Reason and Romance

Head and Heart

A Modern Tale of Sisters, Secrets, and the Struggle Between Logic and Love

Nida and Mahira were sisters, raised under the same roof in Lahore, Pakistan, but they could not have been more different.

Nida, the elder by three years, was composed and deliberate. She wore her hijab with quiet dignity, read business journals during breakfast, and planned her life in spreadsheets. Her dream was to become a finance director at a multinational firm — and she was well on her way, already a senior analyst at twenty-seven.

Mahira, on the other hand, was art in motion. Twenty-four and freshly graduated with a degree in literature, she dreamed of writing screenplays and poetry. She wore her heart on her sleeve, quoted Rumi during arguments, and often forgot where she placed her keys, wallet, or sense of time.

Their father, an Urdu professor turned school principal, had always said, “Nida is my head. Mahira is my heart. And God knows, I need both to survive.”

But after their father’s sudden passing, survival became more than just a poetic metaphor. It became their daily reality.

—

Chapter 1: The Will and the Wound

Their father’s modest savings were enough to keep their ancestral home, but not much else. Their mother, now fragile with grief, relied on Nida to handle the estate, bills, and funeral arrangements.

Mahira mourned differently. She wandered the house barefoot, clutching old notebooks filled with their father’s couplets, playing his favorite ghazals on vinyl. She cried openly, her grief flooding every room.

Nida didn’t cry — not in front of anyone. She just worked harder.

One morning, Mahira stumbled upon a sealed envelope tucked into their father’s copy of Diwan-e-Ghalib. It was a letter.

To Mahira.

In his elegant handwriting, he had written:

“If the world tells you to be quiet, write louder. If they say no one will care, write as if your words will outlive you.”

It was a benediction. A call to be brave.

Mahira decided, then and there, to pursue writing full-time. She applied for a creative fellowship in Karachi — unpaid, uncertain, but full of promise.

Nida was furious.

“You’re living in a fantasy,” she snapped. “Do you even know what groceries cost? Or rent? Dreams don’t pay bills, Mahira.”

“And you think living like a robot is living at all?” Mahira shot back. “Baba didn’t raise us to be calculators.”

They didn’t speak for three days.

—

Chapter 2: The Stranger and the Suitor

It was at a friend’s engagement that Nida met Ahsan — tall, mild-mannered, a chartered accountant who loved chess and climate reports. He was everything Nida respected. They exchanged numbers, and by the third meeting, he brought up marriage.

It wasn’t love. But it was compatibility. Stability.

Meanwhile, Mahira met Arman — a journalist with ink-stained fingers and revolutionary ideas. He quoted Faiz during their first coffee date. They talked about censorship, identity, and heartbreak until the café closed.

Nida disapproved instantly. “He’s a risk,” she warned. “He has no real income, no plan.”

Mahira smiled. “He has soul. That’s rare enough.”

But things unraveled quickly. When Mahira’s relationship with Arman made the family WhatsApp group via leaked photos from a protest, Nida was livid.

“You’re embarrassing Ammi. You’re embarrassing me. You’re being reckless!”

“You’re not mad I’m reckless,” Mahira retorted. “You’re mad I’m not like you.”

Silence.

Because it was true.

—

Chapter 3: Cracks and Crossroads

Months passed. Nida got engaged to Ahsan. The wedding was small and elegant. Mahira attended with a polite smile, hiding the ache that her sister didn’t ask her to be maid of honor.

In Karachi, Mahira’s life was hard. She lived in a small studio, taught online Urdu classes to pay rent, and rewrote scripts late into the night. Arman eventually moved abroad for a journalism grant, leaving only voice notes and unfinished poems.

But then, one day, it happened.

Mahira’s short film script — based on her father’s life — won a national award. She was invited to speak on television. Her voice shook, but her message was clear:

“We are not less when we feel more. Emotion is not weakness. Sensibility is strength.”

Nida watched from her office desk, her eyes wet for the first time in months.

—

Chapter 4: Reconciliation

That weekend, Nida flew to Karachi.

She didn’t announce it. She just showed up at Mahira’s apartment, holding a bag of naan and chicken karahi from their favorite place.

Mahira opened the door, stunned. “What are you doing here?”

“I missed my heart,” Nida said simply. “And I was wrong. About a lot.”

Mahira cried first this time.

They sat on the floor, laughing through tears, retelling old memories, reclaiming each other.

—

Epilogue: Head and Heart

Years later, Nida would become the CFO of a startup, balancing mergers and motherhood. Mahira would write her first novel, loosely based on two sisters named Aql and Ishq — Sense and Sensibility.

They never stopped arguing. But they never stopped showing up.

Because in the end, it wasn’t about choosing between head and heart.