24th December, 2018

It had been a week.

Seven long, jagged days since that coffee date.

Since his warm, sugary smile. Since her almost-confession. Since that photo.

Since everything changed.

Eram sat at her windowsill, legs curled under her, her phone resting uselessly beside her. It was well past midnight, and the city outside blinked and shimmered with life, completely unaware that hers had come to a standstill.

She had sent six messages. Called him three times. Left one awkward voice note. Nothing.

Shumail had vanished.

She tried not to spiral. Maybe he was busy. Maybe he needed space. Maybe he sensed she was hiding something and decided she wasn't worth the effort. The rationalizations spun in her mind like a carousel from hell.

Then came the seventh day.

Her phone buzzed again.

Unknown Number.

She stared at it for a moment. Her stomach dropped as if gravity had shifted.

She answered with a shaky breath. "Hello?"

Silence.

Then a voice. Cold. Calm. Detached.

"You're wasting time."

The sound of that voice made her blood chill. It was familiar now. Precise. Void of any humanity.

"I told you, I'm trying," Eram whispered. "But he won't talk to me. He's shut me out."

"Then find another way."

"He's not stupid. I can't just show up and—"

"You have until the weekend. No more delays. After that, we stop being patient."

"Please," she said, panic rising. "I just need a little more time. A few days, that—"

Click.

The line went dead.

Her hands trembled as she set the phone down.

She couldn't breathe.

The tightness in her chest pressed against her ribs like a fist made of stone.

She was running out of time.

***

Friday morning arrived like a slap.

Overcast skies, wind slicing through the gaps in her jacket, and no new messages from him. She hadn't slept. She'd barely eaten. Her nerves were a bundle of static electricity under her skin.

She needed to see him.

So she went where she knew he couldn't ignore her: his office.

The Ibrahim building was sleek and intimidating—a structure of mirrored glass and clean lines, like a fortress built by ambition itself. She took the elevator to the twenty-second floor, clutching her bag like a lifeline.

The receptionist gave her a polite, rehearsed smile.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No, but it's urgent. Please just tell him it's Eram Azam."

The woman typed something. Her expression remained neutral.

"Mr. Ibrahim isn't taking visitors today."

"Just tell him," Eram said, a little sharper now. "Please."

The receptionist frowned faintly, then picked up the phone and murmured something into it.

Thirty seconds passed.

Then:

"He says you can go in."

Eram exhaled slowly and walked toward the large double doors, her heels echoing against the marble floor.

She stepped into the office.

It was vast, minimalist, and cold. A wall of floor-to-ceiling windows cast pale light across a room devoid of warmth. The only personal touch was a black-and-white photo of his parents near the edge of his desk.

Shumail stood by the window, his back to her.

He didn't turn around when she entered.

For a moment, all she heard was the city hum outside, muffled through the thick glass.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and distant.

"You shouldn't have come."

Her heart twisted. "You didn't leave me much choice."

He turned then.

Sharp suit. Neatly combed hair. No smile.

This wasn't the man who called himself Captain Hazelnut.

This was the businessman. The strategist. The mask.

He gestured to the chair opposite his desk. "Sit."

She did. Slowly.

The silence stretched between them like a tightrope.

He looked at her as if calculating something. Not angry. Not even cold. Just unreadable.

"Why are you really here, Eram?"

She faltered. "You wouldn't answer me. You just... disappeared."

"And that concerned you?"

The question felt clinical. As if they were dissecting feelings under a microscope.

"Of course it did. After everything—"

"What exactly is everything?" he interrupted, voice still calm. "A coffee date? Some banter? A laugh over croissants?"

She swallowed hard. "You're not being fair."

"Neither are you."

That silenced her.

She stood, suddenly feeling suffocated by the room, the air, him.

"Maybe this was a mistake," she said quietly.

She turned to leave.

"Are you free this weekend?"

His voice stopped her.

She turned back. Confused. "What?"

