chapter 4
1534 Words
The morning sun peeked through the curtains as Zulfishan rushed to get ready for another day at the office. The scarf she wore now wasn’t just fabric—it was her armor. Her confidence had grown slightly, but the lingering heaviness in her chest never fully faded.
Just as she stepped out the front door, she heard the familiar sound of a motorbike engine.
Salman.
He stood beside his bike, leaning casually, helmet in one hand and a goofy grin on his face.
“You’re late,” he said playfully, tossing her the helmet.
“I told you I don’t need a ride every day,” Zulfishan muttered.
“And yet, here I am. Like a good cousin,” he winked. “Come on, let’s not get you late on your dream job.”
Reluctantly, she sat behind him, gripping the seat instead of his shoulders. The ride was quiet, filled with an odd sense of tension that neither of them addressed. Salman dropped her off at the main gate of the building and watched her until she disappeared into the lobby.
“Someday,” he whispered to himself, “she’ll see me.”
What he didn’t know was that he was already being watched—from the top floor.
Aabi stood by the window of his office, eyes sharp yet unreadable. He had seen her arrive with Salman for the past few days, and though he told himself it was none of his business, something inside him twisted each time.
He turned away from the window and returned to his desk. Professionalism, he reminded himself. He had a company to run, not feelings to indulge.
But he also knew that the line between personal and professional was beginning to blur, whether he liked it or not.
---
Later that afternoon, the office buzzed with movement. Designers moved between departments, interns carried mood boards, and Zulfishan sat quietly at her desk, completing her assigned reports. She was learning quickly, and her attention to detail hadn’t gone unnoticed.
Erum passed by her desk. “Hey, the boss wants your feedback on the color swatches for next month’s theme,” she said.
“Me?” Zulfishan asked, surprised.
“Yup. He said you’ve got a fresh eye.”
Nervously, Zulfishan gathered the samples and walked to Aabi’s office. She knocked once, heart pounding.
“Come in,” came the calm, deep voice from inside.
She entered, eyes lowered, unsure how to carry herself. Aabi looked up briefly from his laptop, then motioned toward the desk.
“You can place them here.”
She did so carefully. Their hands almost touched for a second as she passed him the final fabric card. She pulled away instantly.
Aabi noticed the hesitation—and the elegance in her silence. “Thank you, Miss Zulfishan. That will be all,” he said without looking up again.
She nodded and left, but her hands trembled just slightly as she closed the door behind her.
Aabi leaned back in his chair after she left, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
---
Back at home that evening, Mawra was sitting on the balcony, scrolling through her phone. She stopped at a picture from earlier that day—her and Salman at a roadside tea stall. He had dropped by to check on Zulfishan, but Zulfishan had stayed late at the office. Mawra had invited him to tea instead.
He had smiled. Talked. Even laughed.
And Mawra had felt something stir inside her—a warmth, a hope she hadn’t expected. She watched him with different eyes now. Not as a cousin. As a man.
“You’re changing, Salman,” she whispered, her heart fluttering. “And I like it.”
But that hope was tainted by the shadow of her sister.
She knew Salman liked Zulfishan. He didn’t say it—but it was obvious. Mawra had watched the way his eyes lit up when Zulfishan walked into the room. The way he waited for her to return home from work. The way he always asked about her.
A storm brewed inside Mawra. A storm of desire, envy, and silent desperation.
---
Later that night, Zulfishan sat on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
Today has been… strange. Aabi had barely said a word, yet his presence lingered like perfume. Silent. Subtle. Stirring.
And Salman—always near, always waiting.
She didn’t know what her heart wanted. Maybe she didn’t want anything at all. Maybe she just wanted peace.
But peace was a luxury her life never gave her.
And somewhere in the shadows, three hearts began walking down three very different, unspoken paths—toward love, or heartbreak.
Time would tell.
-------------- ---
Zulfishan had just begun to settle into her routine at Ebaad Couture. Her designs were gaining quiet appreciation, and her suggestions on fabric tone had even made it to the latest catalogue. People started noticing her—not just as another intern, but as someone with potential.
For the first time in years, she felt like she belonged somewhere.
That feeling didn’t last.
It started with whispers. Murmurs that grew louder with each passing hour. Erum avoided eye contact. The friendly assistant on her floor suddenly stopped smiling. And then, she was called to Aabi’s office.
When she entered, the air was heavier than usual. Aabi didn’t offer a greeting. He stood near the window, his back to her.
“Close the door,” he said, voice low and unreadable.
She obeyed, heart pounding.
“Miss Zulfishan,” he turned slowly, his expression unreadable, “can you explain how a confidential collection preview—one that only five people had access to—ended up circulating outside the company?”
Her breath caught in her throat. “What?”
“A client from another label sent us screenshots of our concept board,” he said sharply. “And your login ID was the last one to access it before the file was copied.”
“I didn’t—I would never—” Her voice trembled.
“I’d like to believe that,” he cut her off, more coldly than she had ever heard. “But this is serious. HR will conduct a full investigation.”
Tears welled in her eyes, but she forced herself to stay composed. “I didn’t do it, sir.”
“We’ll see,” Aabi said quietly.
She left the office numb, her thoughts spiraling. Who could’ve done this? Why her?
And worst of all—why did Aabi believe she could?
---
That evening, Salman picked her up from work like always, but she barely spoke during the ride.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Someone leaked a private file from my system,” she whispered, staring ahead. “They think it was me.”
Salman’s hands clenched the handlebar of his bike.
“Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out,” he said firmly. “I’ll talk to someone.”
But later that night, as Zulfishan sat in her room staring at her ceiling, she overheard Salman’s voice on the balcony.
He was whispering. Urgent. Nervous.
“No, you can’t call me again... I told you it’s over... Yes, I’m here for her now… Please don’t ruin this for me.”
Her heart froze.
She crept closer to the window, careful not to be seen.
“Stop saying that,” Salman snapped. “I’m not that person anymore. I said I’m done.”
There was a long pause, and then a sigh.
“I still care, okay? But Zulfishan is different. Don’t drag her into this.”
Zulfishan stepped back, shaken. Who was he talking to? Why did he sound like he was hiding something?
---
The next morning, things got worse.
A memo had gone out to the entire department: Zulfishan Shah under internal investigation. Restricted access granted until further notice.
People stared. Some pitied. Some judged.
She stood by the water dispenser, trying to hold herself together, when Erum approached her cautiously.
“I don’t believe you did it,” she whispered. “But someone wanted this to happen.”
“Who?” Zulfishan asked, her voice barely there.
Erum looked around nervously. “Who has access to your desk when you’re not around? Any USB device? Any unlocked file?”
Zulfishan’s mind reeled.
She remembered one thing—a few days ago, she had returned from a meeting and noticed her drawer slightly open. She’d brushed it off. Now she wasn’t sure.
Could someone have planted the file movement under her name?
But who would hate her enough?
---
Back in his office, Aabi stared at his phone. He had just received another anonymous email. It contained one sentence:
> “She’s not who you think she is.”
His jaw tightened. Something deeper was going on.
A leak. A girl’s reputation on the line. An unknown informant. And his own judgment blurred by emotions he couldn’t express.
He wasn’t just her boss now. He had become her silent judge and protector in the same breath.
And he had a terrible feeling… someone close was pulling the strings.
Someone who wanted to break Zulfishan.
--
- Writer
