Pakistan superstars Fawad Khan and Mahira Khan want you to believe in love again — even when world loves to hate

Dubai: There’s an unmistakable electricity when Fawad Khan and Mahira Khan enter a room. The kind of chemistry that doesn’t need slow-mo walks, grand gestures, or breathy monologues to sell romance.

These two could be whispering vegetable names to each other — okra, aubergine, karela — and audiences would happily buy into the passion. That’s the sort of seamless magic they bring to their new film, Neelofar, and it’s a reunion fans have been manifesting since their hit show Humsafar.

So what took them this long?

“I’m a big believer in fate and destiny,” Fawad says with customary calm. “Had it not been for COVID or a few other circumstances, you may have seen this earlier. But such is fate. It took its time.” A few minutes before the sit-down interview, Khan had gotten visibly emotional about how laborious and challenging this movie was to make. It was a tough phase, but his fans and handful of his allies made that bleak phase tolerable.

But were they ever worried if their chemistry would be intact with time?

Mahira, seated beside him, nods. “There were moments I’d ask him, ‘Do we still have it [chemistry]?’” she admits.

The candour is disarming. It’s refreshing to see two global stars who made an entire generation fall in love with fictional characters, confess to real moments of doubt.

Fawad laughs gently. “I didn’t have that doubt,” he says.

“If you enjoy performing together — if you feel it — then someone out there will feel it too.”

A romance with fewer shortcuts — their eyes do the talking, except they literally can’t

In Neelofar, distributed by Film Master Media Distribution, Mahira plays a woman who cannot see — and in a film about love, that changes everything.

“Looking into each other’s eyes on screen is the easiest way to show romance,” she says.

“But here, she can’t see him. I had to feel like I was looking at him. And he had to look for the both of us.”

It’s a fascinating complication, especially for two actors known for their expressive gazes. Fawad insists she had the harder job: “She has to express without locking eyes. Mine was easier.”

There’s no ego in the room — only admiration.

A title born from generosity — and a producer who steps aside for the woman

For an actor-producer, ego is a tempting trap. But this film bears Mahira’s character’s name, not his.

“The working title was something else,” Fawad shares. “And then one day it just clicked — Neelofar. It’s about her. She is the centre. The fulcrum of it all. There could be no more appropriate name.”

Mahira teases him: “He’s very generous,” she says. “He could’ve easily named it after his character.”

But this is where Fawad’s artist brain outmuscles vanity. The film isn’t about him; it’s about a woman who holds the narrative together.

He leans forward, calm and confident: “I just felt the needle move. It sounded right.”

Selling a love story in an age where people can’t even commit to a burger

Romance is a harder sell today — not because people don’t want it, but because we’re exhausted by its performance in real life. Commitment is scarce. Attention spans shorter. People can’t even pick between Shake Shack and Five Guys, forget lifelong vows.

“In a time when relationships are collapsing, there is more reason to fight for love,” Fawad says.

“The world needs more love. It’s easier to hate than to love.”

Mahira reaches into a little bit of Audrey Hepburn wisdom.

“What we need in this world is more sweetness and decency,” she quotes. “It’s so underrated. Love is never enough. It isn’t.”

Fawad’s bumper-sticker moment lands with quiet brilliance:
“Nowadays, people hate to love, and love to hate.”

Is it aspirational? Absolutely. But that might be the point.

“I would rather a love story be aspirational than cynical,” Mahira says.

“No matter the age, every generation yearns for love.”

That yearning is timeless. It outlives platforms, hashtags, and modern anxieties. Love remains the biggest currency — and no blockchain can replace it.

The UAE knows what it’s doing: a National Day weekend release

If the timing feels strategic, that’s because it is. The film drops over a long weekend — when Dubai audiences are relaxed, ready to escape, and in the mood to spend.

“We looked at Christmas releases, Thanksgiving breaks in America,” Fawad reveals. “And then it made sense — National Day weekend, winter starting, no big clashes. A great time.”

He smiles, half-serious, half-producer-brain: “It’s a film for that season. A warm one.”

And don’t be fooled — this isn’t just flowers and violins

Behind the romance, there’s something more grounded — a quiet social commentary.

“It doesn’t pass judgment,” Fawad explains. “It just is what it is. Very relevant these days.”

He resists spoilers, but hints at a climax rooted in present realities. Not preachy, not heavy-handed — just reflective.

When the cameras stopped rolling, Fawad turned toward me and said something that quietly sums up why fans adore him:
“I love reading your articles. You’re a thorough journalist. Very fair. Very responsible.”

I didn’t pay him for that line — and trust me, journalists can’t afford him anyway.

Neelofar is out in UAE cinemas on November 28