He straightened the cuff of his shirt. "Saturday. I want to take you somewhere."

"Where?"

He didn't answer.

Just, "Wear something comfortable. I'll pick you up at ten."

She blinked. "Shumail—"

"Goodbye, Eram."

Dismissed.

She didn't know what to make of it.

That night, she paced her room until 2 a.m., whispering pros and cons into the silence.

He was different.

Detached. Controlled. As if he were hiding behind glass.

But then—he had asked to see her.

Why?

Was it a trap?

A chance for honesty?

Or something else entirely?

***

Saturday mornings in Toronto usually smelled like maple and caffeine, but today, for Eram, they smelled like anxiety and impulse decisions.

She checked the mirror one last time, then darted to the window, brushing the curtain aside like a nosy neighbour. A sleek black car sat purring at the curb. And there he was—Shumail Ibrahim. On time. As promised.

Her phone buzzed.

Shumail: "I'm outside."

She nearly tripped over her bag in her scramble to get downstairs.

He was leaning casually against the car, phone in hand, sunglasses on, channelling his best 'reserved hero in a K-drama' look.

He was the kind of man you noticed in a crowd—not because he demanded attention, but because silence followed him like a shadow. Tall, broad-shouldered, and immaculately dressed, Shumail had the kind of posture that came from years of being in control—of boardrooms, emotions, outcomes. His tailored navy coat hugged a frame sculpted more by discipline than gym vanity. Clean lines. Sharp angles. His jawline could probably cut glass, and the light stubble dusting it only added to the mystery.

His hair was thick and slightly tousled, the kind that looked like it had been carelessly styled, but you just knew a mirror and precision had been involved. The sunglasses didn't hide the seriousness etched into his features, but they added an edge to the enigma. Even standing still, he had the presence of someone who was calculating ten moves ahead. Cool. Composed. Utterly magnetic.

And yet, there was something about him that made your pulse stutter—maybe the way his fingers tapped the phone screen with quiet intensity, or how his mouth curved just barely when he spotted her. Like she was part of a plan he hadn't fully shared yet.

He wasn't the prince from a fairy tale.

He was the man who rewrote the ending.

"You came," she breathed, slightly breathless.

"I said I would."

It wasn't exactly Shakespearean, but it was something.

She got into the passenger seat, offering a hopeful smile. "So, where are we headed?"

"You'll see."

Of course. Vague. Mysterious. Probably in the same category as 'I'm fine' and 'Let's talk later.'

The drive stretched long and silent. The Toronto skyline faded into open roads lined with trees and the occasional Tim Hortons. Eram tried three different conversation starters:

"So... nice weather today, huh?"

"For someone who called me dramatic, you're giving major undercover-agent-on-a-budget energy—with a speed limit to match."

"I didn't realize this trip came with a complimentary vow of silence. Should I whisper too?"

Each was met with either a noncommittal grunt or a nod so small it might have been a neck cramp.

Eventually, she gave up and just stared out the window, wondering if this was how romantic getaways began or if she was being lured to her doom with zero breadcrumbs.

But when they finally pulled up to Rotary Cove Beach, the view did take her breath away. The water shimmered beneath a sky painted in gentle hues of grey and gold.

"Wow," she murmured.

"I thought you'd like it," he said.

Progress.

They parked near a quaint villa with whitewashed walls and wide glass windows that invited the ocean in.

"I booked this for the day," Shumail said, unlocking the door. "I'm thinking of building a beach house here."

"Oh, casual billionaire things," she muttered under her breath.

He led her through the villa, pointing out rooms, layouts, view angles. She tried to focus on his words, but mostly she watched him. The way he moved. The way he kept a polite distance, like he was a host, not a friend. Certainly not a man who'd once bought her a glitter cupcake without blinking.

She threw in a few jokes as they toured:

"So if you build this place, do I get a guest room or am I stuck on a hammock outside?"

Silence.

