The courtyard was quiet — not the silence of tension, but the kind that comes with peace. The sun broke gently through the tall trees, casting golden shadows over the old stone floor. Mirshad's entire family sat together. Not just his brothers or Baba… but everyone. His parents. His uncles. Aunties. Cousins. Siblings. Voices overlapped. Laughter rose and fell like waves. Tea glasses clinked. Conversations danced. Sophia sat beside Sara, smiling at the way Mirshad's father laughed like a boy again. The air was different — it felt like the house itself had finally exhaled.
From inside, the wooden door creaked open. Mirshad stepped out of his room — shirtless as always, towel hanging lazily over one shoulder. He passed through the courtyard, giving a lazy wave to his uncles and cousins, yawning like a sleepy lion. His mother caught him halfway to the hall.
"Mirshad, go freshen up and wear something decent. You're not a boy anymore."
Sophia didn't miss the chance. She stood, grabbed a towel, and threw it over his shoulder like a cape.
"If you don't go now, I swear I'll wrap you like a mummy."
Everyone laughed. Mirshad raised his hands in surrender, turned, and walked back inside — the sound of his laughter still trailing behind him.
A few minutes later, the dining room came alive. The long wooden table was set — not fancy, not royal. But real. Puttu. Kadala curry. Fish fry. Chappathi. Boiled eggs. Juice. Tea. All hot. All homemade. All perfect. Mirshad returned, finally covered. Sophia nodded in approval.
"Now you're my husband. Not a wild man."
They all sat. Plates clinked. Hands reached. Voices returned. One of his uncles leaned forward, eyes playful.
"So… what's the occasion? Birthday? Marriage? World peace?"
Mirshad didn't even blink.
"All of it. Let maa decide."
His mother wiped her hand, smiled at everyone, and said it proudly:
"September 24. His birthday. His marriage. One day, one celebration."
Sophia looked at him. No argument. Just that soft smile that said — If it's you, then it's yes.
After breakfast, they moved to the main hall. The room was wide. Bright. Alive. A whiteboard stood in the corner. Papers, pens, and lists stacked on the table. Jabir and Malik stepped forward. Amir grabbed the marker. Rayyan pulled up the plans.
"We're building the biggest stage this city's ever seen," Malik said.
"Not a wedding," Amir added. "An arrival."
"Don't forget the lighting," Rayyan smirked. "It should glow from space."
Even Baba cracked a rare smile. The planning began. This wasn't about showing off. This was about remembering — the boy they raised, the man he became, and the peace he earned.
Later that day, Mirshad sat in the sit-out with Baba and his father. The breeze was soft. The trees whispered. The air tasted of calm. His father placed a hand on his shoulder, strong and steady.
"You've done enough, son. For the world. For everyone. Let this part… be about you."
Mirshad looked ahead — not at the sky, but beyond it.
"That's the plan, papa. Just one month. One real month. No masks. No wars. Just peace."
As evening drew close, the courtyard settled once more. The noise had moved inside — laughter echoing in the hallways. Children playing. Aunty shouting for tea. Shoes scattered at the door. Mirshad stood quietly, hands behind his back. He looked at the land where he once walked as a boy.
No tension. No storm. Just silence — the kind you earn, not expect.
And for the first time in a long time… he wasn't protecting the world. The world was protecting him.