well, that’s because they haven’t seen me grade during finals week,” Amina muttered, rolling her eyes. Still, she couldn’t deny the tiny spark of excitement that ignited within her.
___________________
Meanwhile, Arsalan was dealing with his own share of challenges. The clinic had been unusually busy, and the cases ranged from routine checkups to unexpected emergencies. His patience was his most prized virtue, but even he had his limits.
“Dr. Ahmed, there’s a minor issue at the university organizing the literary competition,” his assistant informed him during a brief break.
Arsalan raised an eyebrow. “A university? I’m a gynecologist, not a general practitioner. Why would they need me?”
“They’ve requested a doctor to oversee the health arrangements for the event. It’s a formality, really. Just a few hours of presence, and you’re free to leave,” the assistant explained.
He sighed. He hated being pulled into events that didn’t align with his profession, but his family often reminded him of the importance of maintaining a respectable public presence. Reluctantly, he agreed.
_________________
The day of the competition arrived, and Mysha found herself seated in the judges’ panel, a stack of student submissions in front of her. She was dressed in a simple yet elegant kurta, her sharp eyes scanning the room as students scurried around in preparation.
Across the hall, Arsalan stood near the organizers’ table, his tall frame commanding attention without effort. Dressed in a crisp white shirt and charcoal trousers, he looked every bit the polished professional. His role at the event was minimal, but he had no intention of drawing attention to himself.
For a while, their paths didn’t cross. Mysha was too engrossed in critiquing presentations, while Arsalan stayed at the back, reviewing event protocols.
It wasn’t until one of the students fainted mid-performance that their worlds collided once again.
_________________
The hall erupted into chaos as the student collapsed. Mysha was among the first to react, rushing to the stage. “Someone call the doctor!” she yelled, panic evident in her voice.
“I’m here,” Arsalan’s voice cut through the commotion, calm and steady. He moved swiftly to the stage, his medical bag in hand.
Mysha turned to him, her eyes widening in recognition. “You!”
Arsalan paused, glancing at her briefly before crouching down to attend to the student. “Yes, me. But let’s save the reunion for later, shall we?”
She huffed, crossing her arms as she stepped aside to let him work. The student was soon stabilized, and Arsalan assured everyone it was just a case of dehydration.
As the crowd dispersed, Mysha found herself alone with Arsalan near the stage.
“Fancy meeting you here, Dr. Arsalan,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
“I could say the same, Miss Zafar,” he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Though I must admit, I didn’t expect you to yell at me the moment you saw me.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I wasn’t yelling at you; I was yelling in general. Don’t flatter yourself.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “You have quite the personality, don’t you?”
Their banter was interrupted by one of the organizers calling for Mysha. She gave Arsalan a final glare before walking away, her heels clicking against the stage floor.
He watched her go, a faint smile playing on his lips. There was something undeniably intriguing about Mysha Zafar --- a storm wrapped in sass and wit.
For the rest of the event, their interactions were minimal, but the lingering tension between them was impossible to ignore. Both went their separate ways at the end of the day, unaware that their fates were far from done intertwining.
______________________
Mysha stared blankly at the stack of essays sitting on her desk. Her students’ attempts at literary criticism ranged from impressive to downright bizarre. As a literature professor, she adored her subject, but days like these tested her patience.
She picked up an essay titled “Shakespeare Was a Time Traveler” and sighed. “Why, Allah? Why must I endure this?”
Her younger sister, Rida, peeked into the room. “Appi, are you talking to yourself again?”
Mysha shot her a look. “Don’t you have homework to do?”
Rida grinned and skipped off, leaving Mysha to wrestle with the absurdities of her students’ imaginations. She massaged her temples, her recent health scare still lingering in the back of her mind.
The visit to her grandparents had been a brief reprieve from work, but the encounter with that doctor left a bitter taste. She couldn’t shake off his smug smile or the way he’d so effortlessly dissected her stubbornness.
“Stupid, arrogant, annoying doctor,” she muttered, shoving the essays aside.
