Leila broke the silence. "Can I give you all some breaking news?"
Before she could spill anything, Musa stepped out.
"In 30 minutes. Meeting room. Everyone."
Exactly half an hour later, Musa stood at the head of the table.
"The head of HR's son is returning from London. He'll be taking over company operations... I'll be shifting to the Karachi branch." Silence. Everyone froze.
Anabiya's heart sank. It felt like someone had ripped the floor out from under her.
"This can't be true..." she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper. "You can't leave. You can't just go."
Musa's phone rang. Calmly, he raised a hand. "We'll talk later, Anabiya. This is urgent call."
And he walked out.
Umer, trying to lighten the mood, sang dramatically:
🎶 Dil ke armaan aansuon mein beh gaye... 🎶
Moiz covered his face with a file. Leila sighed. Anabiya whispered, "Idiot," and stormed out.
"I'm done. Not working anymore today. I am going. Moiz Plz inform the Musa sir. "
⸻
On the bus, Anabiya messaged Mishal:
"I'm really sad today. Tell you when I reach. Please bring two pastries and one cappuccino."
By the time she reached her apartment, she spotted Mishal getting out of her car. Anabiya rushed toward her.
Mishal silently opened her arms. Anabiya hugged her tightly.
"Yaar, nothing feels right anymore," she whispered.
Inside, Mishal placed the pastries and cappuccino on the table while Anabiya devoured them in silence. Then she stood up.
"One minute... I'm going to change."
Mishal had been Anabiya's best friend since childhood. For as long as Anabiya could remember, Mishal had always been there — through scraped knees, school dramas, college heartbreaks, and now, this.
Tall, sharp-eyed, and always put-together, Mishal wasn't the kind of beauty that turned heads at first glance — but her style, confidence, and perfectly done makeup made her impossible to ignore. She owned a popular coffee shop in the city, and today she looked every bit like a boss.
She wore a red silk top tucked into fitted black trousers, paired with high heels that clicked with every step. A large designer handbag hung on her shoulder.
Now, inside Anabiya's apartment, Mishal quietly slipped off her heels and pulled out a loose, comfy shirt and trousers from her bag — her crash-at-Anabiya's outfit, as she called it. She tossed her heels to the side, freeing her feet with a sigh of relief, then reached for her phone.
then texted her fiancé:
"Don't message me today. Anabiya's not okay. Don't tell Urhaan either. Okay?"
When Anabiya returned, Mishal simply handed her a bag of chips and said:
"Okay. Start."
Anabiya's voice cracked. "He's leaving the office."
"Mooz?" Mishal blinked. "What?"
"He's being transferred to Karachi. Some rich London-return boss kid is replacing him."
Mishal groaned. "And you never told him how you feel!?"
Anabiya wiped a tear. "You want me to go around proposing now?"
"Yes. Girls propose too, you know."
"But what if he doesn't feel the same?"
Mishal squeezed her hand. "I've seen the way he looks at you."
The night passed with brainstorming, snacks, and silence.
But by 7 a.m., Anabiya was glowing.
"Mishal, wake up. I have a plan."
Mishal blinked. "You're glowing. You've thought of something."
"I'm requesting a transfer to the Karachi branch. I'll work with him... and then maybe, the courage will come."
Mishal sat up, clapping like a seal. "YES! Same city, same office — proximity and history? Boom!"
Anabiya grinned. "It's time I stop dreaming and start doing."
They high-fived, grabbed the HR forms, and stepped out — not just to file a transfer request...
...but to rewrite a story.