Zone-A, Dhaka — the beating heart of Bangladesh's elite. The richest and most powerful families lived here, ruling their empires from glass towers and marble mansions. Among them, the Ahsan Group stood tall — a legacy built from sweat, ambition, and unshakable will.
Inside the grand Ahsan estate, twilight shadows fell across the vast halls as two mysterious figures arrived. They were silent, cloaked in secrecy, and headed straight toward the inner chambers where Chairman Ziaul Ahsan (67), the aging patriarch, lay under medical observation. The doctors' faces bore grave expressions — Ziaul's breathing was labored, his condition deteriorating.
Beside him stood Farhan Ahsan (43), his loyal son. After a tense check-up, one of the doctors murmured quietly to Farhan, "He doesn't have much time left. Maybe two to three years at most — if fate is kind."
The news struck Farhan hard. Regret, sorrow, and a silent storm brewed in his heart. He turned to his ailing father, his voice firm despite the pain:
"Father, if you have any final wish — just say the word. I'll fulfill it, even if it costs me my life."
Ziaul opened his eyes slowly, a glint of nostalgia dancing within them.
"I, Ziaul Ahsan, built the Ahsan Group with nothing but my own hands — from a tiny shop to the empire you see today," he whispered.
"And yet… all I want now, before I die, is to see my only grandson… married."
[ The room fell silent ]
Without delay, Farhan turned to his son, Ayaan Ahsan (21), and relayed the wish:
"Your grandfather's last desire… is to see you married before he leaves this world."
Ayaan was quiet. A flicker of uncertainty passed over his face.
"But I don't want to marry just anyone," he replied honestly. "I want to marry someone I truly love."
Farhan raised an eyebrow. "Is there someone you like?"
Ayaan shook his head slowly. "Not yet. But… if I ever do marry, it'll be someone of my own choosing."
That moment marked a change — a turning point. Farhan was surprised. His son, who rarely spoke his heart, had spoken with clarity and confidence.
Ziaul Ahsan, listening from his bed, gave a faint smile.
"He's not a child anymore," he whispered. "Don't force him. Let him choose… and support him in it."
Far from Dhaka, in a smaller city, Ayaan began a quiet new chapter. Having grown up abroad, he was almost a stranger in his own land. He came under a false identity, concealing his true self, determined to find a life and love on his own terms.
But this city wasn't cheap. With its prestigious schools and elite institutions, rent was sky-high. With limited cash in hand, Ayaan had to settle far from the city's blooming center, in a modest home.
After setting up, he sat in silence, reflecting.
"Grandfather was fine just a few days ago," he thought. "But now… he's fading.
He walked to the window, looking out at the distant skyline.
"I'll fulfill your wish, Grandpa," he whispered to the wind. "But not just for you — for myself too. I'll find the right girl."
To be continued…