_______________________
Meanwhile, in another city, Arsalan's day had started before dawn. As an OB-GYN, his schedule was relentless, and today was no exception. He had just wrapped up a complicated delivery when his phone buzzed with a message from his younger brother, Faizal.
Faizal: Bhai, don’t forget the physiotherapy conference this weekend. It’s important!
Arsalan sighed, typing a quick reply.
Arsalan: Noted. How’s your practice going?
Faizal replied instantly.
Faizal: Better than expected. But Amma keeps asking when you’ll visit. She’s planning to call Nani for a family dinner soon.
Arsalan smiled faintly. His mother’s insistence on family gatherings was both endearing and exhausting. With his workload, carving out time for such events felt impossible.
The nurse interrupted his thoughts. “Dr. Ahmed, the next patient is ready for the ultrasound.”
He nodded, slipping his phone into his coat pocket. His life revolved around his work, and while he loved his profession, there were moments when he craved something... more.
---
Back in Mysha’s world, her mother barged into her room unannounced.
“Mysha, we’re leaving for the grocery store. Rida’s coming with me. Do you need anything?”
Mysha waved her off. “No, I’m fine.”
Her mother gave her a knowing look. “You’ve been cooped up all day. Go out, get some fresh air. And for Allah’s sake, drink more water!”
“I’ll think about it,” Mysha replied lazily, earning an exasperated shake of the head from her mother.
The door closed, and Mysha slumped back in her chair, staring at the essays once more. But her thoughts drifted elsewhere—to the city she’d just visited, to her grandparents’ bustling household, and inevitably, to him.
“Why am I even thinking about that rude doctor?” she scolded herself.
-------
Arsalan’s day finally came to an end as the clinic lights dimmed. He leaned against his desk, scrolling through his messages. His sister, Zara, had sent him a voice note.
“Bhai, I need your advice on my thesis topic. Also, when are you visiting us? It’s been ages!”
He chuckled, recording a quick reply. “Zara, I’ll visit as soon as I can. Call me if you need detailed advice.”
Despite his busy schedule, Arsalan never missed an opportunity to support his siblings. It was a duty he took seriously, even if it meant sacrificing his rare free time.
As he prepared to leave, he glanced out the window at the city lights. The quiet nights were a stark contrast to his chaotic days. And yet, something felt incomplete.
---
In her city, Mysha decided to take her mother’s advice. Grabbing her purse, she stepped out for a walk, hoping the cool evening air would clear her mind. The streets were bustling with life, vendors calling out to potential customers, and the aroma of street food wafting through the air.
She paused by a small chai stall, ordering a steaming cup of tea. As she sipped, her phone buzzed with a message from her best friend, Nida.
Nida: How’s the headache? Still brooding over the handsome doctor?
Mysha rolled her eyes, typing back furiously.
Mysha: First of all, he’s not handsome. Secondly, I’m not brooding!
The reply was instant.
Nida: Sure, you’re not. 🙄
Mysha groaned, pocketing her phone. “Why does everyone keep bringing him up?” she muttered.
Little did she know, her paths were destined to cross with Arsalan’s again, in ways neither of them could foresee.
-------
Meanwhile, Arsalan finally headed home after a grueling day. His siblings were already gathered in the living room, watching a comedy show. Zara turned to him and teased, “Bhai, you look like you’ve just delivered quintuplets.”
Arsalan rolled his eyes. “It was only twins today, thank you very much.”
Faizal grinned. “Twins or not, you need to lighten up. How about a match of chess?”
“I’d rather sleep,” Arsalan replied, collapsing onto the couch.
But Zara wasn’t letting him off that easily. “Tell us, Bhai, when are you bringing home a bhabi? You’re not getting any younger, you know.”
“Soon,” Arsalan said with a straight face.
“Really?” Zara’s eyes widened in excitement.
“Yes,” he deadpanned. “As soon as I find someone who doesn’t faint at the sight of needles.”
______
The next day, Mysha’s mother announced a trip to the bazaar, but Mysha was still recovering from her “market incident where one fruit seller had fooled her "
“I’m not stepping foot outside today!” she declared.
“Fine,” her mother replied, “but don’t think you’ll get out of helping with dinner later.”
