10th February, 2019

The room was silent, but her mind wasn't.

Eram sat at the edge of her bed, elbows on her knees, palms pressed into her temples like she could hold the noise in. Or maybe keep it from spilling out.

The room still smelled faintly of her body mist and the soft, clean scent of her laundry detergent. But none of it mattered. The world had narrowed to one blinding, spinning truth.

He had proposed.

Shumail Ibrahim—complex, careful, infuriatingly perceptive Shumail—had actually looked into her eyes and asked her to marry him.

She had kept her calm in front of him that moment.

But now, with no one watching, no pretending, no sand under her feet or sun in her eyes—just stillness—she could feel it.

The devastation.

She ran her fingers through her hair and leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers. It didn't. It never did.

She had no option but to say yes. It was what she'd been instructed to do—and here he was, Shumail Ibrahim, actually proposing to her without any prompting, without any scheming from her end.

It should have felt like victory.

She had assumed getting him to marry her would be a brutal uphill battle. That she'd have to manipulate, charm, or plead her way into his heart. But she was wrong.

He was giving himself to her freely.

The first part of the mission was done. On paper, she had succeeded.

She should've been elated.

But she wasn't.

Something tugged relentlessly at her heart, a dull ache that wouldn't quiet. Beneath the ring's shimmer and the sand's warmth, a voice inside her grew louder with every beat.

You're doing him wrong.

Her conscience didn't whisper—it screamed.

He trusts you. And you're using him.

She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes until sparks bloomed behind them. She tried to silence it.

I don't have a choice, she reminded herself. This isn't about me.

But the guilt clung to her ribs like wet cloth.

She pushed herself off the bed abruptly and started pacing. Her socked feet made no sound against the rug, but inside her, everything roared.

The way he had looked at her—soft, certain. As if he saw something in her worth holding on to. As if his heart had already built a home with her in it.

And what had she done?

Agreed to burn it down from the inside.

Unknowingly, her eyes began to fill with tears. She blinked them away before they could fall, unsure whether they were from guilt, relief, or something far murkier. Her emotions tangled into a storm she couldn't name—rage at the situation, sorrow for what she was becoming, fear of what would come next.

She wanted to cry.

She wanted to laugh hysterically at the irony of it all.

She wanted to scream so loudly that her chest would crack open.

But she did none of those things.

Instead, she picked up her phone and stared at the wallpaper—an old picture of a beach from a trip she barely remembered anymore. Peaceful. Wide. Open. Everything she was not.

There were three unread messages from Shumail.

She couldn't bring herself to read them.

Not yet.

Because all she could think about was his smile. The softness in his voice when he said her name. 

She had thought this part would be the easy one.

But falling for him hadn't been the plan.

And now... she didn't know how to stop.

***

The city glittered outside the glass walls of Shumail's office, the skyline flickering like static behind tinted windows.

Inside, the world was all shadows and warm light. A single desk lamp illuminated the wide mahogany surface scattered with folders, printouts, his laptop open to a stack of contracts, and a ceramic mug that once held coffee and now held only ghosts of caffeine.

Shumail Ibrahim worked like a man possessed—focused, meticulous, a touch theatrical in the way he moved papers and spun his pen between his fingers as if signing deals were a choreography. The quiet tap of his keyboard was rhythmic, hypnotic. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, the soft charcoal fabric hugging his forearms as he leaned back to scan a document, one brow slightly raised in that unreadable way of his.

This was his sanctuary.

Numbers, deadlines, expansion plans. Tangible. Orderly. No blurred lines, no betrayals hiding behind someone's smile.

He thrived here.

And yet.

His eyes flicked toward the large window again, unfocused.

The sea flashed in his mind—the way the water had kissed the sand that afternoon, Eram's laugh carried on the wind, her hijab whipping against her cheek as she turned toward him. The way she had looked at him when he'd said the words.

Marry me.

He hadn't planned it.

