Gul e rang:A love story of old Lahore


🌹 "Gul-e-Rang: A Love Story of Old Lahore"

Genre: Romance | Nostalgia | Social Drama
Setting: Walled City of Lahore, present-day with echoes of the past

By Faraz Parvez

Professor Dr. (Retired) Arshad Afzal
Retired Faculty Member, Umm Al-Qura University, Makkah, KSA
(Pseudonym of Professor Dr. Arshad Afzal)

1 | The Rooftops of Mohalla Chunna Mandi

In the tangled heart of Lahore’s Walled City, in a mohalla where pigeons outnumber people and the call to prayer blends into the rustle of kites, lived Gul-e-Rang — named after her grandmother’s favorite rose. Her name meant “color of flowers,” and she carried it like a gentle revolution.

She lived in Haveli Fateh Chand, a crumbling mansion with frescoes on its walls and the past in its silence. The haveli's walls were witnesses to history, partition, heartbreak — and now, to her quiet footsteps and blooming dreams.

Every evening, after attending Government College on Mall Road, Gul-e-Rang would ascend to the rooftop to water her mother’s neglected plants and to glance at the rooftop across the alley, where a boy always appeared — not to flirt, not to wave, but to read poetry aloud.

That boy was Raza Ali — a student of Persian and Political Science, with Mir Taqi Mir in his blood and Faiz Ahmad Faiz in his voice. Son of a forgotten bookseller in Anarkali Bazaar, Raza wore patched kurtas and a quiet defiance.

They never exchanged a single word.

But over the months, through glances, whispers of ghazals, and the occasional stolen glimpse at twilight, a story began to unfold — silent, sacred, unsaid.

2 | The Companions of the City

Lahore was full of characters, and their love unfolded around many of them.

There was Auntie Mehrunnisa, Gul-e-Rang’s widowed aunt — once a famous mehndi artist of cinema stars, now reduced to reading palms and matchmaking. She’d often mutter,

“Love is for the foolish. Marriage is for the desperate.”

There was Master Abdul Ghani, Raza’s mentor, who ran the bookshop “Baqar's Kitab Ghar” in Urdu Bazaar and said,

“The soul finds its echo in another… even if society silences the song.”

Then there were the mischief-makers:
Tariq Pehelwan, a gym-obsessed neighbor, jealous of Raza’s quiet popularity.
Shanzay, Gul-e-Rang’s friend who believed in boldness over shyness, and urged her to “DM him on Instagram” — to which Gul only smiled shyly.

3 | The Letter That Never Came

On Basant, the rooftops exploded in color. Raza sent a yellow kite with a message tied:

“Main tumhara hoon — har mausam mein.”
(“I am yours — in every season.”)

It never reached Gul-e-Rang.

The kite was intercepted by Tariq, who read the note, burned it, and told Gul’s family a distorted tale.
Scandal sparked like a matchstick.

Her father, once a socialist in Dhaka, now a bitter watchmaker, announced her rishta had been fixed — to a relative from Gujrat, a businessman with no interest in books or beauty.

Raza waited on his rooftop for three days.

On the fourth, the police came to Baqar's Kitab Ghar and sealed it — someone had complained of “spreading anti-state material.”
Raza disappeared.

4 | Years Later, Another Rooftop

Six years passed.
Gul-e-Rang was now Dr. Gul, a literature lecturer at Kinnaird College. She lived in Gulberg, wore minimal makeup, and was known for her strictness and elegance.

One day, at the Faiz International Festival, she saw a man at the mic — now a published poet, with a scarf around his neck, and a familiar pain in his voice.

“Some silences,” he recited, “grow louder with time.”

It was Raza Ali.

After the session, she didn’t approach him.
But she left a copy of her recent article on “Mir’s Women” at the front desk of the venue — with a handwritten note:

“Some flowers bloom even after winters. Yours, Gul-e-Rang.”

That night, in a posh café in Gulberg, Raza sat at a table with her.
They spoke not of the past, but of literature, life, and lost cities.
And when they parted, he didn’t say “goodbye.” He said,

“Will you meet me tomorrow… on a rooftop?”

5 | The City That Watches, The Love That Waits

Old Lahore still hums with stories.

On a quiet rooftop in Chunna Mandi, beneath strings of fairy lights and the ghosts of many lovers before them, Raza and Gul-e-Rang once again look across at each other — not from afar, but side by side.

And in the dying light of evening, her hand rests lightly on his.

Because in South Asia, some love stories aren’t about rebellion or drama.
They’re about waiting, surviving, and returning.

🕌 From the ruins of Havelis to the poetry of heartbreak, our blog is your window into South Asia’s soul.
💌 Share this story with a friend who believes in slow, deep, impossible love.
📚 More romantic sagas coming this month:

  • “The Train to Multan”
  • “Letters in a Time of Partition”
  • “Monsoon at Sea View”
    Stay with us — because every city has its story, and every heart, its unfinished page.


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