Chapter 2: Unspoken Words
The days that followed were filled with unexpected encounters. Areeba, eager to explore the village, often wandered through its fields and markets. Faizan, ever observant, found himself noticing her more than he intended.
One afternoon, while Areeba was sketching the village's old banyan tree, Faizan approached her. He carried a small wooden bird he had carved—an intricate piece that seemed to flutter even in stillness.
"You seem to like beautiful things," he said, holding the bird out to her.
Areeba looked up, surprised by his gesture. She took the carving, tracing its delicate lines with her fingers. "Did you make this?"
Faizan nodded. "It's nothing special. Just something I do to pass the time."
"It's incredible," she said softly. "You have a gift."
Their conversation unfolded naturally, filled with laughter and curiosity. They spoke of the city and the village, of dreams and realities. Yet, amidst their words was an unspoken tension—a recognition of a bond neither dared to name.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Areeba realized she felt more at home in Noorabad than she ever had in the city. And Faizan, watching her walk away, knew his heart was no longer his own.