The scent of cardamom and roasted coffee filled the air of 'The Daily Grind,' a bustling cafe in the heart of Islamabad. Sana, with her coffee brown hair falling in soft waves around her expressive face and her big brown eyes sparkling with mischief, was deeply engrossed in sketching dessert ideas for her culinary arts final. She took a dainty bite of a lemon bar, her pink lips curving into a satisfied smile, a smudge of powdered sugar dusting her fair, slightly chubby cheek. Her laughter, a melodic, uninhibited sound, punctuated the cafe's chatter as her friend, Zara, recounted a hilarious dating disaster.

"Aur phir usne kaha, 'Main toh bas... pizza lover hoon!'" Zara exclaimed, barely holding back her giggles.

Sana burst out laughing, a sound that made heads turn, including one very prominent head across the room.

Sidharth Malik sat by the window, his posture ramrod straight even in a casual setting. His eyes, usually sharp and focused on balance sheets, were currently fixed on his expensive Swiss watch. He was supposed to be in a meeting five minutes ago, but his driver was stuck in traffic. Impatience, a familiar companion, was already settling in. He preferred order, punctuality, and silence. This cafe, with its cacophony of chatter and the particularly loud, unrestrained laughter from a nearby table, was testing his legendary patience. He glanced up, ready to discreetly glare at the source of the disturbance.

His gaze landed on Sana. His cousin, Sana. He recognized her instantly, of course. She was the lively, somewhat boisterous daughter of his Khala Saba. He hadn't seen her up close in years, not since a distant Eid gathering when she was still a gangly teenager. Now, she was all vibrant charm, still laughing with that infectious, uninhibited joy, completely oblivious to the world around her. For a fleeting moment, the usual frown lines on his forehead softened. She looked... exactly as his Ammi described her – "zinda-dil" (lively).

Just then, Sana reached for her coffee mug, but her hand, still sticky from the lemon bar, slipped. The hot coffee cascaded over the side of the table, directly onto Sidharth's pristine, expensive suit trousers.

A pin-drop silence followed Sana's horrified gasp. Her laughter died instantly, replaced by wide-eyed panic. "Oh my God! Sidharth Bhai? I am so, so sorry!" she stammered, grabbing a handful of tissues. The realization that she had just doused her strict, intimidating, dominant elder cousin in coffee shop made her stomach clench.

Sidharth, usually composed even in the face of corporate crises, slowly rose. His eyes, now cold and hard, fixed on Sana. His jaw was tight, and the aura of strict, intimidating, dominant presence filled the small corner of the cafe. The subtle scent of his expensive cologne now mingled with the strong aroma of spilled coffee.

Sana felt a shiver run down her spine. His glare was like a physical blow. She'd accidentally messed with a punctual titan. This was not how she imagined meeting anyone, let alone someone who looked like he could own half the city.

"Aap... aap theek hain?" she whispered, extending the useless tissues, her voice barely audible.

Sidharth merely looked at his coffee-stained trousers, then back at her. His silence was far more terrifying than any shout. The corners of his lips, however, twitched, almost imperceptibly, as he registered the powdered sugar on her cheek, a stark, sweet contrast to the current disaster.

He took a deep, controlled breath. "I believe," his voice was deep, resonant, and utterly devoid of warmth, "that you owe me a new suit."

Sana's big brown eyes widened further. This was going to be a long day.

Sana, mortified and flustered, fumbled for her wallet. "Of course! I'll pay for the dry cleaning, ya phir... I can buy you a new one right now!" Her voice, usually confident, was a little shaky. She'd never encountered such an intense gaze, especially not from someone so breathtakingly well-dressed and… well, intimidating.

Sidharth simply arched a brow, his gaze sweeping over her small, slightly ink-stained hands holding a crumpled tissue. "A new suit, young lady, costs more than pocket money." His tone was flat, devoid of any aggression, which somehow made it even more chilling.

Zara, sensing the tension, quickly intervened. "Bhaijaan, I'm so sorry. Sana bohot dhyaan rakhti hai, bas yeh accidentally ho gaya." (Brother, I'm so sorry. Sana is very careful, this just happened accidentally.)

Sidharth’s eyes flickered to Zara, then back to Sana. He noticed the slight flush on Sana’s cheeks, the way her big brown eyes still held a mixture of fear and genuine remorse. He also caught sight of the delicious-looking sketches on her pad. "Culinary Arts?" he asked, his voice still low, but with a hint of something unreadable.

Sana, surprised by the sudden shift in topic, nodded hesitantly. "J-jee. My final project."

