ruthless to knees

hello

The following week mirrored the calm of the Margalla Hills — silent, composed, yet holding a storm that refused to fade.

Every department was instructed to prepare quarterly presentations before the board — “mandatory presence, no delegations.” His tone left no room for refusal.

No one knew why, but the rumor mill buzzed: Mr. Khan is in one of his moods again.

Rehan stood by the door, watching as Adi reviewed the list. “Communications Department — that’s her team,” Rehan said quietly.

Adi nodded once, expression unreadable. “Schedule them last.”

In the executive conference hall on the 42nd floor of Khan Enterprises Headquarters, nestled in the business district near Blue Area, preparations were underway — a cathedral of power and silence. Adi sat at the head of the long glass table, his watch gleaming under the light, his posture carved from stone. Department after department came finance, logistics, operations. A faint hum of air conditioning filled the silence. The faint aroma of roasted coffee mingled with nervous energy.— his responses sharp, his focus unwavering. But his gaze flickered every few minutes to the door.

But deep beneath that calm, his mind was elsewhere.

Every tick of the wall clock brought her closer.

Every presenter that exited the room was one step nearer to the moment he’d been both dreading and craving.

Finally, the assistant announced, “Communications team, sir.”

The door opened.

And she walked in.

Samaira entered with her team — files neatly stacked, head held high.

A pulse, a memory, a scent that wasn’t even there — mehndi, and fear, and something painfully familiar.

She looked the same, yet not at all. Her hair was neatly pinned, her abaya pressed, her eyes outlined faintly with kohl — professional, calm. She wore a soft beige kurta and a company ID that hung loosely over her chest. Time had matured her — there was quiet confidence now, an elegance laced with distance.

She looked nothing like the girl who once clung to his arms, and yet everything in him recognized her instantly.

Adi didn’t move.

He watched her in silence, patiently waiting for her to see him his every nerve locked tight.

Her eyes flicked briefly across the room — polite, scanning faces to greet she carried herself with quiet authority, greeting the board with practiced ease. Her voice steady as she greeted them,"Hello Sir,"

The sound of her voice was his undoing.

Their gazes met.

The air between them changed — charged, tight.

He caught that flash — the same eyes he remembered from the staircase that night, rimmed with kohl, filled with fear and something unspoken. Only now, they were older. Guarded.

She looked shaken as if trying to figure out what I was doing here and soon decided to completely avoid me and carry with her presentation directly addressing the other board members who were seated next to me. As if my humungus chair was invisbile to her.

How her tone dipped slightly when she explained the challenges the team faced during recent projects.

How she paused just long enough before answering a question — not fear, but poise.

And how, for the briefest moment, her eyes darted towards me, only to drop immediately after.

Her fingers tightened slightly on the remote as she advanced the slides. “Here,” she said, voice steady. “We projected an 18% growth in engagement, exceeding our target.”

“Impressive,” murmured one of the directors.

Adi felt on fire for not being her direct point of attention so his voice cut softly through the dark. “Who led the campaign?”

She paused briefly before her head turned toward him. “I did, sir.”

He nodded slowly, eyes still on her not letting go. “Alone?”

“No, sir. With my team’s assistance.”

Her composure was flawless, but her pulse betrayed her — he could see the faint movement at her throat, the quickening breath. She knew he was watching her.

Adi’s fingers tapped once on the table, slow and deliberate. “You’ve done well, Ms. Samaira.” He just needed her attention for a moment longer. He needed her for himself even for a single minute.

“Thank you, sir,” she replied quietly.

A moment of silence.

Then, Adi spoke again — low, almost conversational, but everyone felt the tension underneath.

“I noticed your team’s efficiency has improved drastically in the last few months. I assume you’ve had no… external distractions?”

The words hung like a blade in the air.

Her jaw tensed.

“No, sir,” she said carefully. “None.” How could he tell her she was not to be shared, that he was going crazy just by her replying to another director on the panel, and he wanted to show that only he could question her, that only she was answerable to him and him alone.

He nodded, eyes still locked on her. “Good. I don’t tolerate distractions in my company.”

Rehan glanced nervously between them, unsure if he should intervene. The rest of the team shifted awkwardly, glancing at one another.

Finally, Adi leaned back. “Continue.”

The rest of the presentation passed in uneasy silence. When it ended, Samaira closed her laptop, turned toward him once more. “That concludes our report, sir.” — until they landed on him.

The air left her lungs again.

For a split second, her composure faltered again. The world stilled — her hand trembled just slightly on the file — then she recovered, and thanked everybody on her team.