The calm before the storm

In the heart of the city of Zarvahn, nestled in the kingdom of Alshira, there was a family that many only dreamed of becoming. The Alvi family, known for their immense wealth, grace, and untouchable reputation, lived in a grand house where luxury met tradition, and innocence often disguised the sharp intellect beneath.

The sprawling estate stood as a symbol of their success—a blend of old-world charm and modern elegance, with every room carefully curated to showcase not only their wealth but their cultural roots. It was a home where laughter echoed through the halls, and secrets were kept behind closed doors.

Fiza Alvi, the youngest of the family, was preparing for a day that would change everything. Her heart raced as anxiety coursed through her veins, each beat reminding her of the importance of today. You can do this, she whispered to herself. She stood in front of her mirror, adjusting her black hijab that matched her oversized black T-shirt and baggy pants. It was a look she kept simple, one that let no one see past the quiet exterior.

Despite her modest clothing, there was an undeniable beauty in the way Fiza carried herself—a quiet elegance that couldn't be hidden by her plain attire. Her features, framed by the soft curves of her face, were striking in their symmetry. Her deep, honey-colored eyes held a calm intensity that seemed to absorb the world around her. Her lips, though rarely curved into a smile, were perfectly shaped. Even beneath the simple black hijab, Fiza radiated an understated beauty that was impossible to ignore.

Fiza paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. Her reflection felt foreign—like a mask she wore to shield her real self from the world. She looked at her watch, knowing time was running short. Her family would be waiting.

She stepped out of her room, the soft hum of the house greeting her as she made her way down the grand staircase. The kitchen smelled of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling eggs. Aqsa was at the stove, flipping the eggs with practiced ease, while their mother, Shazia Alvi, set the table with graceful movements, her calm presence filling the space. The family had a routine, and this morning, despite the looming uncertainty of the day ahead, Fiza couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort in it.

Her father, Hafeez Alvi, sat at the head of the dining table, his newspaper open in front of him. The sound of the pages turning was rhythmic, familiar, like the heartbeat of the house. His sharp, yet kind eyes flicked up from his reading as Fiza entered the room, but he said nothing. His gaze, however, was warm.

"Assalamualaikum, Baba, Mama," Fiza greeted softly, her voice tinged with a note of hesitance that only she could feel.

"Walikum salam, my dear," her mother replied with a smile, her voice like honey, soothing and nurturing. "Come, have breakfast with us."

Fiza nodded, taking a seat at the table, but her thoughts were miles away. The weight of what she was about to do pressed on her shoulders, and it felt as though the world around her had slowed down, each moment stretching longer than it should.

She quickly served herself, her hands steady as she arranged a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and fruit. Her mother handed her a cup of freshly brewed tea, the warmth seeping through the delicate porcelain. Fiza took a sip, savoring the familiar taste, though it did little to calm the storm within her.

As she ate, Aqsa's laughter broke the quiet. "Fiza, you have that look on your face again. What are you up to this time?"

Fiza forced a smile, trying to mask the tension that was building inside her. "Nothing," she replied, her voice light, though her eyes were anything but.

Her father looked up from his newspaper, his gaze shifting to Fiza, sensing her unease. "You seem different today, Fiza. What's going on?"

Fiza met his eyes, trying to steady her racing heart. "Baba, I have some work to do... something that's important for my life," she said, her voice steady but with a trace of uncertainty that only she could hear.

Her mother studied her for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly, sensing there was more to the story than Fiza was letting on. "Important? Is this something we should know about?"

Fiza shook her head, offering her mother a soft smile. "No, Mama. Just something I need to do. I'll explain later."

Aqsa, ever the perceptive one, raised an eyebrow. "You're up to something, aren't you? You always are."

Fiza shrugged playfully, though it didn't quite hide the anxiety flickering behind her honey-colored eyes. "Maybe, maybe not," she replied, not wanting to reveal the real reason behind her unusual behavior today.

She finished her breakfast quickly, standing up and clearing her plate. "I'll be back later. Don't worry about me."

With a final glance at her family, Fiza turned toward the door. The anxiety in her chest grew heavier with every step she took. What was she about to face?

Just as she reached for the door handle, her father's voice stopped her.

"Fiza, wait."

She turned around, her heart racing.

"Be careful. Not all work is as easy as it seems," he said, his voice calm but with an edge of concern.

Fiza met his eyes, trying to mask the turmoil she felt inside. "I will, Baba. I promise."

And with that, she walked out, the door clicking shut behind her.

Outside, the world seemed to pause for a moment. The sun hung low in the sky over Zarvahn, casting long shadows over the streets. Fiza's pulse quickened. She didn't know what would happen next, but something in her gut told her that today would change everything.

And she was ready—ready for whatever came next.