chapter 2
1133 Words
The sun barely peeked through the tinted glass windows of Shah Enterprises as Zaviyar Shah entered his office. His presence alone was enough to send a wave of quiet tension through the employees. He was a man of few words, but his silence spoke louder than most people’s voices.
Dressed in a tailored charcoal-grey suit, Zaviyar strode into his office, where Javad Mirza was already waiting. His childhood friend and business partner sat on the sleek leather chair across from his desk, his expression casual but knowing.
“You’re late,” Javad smirked, leaning back.
Zaviyar raised a brow. “I own this company.”
Javad chuckled, shaking his head. “And yet, you expect everyone else to be early.”
Zaviyar didn’t bother replying as he loosened his tie slightly and took a seat. He opened a folder, scanning through the numbers and reports lined up in neat columns.
“Quarterly profits are steady, but there’s been a slight dip in the luxury sector,” Javad said, watching Zaviyar carefully. “Clients are requesting more innovative designs.”
Zaviyar nodded, his fingers tapping lightly against the table. “I’ve already assigned Musfira to create a new set of sketches. If she delivers, we won’t need to hire an external artist.”
Javad smirked. “You have a lot of faith in her talent.”
Zaviyar’s gaze lifted, sharp and unreadable. “I have faith in results.”
Javad let out a low whistle. “And here I thought you were finally giving someone a little credit.”
Zaviyar ignored him and turned his attention back to the reports. “What’s the update on the construction project?”
Javad leaned forward, his playful demeanor slipping into something more serious. “The investors need reassurances. They want a meeting with you next week.”
Zaviyar’s jaw tightened. He hated unnecessary meetings, but he knew when they were unavoidable. “Schedule it.”
Javad nodded but didn’t move. Instead, he watched Zaviyar carefully. “You look more exhausted than usual.”
Zaviyar exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple. “I’m fine.”
Javad wasn’t convinced. “Is it about Zaroon?”
Zaviyar didn’t answer immediately, his light brown eyes darkening slightly. Finally, he leaned back in his chair. “He needs to take life seriously.”
Javad gave a small shrug. “He’s young.”
“He’s reckless,” Zaviyar corrected. “And I won’t always be around to fix his mistakes.”
Javad studied him for a moment before sighing. “You sound like a father, not a brother.”
Zaviyar didn’t reply. He knew the difference. But after their parents had died, he had taken on the role of both. And sometimes, it was exhausting.
By the time Zaviyar reached home, the sky had turned a deep shade of navy, the stars just beginning to peek through. Their house—a vast, modern estate in the heart of Islamabad—was quiet, save for the distant sound of the news playing from the living room.
As he walked in, Zaroon Shah sat sprawled on the couch, a plate of food in front of him. He barely glanced up as Zaviyar entered.
“You’re late,” Zaroon commented, stuffing a bite of chicken into his mouth.
Zaviyar shot him a look. “And you skipped school today.”
Zaroon didn’t even flinch. “How do you know?”
“I got a call from your teacher.” Zaviyar folded his arms, his expression hard. “You think I wouldn’t find out?”
Zaroon exhaled dramatically, setting his plate down. “It was just one class.”
“One class turns into a habit,” Zaviyar said, taking a seat across from him. “And that habit will ruin your future.”
Zaroon rolled his eyes. “I don’t need lectures right now.”
Zaviyar’s patience thinned. “Then when will you need them, Zaroon? When you fail your exams? When you waste every opportunity given to you?”
For a brief moment, Zaroon looked guilty, but he quickly masked it with indifference. “You don’t get it,” he muttered.
Zaviyar clenched his jaw. “Then make me understand.”
Zaroon remained silent. The tension between them thickened, neither willing to break first.
Finally, Zaviyar sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just—stop acting like nothing matters. Because it does.”
Zaroon didn’t respond, but Zaviyar knew the words had settled somewhere inside him.
Night: A Meeting with Maha Malik
After dinner, Zaviyar stepped into his private study, expecting silence. Instead, he found Maha Malik sitting on the chair across from his desk, flipping through one of his books like she owned the place.
He sighed. “Maha.”
She looked up, grinning. “Zaviyar.”
“What are you doing here?”
Maha, with her usual carefree attitude, leaned back in the chair. “Haroon wanted me to check on you.”
Zaviyar narrowed his eyes. “I don’t need checking on.”
Maha smirked. “That’s exactly what someone who needs checking on would say.”
He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. Maha was Haroon Malik’s younger sister, and if Haroon was the responsible one, Maha was the complete opposite. She was smart—too smart for her own good—and had a knack for pushing boundaries.
“Did you really come just to annoy me?” he asked, unimpressed.
Maha shrugged. “That, and I wanted to ask for a favor.”
Zaviyar raised a brow. “What favor?”
“I need a job.”
He leaned back, studying her. “You don’t need a job, Maha. Haroon takes care of everything.”
Maha’s expression faltered slightly before she recovered. “I don’t want to depend on him forever. I want to do something on my own.”
Zaviyar considered her words. Maha wasn’t lazy, and despite her playful nature, she was determined when she wanted to be.
“What kind of job?” he asked finally.
“Something creative,” she said instantly. “Maybe in the art department?”
Zaviyar’s lips pressed together. “I’ll think about it.”
Maha grinned. “That means yes.”
Zaviyar shook his head, but a small part of him was amused. Maha Malik was trouble—but the kind he had learned to tolerate.
As she stood up, she gave him a wink. “Don’t work too hard, boss man.”
And with that, she left, leaving Zaviyar alone in his study.
He sighed, leaning back in his chair, exhaustion settling in his bones. The weight of responsibilities never lessened. But for now, he let himself breathe.
Tomorrow, the world would demand more of him.
But tonight, for just a moment, he allowed himself to rest.
- Writer
