The fluorescent lights of the corporate office hummed with a clinical energy, but for Faqair, the atmosphere felt suffocating. He sat stiffly at his desk, his fingers moving across the keyboard with a rhythm that was more nervous than productive.
He was dressed sharply in a black suit, but the ensemble was ruined by the black cap pulled low over his brow—a desperate shield for the raw wound hidden beneath.
The intercom crackled, and Zayn's voice, cool and commanding, cut through Faqair's focus.
"Faqair, in my office. Now."
Faqair's heart hammered against his ribs. He stood up, adjusted the cap one last time, and walked toward the heavy oak doors. He knocked softly—a hesitant sound—before stepping inside.
Zayn didn't look up. His eyes were fixed on the glowing monitor, reflecting a man who lived and breathed data and deadlines.
"You haven't given me the file for the new brand launch yet," he said, his tone flat.
"Yes, Sir," Faqair replied, his voice slightly higher than usual. He kept his gaze firmly fixed on the carpet. "I just had a little more work to do on it. I'll bring it to you shortly."
The silence that followed was heavy. Zayn finally pulled his gaze from the screen, his sharp eyes narrowing as they landed on Faqair. He leaned back, observing the strange silhouette of his employee. "Why are you wearing a cap?" Zayn asked. "Take it off."
Faqair stiffened. "I... I went to get a haircut, Sir. They did a really bad job. It's quite embarrassing."
Zayn didn't buy it. He rose from his leather chair with a slow, predatory grace and walked around the desk. Before Faqair could recoil, Zayn reached out and swept the cap from his head.
In a flash of panic, Faqair's hand flew up to cover his temple. "Sir, please... I'll be right back with the file!"
Zayn didn't argue; he simply reached out and firmly pulled Faqair's hand away. The sight of the jagged wound made Zayn pause. One eyebrow arched in silent inquiry.
"Uh... that—that—" Faqair stammered, his excuses failing him.
Zayn stepped back, leaning his weight against the edge of his desk and crossing his arms over his chest. His expression was unreadable. "Yes? That?"
"Well," Faqair sighed, realizing he was cornered. "Someone was just bothering me. Things escalated, and we got into a fight."
Zayn's second eyebrow joined the first in a look of mild, judgmental surprise. He turned, walking back to his seat with a dismissive air.
"Bring me the file quickly," he commanded.
As he settled into his chair, he added a final, chilling note: "You handle Grandpa yourself. I won't help you with this one. Go."
"What? Sir, please don't do this!" Faqair pleaded, the weight of the elder's potential wrath looming over him.
Zayn didn't respond with words. He merely gestured toward the door with a flick of his hand.
Defeated and disappointed, Faqair turned and slunk out of the office.
A short while later, the silence of Zayn's office was broken by the vibrating hum of his phone. He glanced at the caller ID and sighed before answering. "Hello, Grandpa."
"What are you doing?" Kamran's voice boomed over the line, vibrant and full of life.
"Working," Zayn answered simply, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
Kamran chuckled, a sound of pure mischief. "Asad Khan has booked the venue. I'm sending you the location right now. Get there by 3 o'clock, okay? Don't be late at all. Not even a minute!"
Zayn leaned back, his eyes tracing the ceiling tiles. The pressure of the family's expectations was a weight he knew all too well. "Ahh, Grandpa..."
"Zayn, my love," Kamran's voice softened, though the command remained. "Please go. For me. Don't be late. Bye!"
The line went dead before Zayn could protest further. "Ahhh, okay. Bye,"He took a deep breath, the weight of the upcoming "date" settling in his gut.
He stood up, shrugged into his coat, and tucked his phone into his pocket. As he walked through the main office floor, he paused.
The area was a hive of activity; designers and marketing teams were frantic, the air thick with the smell of coffee and the sound of rustling blueprints. He watched them for a moment, his mind momentarily shifting back to the brand that was his legacy.
"Hello, Sir, good afternoon," a voice chirped.
Zayn turned to see Hamad, the HR Manager, approaching with a wide grin.
Zayn managed a small smile in return. "How are the preparations coming along, Hamad?"
Hamad laughed, a sound of genuine excitement. "They're going excellently! The new brand will cast its magic the moment it hits the market. Everyone is buzzing."
"Exactly," Zayn nodded, his professional mask firmly in place. "I don't want any mishaps on launch day, got it?"
"Yes, Sir. It will be a very successful launch, I promise you that."
"Hmm," Zayn acknowledged. He turned to head toward the elevators, but Hamad fell into step beside him.
"Are you heading out already?" Hamad asked, noticing the coat. He looked closer at his boss's face. "You seem a little down."
Zayn let out a dry, short laugh. "I'm going on a date."
Hamad burst into a chuckle, shaking his head. "Oh really?
Do you remember how many girls in university wanted to go on a date with you? You wouldn't give them even 1% of your attention back then. You still haven't changed a bit.
"A genuine, nostalgic smile touched Zayn's lips. "Yes, I remember. That university time... it was something else, wasn't it?"
"Yes," Hamad sighed wistfully. "I miss it a lot."
Zayn checked his watch, the hands ticking closer to the 3 o'clock deadline set by his grandfather. "Hmm. Anyway, I need to go. I'm out of time."
"Yes, bye!" Hamad waved him off. "Have a great day!"
"You too," Zayn replied, stepping into the elevator. As the doors slid shut, his smile faded, replaced by the stoic expression of a man heading toward a destiny he hadn't chosen for himself.
To be continued.....