Naima’s POV
I always looked up to Malika.
She was the older one—sharper, more confident, more graceful. The one who could command a room without trying. Growing up, people always said, “Malika has a spark Naima hasn’t found yet.” I never minded. I adored her.
But when I got married first, things shifted.
It wasn’t meant to happen that way. In our culture, it’s the older sister first. And though no one said it outright, I felt the whispers. I heard the aunts talking—“How did the younger one go first?” and “Poor Malika, it must sting.”
But Malika hugged me tighter than anyone on my wedding day. She tucked my hair behind my ear and whispered, “I’m proud of you.” No edge in her voice. Just love.
I’m expecting now, and still, not once has she shown resentment. She buys me mangoes, rubs my back when I’m tired, sends me voice notes checking in. But there’s something in her eyes—tiredness maybe, or something else I can’t quite name.
My husband’s name is Shahbaz Baig. He’s everything I could’ve asked for and more. He’s kind, loving, and a great partner. Every day I’m reminded how lucky I am.
Malika’s POV
They don’t know.
Not Naima, not anyone.
I married long before she did—but in a courthouse, not a banquet hall. It wasn’t grand. It wasn’t approved. It wasn’t the dream they’d imagined for me. His name is Omar Ibrahim, a Muslim man with Christian Pakistani roots. We met in college—both misfits in our own ways. Our love was quiet, forbidden, but whole. So we took the leap. We married privately, started our life far from the chaos of expectations.
We’ve had two beautiful boys, Raza and Omar Jr., who are the light of my life. No one knows. Not even Naima.
He was from another faith. We met in college—both misfits in our own ways. Our love was quiet, forbidden, but whole. So we took the leap. We married privately, started our life far from the chaos of expectations.
Now, I have 2 sons. Two beautiful boys who looks like both of us. No one knows. Not even Naima.
And I don’t regret it. But I do carry the weight of silence. Because in this family, secrets protect peace. Telling the truth would only pit us further apart, drag her joy through my hidden reality. And I can’t do that to her.
When Naima’s engagement was announced, people looked at me like I was the benchmark she failed to meet. “Why isn’t Malika married yet?” they said, again and again.
I smiled through it all. Because her win never threatened me.
Her win is my inspiration, not my insecurity.
She got the joy without the secret. And if anyone deserves it—it’s her.
Maternal Side’s POV
From our side of the family, we saw both girls blossom.
Naima was gentle and bright—a slow fire, warming everything she touched. Malika was bold and brilliant—stormy and electric. Different, but never in competition.
We never saw their wins as weapons. We saw them as proof that daughters can rise in different ways and still be radiant. Naima marrying first wasn’t strange to us—it was just timing, not hierarchy.
We clapped the loudest at their milestones. We never asked “who next?” We just celebrated “who now?”
But we watched the paternal side compare them like rivals in a race. And we watched Malika retreat, little by little. We sensed there was more to her story, but we didn’t push. All we knew was this—Malika loves Naima with her whole chest. And Naima adores her the same.
Paternal Side’s POV
The paternal side of the family had always seen things differently.
To them, Malika was supposed to be the one leading the way. The eldest daughter meant something.
But when Naima got married first, it felt like a loss. There was a sense of disapproval, unspoken but undeniable. They said it was tradition—“Why didn’t Malika marry first?”
It didn’t help that Malika wasn’t living the way they expected her to. She hadn’t married the way they’d hoped. It wasn’t a grand wedding. It wasn’t with someone approved.
Malika always felt like a disappointment to them. The whispers were cruel. They were focused on what she wasn’t, rather than what she had become.
Naima’s POV (Final Reflection)
Sometimes, I wonder if there’s something she’s not telling me.
But I never pry. Because if Malika has kept something to herself all this time, it’s for a reason. I trust her heart.
And what matters more is that through every milestone, every celebration, every lull in between—we chose each other.
I refuse to be pitted against her. I refuse to believe there’s only room for one of us to be happy at a time.
I’m expecting a child now. And if it’s a daughter, I’ll raise her to know this:
Her sister is never her rival. Her joy is never limited. Her story is never in competition.
Malika’s POV (Final Reflection)
There are days I wish I could share my full truth. Tell Naima everything—about the love, the boy, the marriage, the child.
But then I see her smile, holding her little bump, telling me she hopes her child has my sass and my style.
And I realize this isn’t the time. Maybe one day. But for now, I protect her peace. Not because I’m ashamed—but because she deserves a world that isn’t complicated yet.
She once asked me if I ever felt bad about not marrying first.
I laughed and said, “There’s no race between us.”
And there never was.
Naima Chaudary Baig’s Reflection:
“My name is Naima Chaudary Baig, and I’m proud of every step I’ve taken. My sister’s wins are my inspiration, not my insecurity.”
Malika Chaudary Ibrahim’s Reflection:
“My name is Malika Chaudary Ibrahim, and I’ve embraced my truth, even the parts I keep hidden. But my sister’s wins are always my light. We are never rivals. We are support systems.”
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