Imperial Ember
3:30 p.m.
Imperial Ember carried an air of quiet luxury—low amber lighting, polished wood, and a silence that felt curated rather than natural. Every movement inside the restaurant seemed deliberate, measured, as if even time slowed itself to match the place's elegance.
Zayn stepped inside, and the shift was immediate.
The manager, who had been discreetly overseeing the floor, straightened and hurried toward him, his expression alert but respectful.
"Good afternoon, sir," the manager said warmly. "I was waiting for you."
Zayn acknowledged him with a brief nod. "Good afternoon."
"Sir, I was informed that you and Miss Meher would be coming. Mr. Asad Khan personally requested that I take care of everything for you."
Zayn's gaze flicked across the room—too many eyes, too much awareness.
"Thanks," he said evenly. "Treat us normally. I don't like unnecessary attention."
The manager smiled, unoffended. "Of course, sir. Please come this way."
He led Zayn toward a table placed just far enough from the center to offer privacy, yet close enough to the windows where afternoon light filtered in gently.
Once Zayn took his seat, the manager stepped back.
"I'll order later," Zayn said. "You can continue your work."
"Yes, sir. Feel free to call anytime."
With that, the manager left, blending back into the restaurant's rhythm.
Zayn glanced at his watch.
3:35 p.m.
Late.
His expression didn't change, but the faint tightening of his jaw betrayed his thoughts.
A moment later, the doors opened again.
Meher walked in.
Her steps were unhurried, composed—almost too calm for someone who knew she was late. She scanned the restaurant briefly, her gaze sharp and assessing, before landing on him. Without hesitation, she walked over.
As she sat down across from him, she brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and let out a soft exhale, as if releasing something she'd been holding onto longer than necessary.
"Didn't expect you to come," she said.
Zayn leaned back slightly. "You were so desperate to get close to me," he replied lazily. "I couldn't break your heart."
Meher smirked and leaned back in her chair, utterly unimpressed.
"Getting close?" she scoffed. "To you? I'd choose a donkey over you."
Zayn raised an eyebrow, amused. "Then where's the donkey?"
"Animals aren't allowed here," she shot back smoothly. "So for now, I'm giving you the chance to eat with me."
A low chuckle escaped him.
"Chance?" he repeated.
"Meher… I don't need a chance to sit with you. I need patience."
She arched an eyebrow.
"As far as I know, you're not exactly the patient type."
Zayn leaned forward, resting his forearms lightly on the table. His voice dropped, steady and controlled.
"You don't know me yet… not really, Miss Meher."
For a brief second, the air between them tightened.
Meher swallowed, her gaze locked onto his, refusing to break eye contact. Zayn's lips curved into a satisfied smirk as he leaned back again, reclaiming his space.
"By the way," he added casually, "why are you late? Your dad said exactly 3:00. And you still came late."
"I was stuck in traffic," she replied.
Zayn looked at her calmly, almost thoughtfully.
"Really? I thought excuses don't work—according to you."
Her expression hardened slightly. "I'm not afraid of you," she said. "Which means I don't need excuses."
Zayn's tone turned brisk. "Let's end this faster."
"Okay," Meher said, exhaling again, irritation slipping through her composed exterior. "Let's just eat and leave."
After a pause, she added flatly, "You can tell your grandfather you didn't like me."
Zayn tilted his head. "Why me?" he asked. "You can't say it because you actually like me?"
She scoffed. "You're totally self-obsessed. What makes you think everyone likes you?"
Zayn only smirked—unbothered, unshaken—as if the exchange itself was exactly what he'd expected.
And somewhere between the silence that followed and the untouched menus on the table, it became clear:
This meeting was anything but ordinary.
To be continued....