– Unseen Fire
The private club buzzed with low music, soft jazz blending seamlessly with the sound of laughter, the clinking of crystal glasses, and expensive shoes tapping against polished marble. This wasn't just a lounge — it was where the city's elite came to breathe, talk business, flaunt charm, and command power.
Under the golden light of the snooker lounge, Ahmed Malik stood tall — not just present, but dominant. He didn't blend in. He ruled the air around him.
Dressed in a tailored black shirt tucked into charcoal trousers, his sleeves were rolled neatly up to the forearms, veins visible along strong arms — elegance hiding the quiet power of a man in control. His silver watch caught the light. Jet-black hair, combed with precision. His snow-white skin glowed under the chandeliers. And his eyes — sharp, intelligent, unreadable — locked on the green baize of the snooker table.
He wasn't playing.
He was hunting.
Beside him, Anas leaned back with a relaxed smirk. In his buttoned navy shirt and cream chinos, he looked every bit the businessman's best friend — successful, amused, slightly tipsy.
"You play like a damn champion every single time," Anas chuckled, sipping his drink.
Ahmed smirked, chalking the cue tip.
"I don't play for fun," he replied.
The cue snapped forward. The balls scattered — one, two, three sunk cleanly.
Anas whistled. "No wonder people lose money betting against you."
Ahmed said nothing. His eyes calculated the next shot like he was solving a war strategy, not a game.
As the game flowed, Anas leaned in with mischief.
"Hey... random question." He raised a brow. "What's the story with Taaliya? She's rich, gorgeous, obsessed with you since uni. Why don't you give her a chance?"
Ahmed didn't flinch. He aligned his final shot. Calm. Cool. Lethal.
"Because I'm already reserved..." he murmured, striking the cue.
Click. Pocket. Game over.
"For someone who doesn't even know it yet."
He stood up and rested the cue over his shoulder. Gave Anas a side glance.
"I don't care if Taaliya is perfect. I don't notice her. And I don't need to."
He patted Anas on the back. "Better luck next time, bro."
They laughed as staff brought over chilled drinks. The group circled back to conversations about market growth, tech shares, and joint ventures — the kind of post-midnight small talk only billionaires could afford.
But even in this buzz of laughter and power, Ahmed's mind had slipped far away — to something softer. Someone quieter. Somewhere else entirely.
---
Across the Rooftop
The rooftop party was a masterpiece of luxury. Hidden speakers played slow beats, golden lights shimmered off wooden floors, and Lahore's skyline glittered through glass walls. Waiters glided through the crowd with silent grace, serving drinks into tall, glistening glasses.
Ahmed Malik was flawless — moving through it all with silent dominance. The snooker match just ended when his phone buzzed quietly.
He glanced down. No name on the screen. Just a sequence of symbols only he understood.
The moment he saw it, a rare, quiet smile touched his lips.
He excused himself from the table and walked to a quieter corner, phone pressed to his ear.
"Hello?" His voice dropped — warm, gentle.
"Hello, Ahmed." The voice on the other end was soft. Graceful.
"You called," he said.
"I was just checking Dadi's medicines," she replied. "A few are finished. The driver isn't here. Could you bring them on your way back?"
"Of course," Ahmed said without pause. His tone was already softer.
---
Taaliya's Entrance
The elevator doors opened.
And Taaliya Junaid arrived.
She was stunning. Wearing an ivory satin jumpsuit with sheer pearl sleeves, a silver choker around her neck, and heels that clicked with power. Her jet-black bob curled in perfect symmetry, her eyeliner winged like a blade, lipstick in a matte rose finish.
She wasn't here to fit in.
She was here to claim.
Her gaze scanned the party. Then froze.
There he was — Ahmed. Smiling. Talking softly on the phone.
With someone else.
Something clenched inside her. He didn't even notice her.
---
"When will you come?" the voice on his call asked again.
"In thirty minutes," Ahmed replied.
"Okay... Ahmed."
He closed his eyes briefly.
Her saying his name... always did something to him.
He smiled. "It sounds beautiful from her lips."
He hung up and held the phone to his chest for a moment.