She groaned but stayed true to her word, locking herself in her room with a cup of chai and a novel.
She was just getting into the story when her phone buzzed with a video call from Nida.
“What now?” Mysha grumbled, picking up.
On the other end, Nida was grinning mischievously. “Guess who’s in your city?”
“Who?”
“The doctor! Your doctor! I saw him at a coffee shop earlier.”
Mysha’s jaw dropped. “He’s not my doctor! And why are you stalking random people?”
“I wasn’t stalking,” Nida said, feigning innocence. “I just happened to see him. And wow, he’s even better-looking in real life.”
“Goodbye, Nida.”
After saying goodbye to Nida, closing the door behind her. The house was quiet now, but her mind was anything but. She sat on the edge of her bed, her thoughts drifting back to Arsalan.
He was in her city. That small fact, one she hadn’t known until her uncle casually mentioned it, felt like a stone dropped into the calm waters of her life. She placed her hand over her chest, frowning at the quickened beat of her heart.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, brushing away the feeling.
But no matter how much she tried to distract herself cleaning, organizing her bookshelf, even scrolling mindlessly on her phone she couldn’t shake the thought of him.
------
In another part of the city, Arsalan was having a long day at the hospital. His schedule was packed, but he was used to it. Patients came and went, and he handled each case with the same calm professionalism.
But the next patient was different. A teenage girl, no older than 15, sat in the examination room, her eyes red from crying. Her mother stood beside her, looking helpless.
“Doctor, she won’t let anyone examine her,” the mother explained. “She’s terrified.”
Arsalan crouched down to the girl’s level, his voice gentle. “What’s your name?”
“Zoya,” she mumbled, not meeting his eyes.
“Zoya, I know you’re scared, and that’s okay,” Arsalan said, his tone soothing. “But I’m here to help you, not hurt you. Can you tell me what’s bothering you?”
Zoya sniffled, glancing at her mother before whispering, “I... I don’t like doctors. They always poke and prod... it hurts.”
Arsalan smiled softly thinking about someone he knows.... “I get it. No one likes being poked and prodded. But I promise, I’ll be as gentle as possible. We’ll take this one step at a time, okay?”
She hesitated but nodded slowly. Arsalan guided her through the examination with patience, explaining each step and making jokes to lighten the mood. By the end, Zoya was laughing nervously, her fear replaced with a sense of trust.
“See? That wasn’t so bad,” Arsalan said, handing her a lollipop. “You were braver than most adults I know.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Zoya said shyly, a small smile on her face.
As the mother and daughter left, the nurse turned to Arsalan. “You’ve got a way with patients, Doctor. Not everyone can handle cases like that.”
Arsalan shrugged, a faint smile on his lips. “Sometimes, they just need someone to listen.”
_______________________
Back at home, Mysha found herself staring out of the window, lost in thought. Her mind replayed the scene at the clinic the way Arsalan’s eyes had met hers, the calm authority in his voice.
“He’s just a doctor,” she told herself again, but the argument felt hollow. There was something about him that had unsettled her in ways she couldn’t explain.
Her phone buzzed, snapping her out of her thoughts. It was a message from Rida:
“You look like you’ve been hit by Cupid. Spill the tea, Apa.”
Mysha rolled her eyes, quickly typing back:
“Dream on. I’m just tired, that’s all.”
But even as she sent the message, she knew it wasn’t true.
_______________
As Arsalan drove home that evening, he thought about Zoya and the other patients he’d treated that day. His work was demanding, but it gave him a sense of purpose.
Still, there were moments rare, fleeting moments when his mind wandered to Mysha. He didn’t know why. She was fiery, unpredictable, and unlike anyone he’d ever met. And yet, there was something about her that had stayed with him.
He shook his head, focusing on the road ahead. He didn’t have time for distractions, especially not now. His uncle’s looming presence was enough to deal with.
But no matter how much he tried to push her from his mind, her sharp words and softer glances lingered, like an echo he couldn’t ignore.
____________________
Precap~
While mysha started to unravel her feelings as Arsalan's life takes an unexpected turn ....
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