The Mango Season

"Thirty boxes of Chaunsa. Sign here."

Aliya had seen Junaid every summer for five years—the delivery driver who brought her family's mango shipment from the airport. But this year, something was different.

Maybe it was her. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was the way the summer light caught his smile.

"Same time next week?" she asked.

"Unless you want them earlier." His eyes held something new. "I could arrange that."

She started meeting him at the warehouse—"to check quality," she told her mother.

In reality, she wanted to see him handle the mangoes. The care he took, the knowledge he had, the way he talked about the fruit like it was precious.

"My family grew these in Multan," he explained. "Before we came here."

"You import what you lost."

"Something like that." His smile was soft. "Some things are worth holding onto."

The season was ending when he finally asked.

"Have dinner with me. Before the mangoes are done."

"Why before?"

"Because after, I won't have an excuse to see you." He took her hand. "Say yes, Aliya."

Dinner led to his flat—small, warm, smelling of the fruit he transported.

"This is unexpected," she admitted.

"The best things are." He kissed her. "Sweet, like Chaunsa."

He made love to her the way he handled his cargo—careful, devoted, ensuring nothing bruised.

"Meri jaan," Junaid breathed. "You're my favorite delivery."

"That's terrible."

"It's honest." He grinned. "Let me keep delivering. To you. Forever."

"My family will say you're not suitable," Aliya said afterward.

"I bring them mangoes every year. That's suitable." He pulled her close. "Let me prove my value, Aliya. One season at a time."

"One season?"

"Forever seasons." He kissed her forehead. "As many as you'll give me."

They married in mango season—boxes of Chaunsa at every table.

The family business expanded to include Junaid.

Sweetest partnership either of them ever tasted.