---
Back near the snooker table, Anas leaned with a drink in hand.
Ahmed grabbed his coat.
"The party's just getting good!" Anas teased.
Ahmed shook his head. "I've got something important to do."
As he turned to leave, he walked past Taaliya — who stood just a few feet away. Waiting. Hoping.
Not a glance.
Not a word.
Nothing.
Just the lingering scent of his cologne and the heavy silence of being ignored.
Taaliya's heart dropped. She'd been sure he'd at least look.
But Ahmed Malik didn't look at women who didn't matter.
Anas watched it all with casual amusement. "Oof," he muttered, sipping his drink. "She didn't even get a glance."
He grinned. "Ahmed, you cold legend... I salute you."
---
Night Drive
After leaving the rooftop, Ahmed drove in silence. The city dimmed as night deepened. He stopped at a pharmacy, collected Dadi's medicines, and headed home — but his thoughts weren't in the car.
One name floated in his mind like a whispered prayer.
Sumaha.
---
At The Malik Mansion
The SUV rolled into the driveway. Ahmed walked in quietly and headed straight to Dadi's room.
The room glowed softly. Dadi sat upright on her bed, a light shawl wrapped around her shoulders.
"You're back, my lion?" she said affectionately.
He smiled, greeted her, and placed the medicine pack in her hand.
"Where's Sumaha?" he asked casually.
"She left. Morning exam. I told her to go and study peacefully," Dadi said.
Ahmed's face dimmed for a moment. But he masked it with a polite nod.
---
Family Lounge
In the lounge, his parents sat watching TV.
"Come sit, beta," his mother Ayesha said kindly.
Ahmed joined briefly. After some small talk, his father Hashir asked casually, "Have you thought about marriage?"
Ahmed blinked.
"I'm not planning to marry anytime soon."
Hashir raised an eyebrow. "You know in our family, sons marry around this age..."
"If there's someone you like, tell us," his mother added gently.
Ahmed looked down. Then met her eyes.
"No, nothing like that. Right now, I only want to focus on building my career. Please don't worry."
They nodded. But Ayesha knew — his silence hid a name.
---
Dada's Study
Ahmed later entered Dada's room. They shared a few warm lines — about business, legacy, and pride.
They hugged.
And with that, Ahmed retreated to his room.
---
The Balcony
Now in his night suit, he stepped onto the balcony, sipping a warm coffee. His eyes drifted across the garden — to the neighboring house.
Her room.
Light still on.
Through the drapes, Sumaha was visible. Wearing a navy suit, her chestnut brown hair tied back, pacing her room while reading.
She'd tuck a pen behind her ear, bite it, write, pace again.
To Ahmed, she looked like poetry walking in moonlight.
> "How can she look like peace... and war... at the same time?"
He pulled out his phone.
Ahmed: Best of luck, Pearl.
She saw the message, smiled faintly.
Sumaha: Thanks.
Ahmed: It's late. You should sleep.
Sumaha: I'm about to. You too.
Ahmed: Only if you do first.
Sumaha: Okay okay. Good night.
Ahmed: Good night.
He stared at the screen.
Across the garden, her light turned off.
Inside him, something lit up.
---
Junaid Estate – A Brewing Storm
Far across the city, the Junaid estate stood silent, cold, grand.
Inside, Taaliya sat with a glass of wine and a half-lit cigarette, fire smoldering behind her kohl-rimmed eyes.
"I love him," she whispered. "For four years. But he doesn't even look at me."
Her friend Nisha, bold and sharp, listened.
"You've been waiting too long, Taaliya," she said. "Maybe it's time to stop."
Taaliya stared at her glass.
"No. He will see me. He has to."
"And if he never does?" Nisha asked softly.
Taaliya's voice dropped.
"Then I'll make him."
She stood in front of the mirror, fire in her gaze.
> "I'm not some phase. I'm Taaliya Junaid. And Ahmed Malik will be mine."
Nisha raised her glass. "God help whoever stands in your way."
The ashtray glowed. The fire smoldered.
And far away… the man she burned for had just whispered goodnight to another woman.
---