The calm before the storm
898 Words
Mihir's Private Office – Late Night.
——-
The office was dimly lit now, most of the staff gone. Only the hum of the air conditioning and the low clink of ice in a whiskey glass broke the silence.
Mihir sat behind his desk, legs crossed, a glass in his hand, looking out of the tall glass window at the city lights.
His personal assistant, Rohit, entered, hesitant but curious.
Rohit (carefully):
"Sir... if you don't mind me asking something?"
Mihir (without turning):
"You already are."
Rohit (lowers voice, steps closer):
"I mean... it's just surprising. You're not someone who lets people go after even a small insult. One wrong word, and you finish their career, reputation, everything. But that girl... Mahira... she slapped you. In public. And all you did was make her apologise?"
Mihir chuckled—slow, deep, dangerous.
He finally turned, placing his glass down with a soft clink.
Mihir (smirking):
"Left her? No, Rohit. I didn't leave her."
He leaned back in his chair, tapping the desk with his fingers.
Mihir:
"I made her kneel. I made her beg. I made her hold her ears like a little schoolgirl in front of a dozen people. That wasn't forgiveness... that was balance."
Rohit blinked, confused. "Balance"?
Mihir (his voice darkening, controlled):
"She humiliated me in public...
So I humiliated her pride.
But that—" (he leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming)
"—was just the beginning."
Rohit frowned.
Rohit:
"Then... what now?"
Mihir (smiling like a predator):
"You said it yourself. I don't even spare people who raise a finger at me.
She raised a hand.
Do you really think she'll be spared that easily?"
He stood up, slowly buttoning his blazer.
Mihir:
"She touched fire thinking it won't burn.
Now I'll make sure she regrets the day she thought she could fight me."
He walked past Rohit, who stood frozen.
Mihir (pausing at the door, voice low and venomous):
"I don't destroy people in one strike. That's too merciful.
I break them... piece by piece.
I will make her life...
a living hell."
And with that, he walked out of the room.
The sound of his footsteps echoed like the beginning of a war.
——————
Government Office — Next Morning
Mahira entered her workplace wearing a calm face and her usual composure, dressed neatly despite the bruises still faintly visible. She greeted the receptionist with a nod, moved toward her desk, and began sorting files.
She hadn't slept properly. Her body ached.
But her spirit was determined.
Until—
"Mahira."
She looked up to see her supervisor standing with two stern-looking senior officers beside him. His expression was unreadable.
Supervisor (coldly):
"You're needed in the conference room. Now."
A strange chill passed through her. She stood, confused but composed, and walked with them. Inside the room, files were already spread across the table. A chair was pulled out for her.
Officer 1:
"We've received a formal complaint about financial misconduct and illegal handling of client documents under your name."
Mahira's heart skipped a beat.
Mahira (shocked):
"What...? What complaint? What misconduct? I haven't done anything wrong."
Officer 2:
"We've been informed there was an envelope handed over to you by a private client, an unaccounted cash transaction, not filed properly in the office records. That alone is a violation."
Supervisor (sternly):
"Until this is resolved, you're to remain suspended. Effective immediately. Please clear your desk."
Mahira (helplessly):
"This is a misunderstanding. That money was—was personal. It was never part of office dealings. Please, I can explain."
Officer 1:
"You'll get the chance. There will be an internal inquiry."
They didn't want to hear more.
They didn't need to.
Mahira stepped out of the room with her files clutched to her chest. Her legs felt numb. Her world had begun to tilt—but it wasn't done yet.
⸻
A Knock That Breaks.
Mahira and Kabir's Home – Same Evening
————-
Kabir was still in college. Mahira sat alone on the floor, replaying the day in her mind, hands covering her face. Until—
A loud knock at the door.
She got up slowly and opened it—two men stood there, one holding a brown envelope, the other a thin folder.
Man 1 (bluntly):
"Are you Ms. Mahira Khan?"
Mahira (nodding):
"Yes..."
Man 2:
"We're here on behalf of the landlord. This is a formal notice. Your rent is overdue by one month. And as per the revised agreement, you're to vacate the property within 48 hours."
Mahira (stunned):
"What? No... that's not possible. I paid last month. I've never defaulted."
Man 1:
"We have instructions directly from the landlord. Someone else has already offered a higher rent for this flat, and he doesn't wish to renew your lease."
They handed her the papers and walked away before she could even process.
She stood frozen at the door, notice in hand, heart racing.
Rent overdue?
No job.
No home.
No warning.
Her gaze fell on the wall beside her.
A photograph of her and Kabir, laughing in the kitchen.
The almirah they built together piece by piece.
Their little shelf of second-hand books.
Their entire world.
And now... it was crumbling.
Her lips trembled, but she didn't cry this time.
Not yet.
Mahira (whispering):
"This... is not coincidence."
Mahira (realizing):
"...Mihir."
- Writer
