ruthless to knees

Zurich

The week after the storm, life at the office returned to order.

Samaira buried herself in work, avoiding the memory of rain-slicked roads, steaming tea, and the way Adil had looked under the dim veranda lights.

He, too, seemed unchanged — precise, controlled, unreadable, silence now felt like something they shared rather than something they hid behind.

By mid-November, Adil’s calendar was packed. The International Communication & Trade Summit in Zurich had been on his schedule for months, and Rehan reminded him daily.

“You’ll need to leave by Wednesday morning, sir,” Rehan said, handing him the semi-final itinerary.

“Board meetings, keynote, press dinner — three days, all madness.”

Adil nodded, scanning the list distractedly before asking, “Is Samaira attending?”

Rehan blinked. “No, sir. She wasn’t invited this quarter.”

A beat passed. “Have her join remotely for all key sessions,” Adil said flatly, signing the papers. “I want her updates every night.”

When Samaira heard, she hesitated outside his glass office before knocking.

“You didn’t need to add me to the Zurich correspondence list,” she said, stepping in.

He didn’t look up at first, scrolling through a report. “I want your feedback on the brand strategy. Unless you’d rather not?”

She exhaled quietly. “It’s fine. Just unexpected.”

His mouth curved slightly. “Good. I like the unexpected.”

That was how it began — with a quiet nod and an unspoken agreement.

When he left, the office felt strangely hollow. Samaira didn’t expect to miss his presence — the quiet authority, the controlled warmth of his voice — yet she felt uneasy at the thought of him leaving, not that it matterd.

Suddenly, Rehan entered Adil’s office, tablet in hand. “Sir, the Zurich Summit itinerary finalized. The flight leaves on Wednesday night 11:00p.m You have back-to-back meetings and two formal dinners.”

Adil nodded absently. “Send me the deck files.”

Rehan hesitated. “Should I loop Ms. Samaira into the prep?”

"Yes," replied Rehan.

He was so accustomed to the nomadic life that traveling came easy and packing was a children's game for him, but as he was about to pack the last of his suits, he figured it didn't matter to him what he was packing, as there would be no one he was looking in particular to please, it hit him that for the next coming week he would not be in Islamabad, and it felt somehow harder to zip the bag and switch off the lights to his penthouse this time.

Adil stared at his boarding pass for a long moment before slipping it into the breast pocket of his coat and he moved towards the executive lounge but lost his appetite for international cuisines. Even after seeing a variety of food laid in front of him, he simply called the server and asked for a simple homemade chapati if it could be served off the menu as well. As he waited for the announcement for his flight, unknowingly he checked if Samaira was online.

The server placed a tray before him — plain lentil curry, and two chapatis, made off-menu as he’d quietly requested.

He smiled faintly. “Thank you.”

But even as he ate, his mind wasn’t in Zurich. It was on a quiet street in Islamabad — a house with blue gates, an old man who smiled through storms, and a girl who brewed tea in oversized mugs.

He checked his watch at 11:07 p.m.

The phone rang twice before she answered, voice sleepy but alert.

“Mr. Khan?”

“Is it too much to ask for a favor?” he asked, feigning nonchalance.

“Shouldn’t you be on your way to Zurich by now?”

“Boarding soon,” he said, leaning back in the lounge chair. “But I needed to run through the summit speech once more. Thought you could help me look over a few points.”

She laughed softly. “Didn't we finish it before leaving this evening?”

“Umm, I added some bits,” he replied, thinking of new excuses.

She sighed, but he could hear her flipping open her laptop. “Alright. Send the draft.”

He already had — ten minutes before he called.

As she read, her voice softened, the rhythm of her typing familiar and oddly comforting.

“You’ve used the word ‘integrity’ five times,” she teased lightly. “That’s too much even for you.”

He smirked. “I was hoping repetition would make it sound sincere.”

“It doesn’t. It sounds like guilt.”

“Guilt?”

“Yes,” she said, glancing up at her screen. “You’re trying to convince them — or yourself — that you still believe in it.”

Her accuracy silenced him for a moment. “You read too much between the lines.”

“That’s part of the job, Mr. Khan.”

They stayed on the call longer than either intended — the conversation slipping from corporate phrasing to the bland curry that he was enjoying that moment.

“Why are you even having chapatis right now? Weren't you the one who preferred eating with spoons and forks all the time?” she murmured eventually.

He smiled faintly. “I was told food tastes better when eaten with hands.”

"A wise man," she remembered when she had pointed out that he used forks even when not necessary, and he had insisted that pizza could be eaten with a fork, and it was more practical.

He could hear her yawn softly, papers rustling. “You should sleep,” he said quietly.

“I will. Once you add the last details that aren't clear in your head.”

“I haven’t even formed the proper structure of where I want to add those details.”

“Still,” she murmured, her voice lowering, “Someone has to make sure you do it right. Don't worry, I am here.”

He chuckled, eyes softening. “Thanks, but I still don't think it's important enough to bother a tired employee.”

“Consider it… company policy.” she gave a rhetoric answer.

There was silence then — not awkward, but intimate. A pause suspended between heartbeats.

“Samaira?” he said after a moment.

“Mhm?”

“Thanks. For staying on.”

Her tone grew faint, sleep-tinged. “You’d do the same.”

He didn’t answer. He just listened — to the faint hum of her breathing as it slowed, deepened.

Thirty minutes later, when he still couldn't cut the call, the final boarding call echoed through the lounge. He didn’t move. He couldn’t bring himself to end the call.

As he finally settled into his first-class seat, the phone still pressed against his ear, the flight attendant leaned down politely.

“Sir, we’ll be taking off shortly.”

Adil nodded, lowering his voice. “Just a second.”

The cabin lights dimmed. Outside, the runway shimmered with reflected city lights.

On the other end, all he heard was the soft rhythm of Samaira’s steady breathing — the kind that filled silence without needing words.

For a man who built his life around control, this quiet loss of it felt… almost sacred.

When the engines roared to life, he didn’t hang up. He placed the phone on the armrest, the faint sound of her breathing still there, steady and real.

It was the last thing he heard before the plane broke through the clouds — and the first thing he dreamt of as sleep finally claimed him.