"Should I start designing seashell-themed curtains or is that too aggressive for step one?"

Nothing.

"Okay, great talk."

Lunch was a muted affair. The grilled fish stared at her with more emotion than Shumail did.

Afterward, he stood and looked at her. "Walk with me?"

She nodded, grateful to escape the villa before the salad started giving her the silent treatment too.

They walked along the shoreline, waves nipping at their shoes. The sky had begun to soften, golden light bleeding into blue. It was quiet—so quiet, it felt like the air was holding its breath along with her.

Shumail turned to look at her, his gaze unreadable. Their eyes met. She offered him a weak smile, trying to lighten the weight between them.

"Ms. Azam," he began, his voice deliberate, "Isn't it strange how suddenly we met?"

Her heart dropped like an elevator missing its floor. Was this it? Had he found out? Was he connecting the dots?

"Fate," she replied, straining for casual. "It works its magic really smooth."

They walked a few more paces in silence. Every step felt like she was walking toward a courtroom verdict.

Then Shumail stopped abruptly, hands tucked into his coat pockets. "Do you have anything to say, Ms. Azam?"

Eram's pulse went wild. "Like what?"

"Like... a confession, perhaps?"

Her throat dried instantly. She was sure she'd swallowed a cactus whole.

"A... confession?" she asked, wide-eyed.

He nodded, calm but curious.

"I have nothing to confess," she said too quickly.

Shumail didn't respond right away. He looked down, pulled out his phone, checked a message that flashed briefly on the screen, then slid it back into his pocket. Something unreadable flickered across his face—tension, maybe—but then he looked up and his whole demeanor shifted.

A grin broke across his face—mischievous, teasing, familiar.

"Are you sure?" he said playfully, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Nothing at all? Not even something like, 'The beach is stunning,' or, 'This trip is better than I expected,' or, 'That grilled fish was weirdly judgmental but delicious'—or, my personal favorite—'Shumail, I think I love you'?"

She blinked at him, completely thrown. "What?"

He burst out laughing—genuine, unrestrained. The kind of laugh that cracked his usual armor and made the air between them feel just a little less dense. "Relax! I was just trying to break the silence. You looked like you were mentally preparing to stand trial."

"I was," she muttered, eyes narrowing. "And congratulations—you nearly gave me a heart attack."

"What can I say?" he said, grinning. "I function great under pressure."

"What's with you, Shumail?" she asked, trying to steady her voice as her heartbeat insisted on skipping like a scratched CD. "Back at your office, you were all... serious. Cold, even. Like you didn't want to see me again. Then you suddenly ask me on this trip, drive like an emotionally constipated James Bond, say practically nothing all day—and now you're back to your old sassy self?"

Shumail looked out at the horizon for a beat too long, then glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "It's a complicated system. I reboot on beaches."

Eram stared at him, unimpressed. "So you're telling me all I needed was ocean breeze and overpriced grilled fish to get you to talk like a human again?"

"That... and maybe a little existential dread," he said, with mock-seriousness. "Also, balloon arches. Very healing."

She rolled her eyes, a reluctant smile forming. "You're unbelievable."

"And yet," he said, pointing at himself, "irresistible."

Eram shook her head, exhaling a short laugh. "You know, I've been around difficult people, Shumail, but you? You're like a Rubik's cube with commitment issues."

"Oh please," he said, dramatically offended. "I'm way more charming than a Rubik's cube. Maybe like... a locked iPhone with mysterious texts."

"That is so much worse."

"Yet here you are," he said, nudging her shoulder. "Still trying to unlock me."

She groaned. "I walked right into that one."

He chuckled and stuffed his hands into his pockets as they strolled a bit farther down the beach. The tension that had wrapped itself around her chest like a vice all day finally loosened, just a little. It was strange—how he could swing between ice and fire, silence and sarcasm. Yet here, under the sky with the waves whispering nearby, he felt a little more like the man she'd once dared to imagine a future with.

