Anchored by Love

The soft call of the Adhan echoed through the peaceful morning as Fiza Alvi slowly stirred awake, the quiet hum of the early hours filling her room. She opened her eyes, letting the stillness settle around her before she sat up and performed her Fajr prayer. The room remained serene as her soft whispers filled the air, a quiet connection with the divine before the hustle of the day. Afterward, she recited a few verses of the Quran, letting the words seep into her heart, fortifying her for what lay ahead.

After her prayer, Fiza selected her outfit for the day—loose gray baggy pants, a matching gray shirt, and a gray hijab that framed her face. Her hair, like black silk, briefly brushed her shoulders before she tied it into a neat ponytail. A small mole under her lower lip accentuated her beauty—a feature her family often teased her about lovingly.

The morning was gentle, with a mild breeze hinting at the transition between seasons. It was the kind of weather that invited reflection, peace, and quiet determination. As Fiza descended the stairs, she heard faint sounds from the gym—a familiar rhythm of movement that brought a smile to her lips.

Pushing open the door, she found Aqsa already inside, tying her shoelaces. Aqsa looked up, her face lighting up when she saw her sister. "Good morning, Fiza," she greeted, her tone warm.

"Morning," Fiza replied, stepping in. "Already at it, huh? Trying to impress Zayan?"

Aqsa blushed slightly but shot back with a teasing glare. "Please, like I need to try. Besides, he's already impressed. He just won't admit it."

Fiza chuckled, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "Fair enough. But I still think he's going to wipe the floor with you during your first boxing lesson. You know he's a cop, right?"

Aqsa rolled her eyes, laughing. "You sound just like Mama. 'Zayan this, Zayan that.' I get it. He's great. But I'm great too, and I'll prove it this weekend."

Their playful banter continued until they stepped out of the gym. Fiza's gaze fell on the two motorbikes parked in the backyard—a sight that always brought a lump to her throat. Aqsa noticed the change in Fiza's expression and gently squeezed her hand.

"It's okay, Fiza," she whispered, her voice steady. "He'd want you to keep going, to be strong."

Fiza nodded, her lips forming a soft, bittersweet smile. "I know," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "And we will."

Back inside, the house began to stir with life. Uzma, their elder sister, was already in the living room, holding her one-year-old daughter, Zinia. Uzma smiled at the sight of her sisters, her warmth radiating like a comforting embrace.

"Finally, you two are back," Uzma teased. "Mama's been asking for you."

In the dining area, their parents were waiting. Hafeez Alvi, their father, looked up from his tea and greeted Fiza with a proud smile. "Ah, my Fiza," he said, his voice filled with love. "You're up early as always."

"Good morning, Baba," Fiza replied, leaning down to kiss his hand—a gesture of respect that brought a twinkle to his eyes.

Shazia Alvi, their mother, placed a plate of breakfast in front of Fiza, her concern evident in her gaze. "You've been so serious lately, my dear," she said softly. "Is everything all right?"

Fiza hesitated but then smiled. "Just a lot on my mind, Mama. I promise it's nothing to worry about."

The family fell into an easy rhythm—conversations flowing, laughter ringing out as Zinia babbled happily in her mother's arms. Uzma teased Aqsa about Zayan, who was her fiancé and the source of much of their playful teasing.

As the clock ticked, Uzma glanced at her phone, a flicker of urgency crossing her face. "I wish I could stay longer," she said with a sigh. "But Ahmad is waiting, and I have a meeting to prepare for. Zinia and I need to head out soon."

Shazia frowned but nodded understandingly. "At least you made time to come today," she said, a hint of pride in her voice. "You're balancing so much, Uzma, but don't forget this will always be your home."

"I could never forget, Mama," Uzma replied, her smile tinged with both love and regret. "No matter where I go, this is where my heart belongs."

Fiza watched Uzma with admiration, marveling at her sister's strength and dedication. Even though Uzma had her own responsibilities—her husband, Ahmad, her daughter, and her demanding job—she always found a way to prioritize family.

Before long, Uzma was packing up, Zinia cooing softly in her arms. She gave each of them a tight hug, promising to visit again soon before heading out the door.

The rest of the morning passed quickly. As Fiza gathered her things to leave for the day, her mother pulled her aside, holding her hands tightly. "Fiza," Shazia began, her voice tinged with worry. "You're always so strong, but don't forget we're here for you. Whatever it is, we're with you."

Fiza hugged her mother tightly, her voice steady but soft. "I know, Mama. And that's all I need."

Her father joined them, placing a hand on Fiza's shoulder. "We're proud of you," he said, his voice deep and reassuring. "You've always been our light."

Aqsa joined the moment, forming a circle of warmth around Fiza. As she stepped out the door, the morning sunlight bathed her in its golden glow. The road ahead was uncertain, but the strength of her family was a constant, a reminder of why she was fighting so hard.

With one last glance at her home, Fiza whispered to herself, "I'll make you all proud."

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