A flicker of an idea crossed Sidharth's mind. He had an important dinner party coming up – a high-stakes business gathering. His usual caterer had backed out last minute, and he needed something unique, something that would leave an impression. This girl, clumsy as she was, clearly had talent. And she owed him.

He looked at his watch again, then back at Sana. "Fine," he stated, cutting off her renewed attempts at apology. "Dry cleaning won't fix this. Instead of a new suit, you can cater my dinner party next week."

Sana blinked, stunned. "Cater? M-main?" She was a student, not a professional caterer! The thought was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

"Yes. You," Sidharth affirmed, his gaze firm. "It's a formal dinner. Fifty guests. I'll send you the details. Consider it... compensation." He pulled out a sleek business card from his wallet, placing it on her table. "Be punctual. And don't spill anything."

With that, Sidharth, still radiating an aura of unwavering dominance, turned and walked out of the cafe, leaving behind a lingering scent of expensive cologne, the aroma of spilled coffee, and a completely bewildered Sana.

Zara stared at her, then at the card. "Fifty guests? Sana! Woh tou Malik Industries ke Sidharth Malik hain! Poore sheher ke sab se strict aur intimidating businessman!" (He's Sidharth Malik from Malik Industries! The most strict and intimidating businessman in the whole city!)

Sana sank back into her chair, her pink lips parted in disbelief. "Malik Industries?" She looked at the card, then at the coffee stain on the floor. Her sweet, mischievous world had just collided with a wall of absolute discipline, and she was somehow now indebted to it. This was going to be interesting. Or disastrous. Probably both.

Later that evening, Sana was recounting the day’s catastrophic cafe incident to her mother, Saba Khan, and her father, Imran Khan. Saba, with her sweet and caring demeanor, was immediately sympathetic, while Imran tried to stifle a chuckle behind his hand.

"Ya Allah, Sana! Sidharth Malik? .Bohot mehnati aur principled bacha hain," Saba said, shaking her head gently. (Oh God, Sana! Sidharth Malik? He's a very hardworking and principled boy.)

"Mehnati ya pathar?" Sana grumbled, demonstrating Sidharth's unyielding posture. "Ammi, unke aankhon mein bilkul koi emotion nahi tha! Aur unka suit... woh toh mere poore semester ki fees se bhi zyada ka hoga!" (Hardworking or a stone? Mom, there was absolutely no emotion in his eyes! And his suit... that must be more than my entire semester's fees!)

Imran Khan finally let out a soft laugh. "Beta, bade logon ke nakhre bhi bade hote hain. Lekin unka tumhein cater karne ko kehna... yeh toh achha mauqa hai tumhare liye. Apni talent dikhane ka." (Child, big people have big demands. But him asking you to cater... this is a good opportunity for you. To show your talent.)

"Opportunity ya saza?" Aiza muttered, still feeling the heat of Sidharth’s stare.

Just then, Saba's phone rang. It was her sister, Naila Begum, Sidharth's mother. Saba picked up, her voice immediately softening. "Assalam-o-Alaikum, Apa jaan! Kaisi hain aap?" (Peace be upon you, elder sister! How are you?)

Sana heard snippets of the conversation. "Sidharth ki shadi ki baat... haan, larkiyan toh bohot hain... lekin unka dil... kuch samajh nahi aata... humara Sidharth kitna sanjeeda ho gaya hai..." (Talks of Sidharth's marriage... yes, there are many girls... but his heart... I don't understand anything... our Sidharth has become so serious...)

Sana rolled her eyes. Sidharth serious? That was an understatement. He was a human statue carved from granite.

Saba's eyes suddenly widened, and she looked at Sana with a strange expression. "Hanh, Apa jaan... main Sidharth se keh doongi... aap ki baat maanega woh..." (Yes, elder sister... I'll tell Sidharth... he'll listen to you...)

She hung up, a thoughtful look on her face. "Sana," Saba began, her voice a little too casual, "Apa jaan keh rahi hain ke Sidharth ke liye ek rishta aaya hai. Aur woh Sidharth se keh rahi hain ke woh us larki se mile. Unhein umeed hai ke Rayan unki baat maanega." (Sana, elder sister is saying that a marriage proposal has come for Sidharth. And she's telling Sidharth to meet the girl. She hopes Sidharth will listen to her.)

Sana just nodded, still consumed by her coffee disaster. "Jee, theek hai, Ammi." What did Sidharth Malik getting married have to do with her?

Little did she know, the threads of Taqdeer-e-Ishq were already beginning to intertwine in ways she couldn't yet imagine. Her Aunt Naila, who loved Sana the most in the house, already had a very specific girl in mind to soften her disciplined son.