A salty breeze swept in from the shoreline, tugging at Eram's hijab like it wanted in on the conversation. She huffed and flipped it behind her shoulder. "If the wind keeps flirting with me like this, I'm going to start charging it rent."

Shumail glanced sideways at her, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Jealous of a breeze? That's a new one."

"Not jealous. Just saying it's been more persistent than you've been this entire trip."

He raised an eyebrow, amused. "So, you'd prefer I swirl dramatically around you like nature's clingiest suitor?"

"Honestly? You brooding in silence for hours felt like a social experiment. I half expected you to hand me a clipboard and ask for my emotional feedback."

He smirked. "Fine. On a scale of one to emotionally scarred, how would you rate today's excursion?"

"Somewhere between 'unexpectedly wholesome' and 'mildly concerning.'"

"Perfect. That's exactly where I aim to be—mysterious, but not criminal."

"Oh, don't worry," she said sweetly, brushing imaginary dust off her shoulder. "You're safely in the 'questionable but hot' category."

That got him. He laughed—a real one this time. Deep, warm, and unguarded. The kind of laugh that made her stomach flip and her heart do that stupid hopeful thing again. She smiled before she could stop herself.

They walked a little longer, tossing harmless jabs back and forth like stones skipping over water. The beach began to quiet as the sky shifted into twilight, bruised lavender and deepening gold stretching across the horizon.

Eventually, Shumail checked his watch. "We should head back. I have a long week ahead."

"Of course you do. Important people to glare at in meetings. Calculations to calculate."

He raised an eyebrow as they turned toward the villa. "Yes, because that's exactly what CEOs do. Calculate calculations."

The ride home was quieter, but not uncomfortable this time. Eram leaned against the window, watching the world blur past — city lights gradually flickering on like fireflies trapped in glass. Her thoughts were an orchestra of confusion. The sudden shift in his behavior, his jokes that seemed to slip out like muscle memory before he caught himself and retreated again.

He didn't say much during the drive, but she caught him glancing at her a few times. Not the usual once-over a guy gives a girl he's interested in. This was something different. Like he was memorizing her—savouring a version of her he wasn't sure would last.

When they reached her building, he pulled up and put the car in park but didn't immediately kill the engine.

"Well," she said, unbuckling. "Thanks for the... emotionally unpredictable adventure."

He gave a small smile. "Glad you survived it."

She opened the door but paused before getting out. "And... thanks for the fish. I've never been emotionally judged by a meal before."

"You're welcome. That fish and I had a lot in common."

She turned, raising an eyebrow. "Oh?"

He shrugged, casual. "Dead-eyed. Mysterious. Served with a side of lemon."

Eram laughed, shaking her head as she stepped out. "You're weird."

She'd barely closed the door behind her when she heard him call her name.

"Eram."

She turned around.

Shumail was out of the car now, walking toward her with steady, unhurried steps. The streetlight above flickered once, then held steady—casting a soft halo over them.

She tilted her head. "Forget to emotionally terrify me with one last cryptic comment?"

"No," he said, stopping a few feet from her.

"Marry me."

The words hit her like a jolt of electricity.

"I—I'm sorry?" she stammered.

"I'm not asking for fireworks or long speeches. I just need to know if you'll consider it. Marry me."

She stared at him.

This was too fast. Too real.

She looked up at him, standing just inches away.

Her heart was a warzone of longing and guilt. Hope and dread.

But all she could say was, "I need some time."

He nodded slowly. "Take it. But don't take forever."

And just like that, he stepped back, returned to the car, and drove off—leaving Eram standing under the flickering streetlight, proposal still ringing in her ears.

The night swallowed her silence.

And the answer stayed trapped in her chest.

Assalamualaikum guys

I know I'm late and I'm sorry but can't help it -_-'

Anyways how was the chapter? Lol I really enjoyed writing it >.<

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Until next time...sayonara!