In the heart of a small village, two sisters dream of futures bigger than the world around them—

Ayesha, a gentle writer whose words stir storms, and Hina, a fierce lawyer unafraid of any courtroom battle.

But when fate ties their lives to two cousins, everything changes.

Inspector Saad Khan, disciplined and much older, becomes Ayesha’s unexpected shield when her writing puts her in danger. His world of duty clashes with her world of dreams—yet love quietly blooms in the spaces between.

Meanwhile, Zayan Malik, an ambitious young politician, is everything Hina despises. Arrogant. Sharp-tongued. Infuriating. First introductions spark fire, but a wedding brings them face-to-face again, where banter turns into a battlefield of hearts.

Between family politics, village gossip, and the laughter and chaos of weddings, the sisters must decide:

Will they surrender to destiny’s threads… or fight to weave their own?

A tale of love, rivalry, protection, and tradition—Threads of Fate is a Desi romance filled with passion, family drama, and the slow burn of hearts learning to beat as one.

***A new journey*** 🎉

\*\*\****Threads Of Fate***\*\*\*

Sneak peak:

The courtyard buzzed with laughter, the clinking of bangles, and the rhythm of dhol beating in the background. Wedding lights wrapped around the old mango tree, glowing like fireflies against the night sky. Women hummed old folk songs while children darted between the chairs, their giggles echoing.

Ayesha sat quietly in a corner, henna drying on her palms, her diary tucked secretly under her dupatta. Even on her own mehndi night, words called to her. But her eyes lifted when she felt a gaze—stern, steady, protective. Inspector Saad Khan stood across the courtyard, arms folded, scanning the crowd. He wasn’t smiling, not even once, yet there was something in the way he looked at her, as though the noise of the world faded and only she remained in focus.

Not far away, Hina adjusted her heavy earrings with irritation. She had been forced into this wedding prep, but her sharp eyes caught sight of a familiar smirk across the courtyard. Zayan Malik leaned lazily against a pillar, watching her with amused arrogance.

“Oh, not you again,” Hina muttered under her breath.

As if he’d heard, Zayan pushed off the pillar and walked toward her. “Relax, counselor,” he said smoothly. “I’m not here to argue a case.”

Hina crossed her arms. “Good. Because you’d lose.”

Their relatives laughed, sensing the sparks between them, while Hina and Zayan continued their silent duel of glances.

Ayesha’s heart raced when Saad stepped closer, lowering his voice.

“Don’t stay out too late,” he said firmly.

She blinked at him, surprised. “Why do you care?”

He hesitated, then replied quietly, “Because not everyone here wants good for you.”

And somewhere between henna and laughter, between teasing arguments and silent protection, destiny began weaving its threads.

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Ayesha Qureshi

Hina Qureshi

Saad Khan

Zayaan Malik

The village lay quiet under the fading orange sky, its fields shimmering with the last touch of sunlight. The hum of crickets rose from the grass, mingling with the distant clatter of carts rolling home from the market. In the courtyard of the Qureshi house, the smell of fresh rotis drifted from the kitchen, while laughter and chatter spilled from every corner.

Ayesha Qureshi sat by the wooden window of her small room, a half-filled diary resting on her lap. The lamp at her side glowed faintly, its wick sputtering as the oil thinned. She wrote slowly, the tip of her pen scratching against the page, her thoughts flowing faster than her hand could move.

“Stories have lives of their own,” she whispered to herself, “sometimes louder than the people around us.”

The door creaked open and her younger sister, Hina, stepped inside with her usual dramatic sigh. She was carrying a thick law book, tucked under one arm, her dupatta trailing carelessly.

“Baji, again? You’ll ruin your eyes if you keep scribbling in this dim light,” Hina scolded, dropping onto the bed. “Abbu was asking where you are. Ammi’s worried you’ll forget dinner again.”

Ayesha smiled softly, closing her diary but not putting it away. “You, the lawyer, always ready to argue. One day you’ll fight the whole world with that tongue.”

“And you, the writer, will make the whole world angry with your words,” Hina shot back, though affection glimmered in her voice.

The sisters laughed, the sound filling the little room with warmth. They were different in every possible way—Ayesha calm, gentle, with her heart in stories, and Hina sharp, fiery, always ready for a debate. Yet they were bound together, each other’s greatest strength.

Before they could continue, Ammi’s voice rang from the courtyard: “Girls! Come down, guests are here!”

Both exchanged a quick look. Guests. Which meant gossip. Which meant the aunties had arrived.

When they stepped into the courtyard, the scene was already alive. Two neighbor aunties sat cross-legged on the charpai, sipping tea noisily. Their bangles clinked as they gestured animatedly, their eyes already scanning the sisters from head to toe.

“Ah, Ayesha,” one began, “still writing your little stories? You should think of your future, beta. Books don’t make a home.”

Hina’s sharp tongue itched for a reply, but Ayesha gently pressed her hand, silently stopping her.

“And Hina,” the other auntie added with a knowing smirk, “lawyers argue so much—who will marry a girl like you? No man wants a courtroom at home.”

Hina’s jaw tightened. “Maybe I’ll marry a judge,” she muttered under her breath, earning a stifled laugh from Ayesha.

Just then, Abbu entered, greeting the guests with warmth, his face lined with years of hard work in the fields. He tried to brush away the aunties’ comments, but their words lingered like smoke in the air.

Later that evening, after the guests left, the sisters sat on the roof under the wide village sky. Stars glittered above, a blanket of silver against the darkness.

“Do you ever wonder,” Hina asked suddenly, her tone softer than usual, “what kind of people we’ll end up with? What kind of homes we’ll have?”

Ayesha hugged her knees, smiling faintly. “I don’t think about homes. I think about hearts. If the heart is kind, the home will follow.”

Hina scoffed lightly, though her eyes softened. “You and your fairy-tale lines. Life isn’t that simple, Baji.”

Neither of them knew then that fate was already weaving silently around them—pulling threads from two different households, two different men, two different worlds.

At that very hour, not far away, Inspector Saad Khan was patrolling the dimly lit streets at the edge of the village. His jeep rumbled slowly, headlights sweeping over narrow lanes. Duty weighed heavy on his shoulders, but his eyes carried a quiet strength.

And in the city nearby, Zayan Malik leaned back in a velvet chair at his father’s office, his lips curved in a smirk as he argued heatedly about politics and power. The world bent to his confidence, and he liked it that way.

The sisters on the rooftop did not yet know that these men—the protector and the rival—were already walking paths that would collide with their own.

The night deepened, stars watching silently, as if they too were curious to see how destiny would tie these lives together.

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