It had come out the way most dangerous things do—with little thought, but frightening clarity.

His fingers paused over the keyboard. A quiet exhale escaped him.

What had she thought of it?

She hadn't said yes. But she hadn't said no either.

Not yet.

He wasn't the kind of man who rushed answers. But something in him was stretched taut, humming.

His phone buzzed.

A calendar reminder.

He didn't look at it. Just swiped it away and resumed typing with clinical precision, though his jaw flexed subtly.

He'd spent most of the evening throwing himself into work, devouring tasks like firewood—one after the other, hoping the heat would keep the uncertainty from freezing his thoughts.

But Eram's eyes had followed him all night.

Not physically. Mentally.

He could still see the way her expression had shifted when he asked. Not fear exactly. But... weight. Like she'd suddenly remembered something she was trying to forget.

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.

Before he could answer, the door creaked open and a familiar voice called out.

"Bro, we bring snacks and unsolicited opinions."

Zaid walked in first, holding a bag of fries like it was sacred cargo. Behind him came Shahmeer, balancing a six-pack of soda, and Aahil, carrying absolutely nothing as usual except bad decisions and bold eyebrows.

"You three are like an invasive species," Shumail said dryly, not looking up from his laptop.

"Aw, he missed us," Aahil said, sprawling dramatically across the couch.

"You never call anymore," Zaid added, setting the fries on Shumail's desk like an offering. "Are we even your friends, or just people you emotionally damage with spreadsheets?"

"I was busy," Shumail replied, still typing.

Shahmeer raised a brow. "Busy being mysterious and sexy at the same time, or...?"

"Both," Aahil said. "Definitely both. Look at him. Sleeves rolled up, brooding into Excel. I'd marry him."

"Thank you," Shumail said calmly. "But I have higher standards."

Shahmeer snorted. "Speaking of marriage..."

That did it.

All three heads turned.

Shumail finally looked up, his expression unreadable.

There was a long pause.

"I proposed to her," he said, almost casually, as he shut his laptop.

Dead silence.

Then—

"YOU WHAT?" Zaid half-shouted, mouth full of fries.

"You proposed?" Aahil repeated, stunned.

"To Eram?" Shahmeer added, as if clarification might somehow change the universe.

Shumail nodded once. Calm. Controlled. Lethally composed.

"Just like that?" Zaid said, hand mid-air. "Out of nowhere? Like a serial killer proposing between murders?"

"Not exactly," Shumail said, smirking. "It was a beach. There were waves. It was romantic. I didn't even wear black."

"That's personal growth," Aahil muttered.

Shahmeer leaned forward. "And what did she say?"

Shumail's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Nothing. Yet."

The boys exchanged looks.

"Oh no," Zaid said, sitting down. "We are so invested now."

Shahmeer cracked open a soda. "I need details. Were you kneeling? Did you use the classic 'you complete me' line? Was there a ring hidden in a seashell? Be honest."

"No," Shumail replied, folding his arms. "I just asked her. Because I didn't want to wait anymore."

There was a pause. Then Aahil said, "Okay, that's kind of hot."

Zaid threw a fry at him. "You're not helping."

"She'll say yes," Shahmeer said, a bit more serious now. "She'd be crazy not to."

Shumail said nothing.

He wasn't worried she'd say no. That wasn't what unsettled him.

It was the look in her eyes. Like she was torn in two.

"You okay?" Aahil asked, sensing something in his stillness.

Shumail stared at the dark screen of his laptop. His reflection stared back, sharp and unreadable.

"I'm fine," he said. "I just need to know what happens next."

"And if she says yes?" Zaid asked. "Then what?"

Shumail's smile was slow. Dangerous. A little sad.

"Then I build her the kind of life she never thought she deserved."

The room was quiet for a moment.

Then Aahil raised his soda can.

"To dangerous romantics."

"To chaos," Shahmeer added.

"To women who make calm men insane," Zaid said.

They clinked cans and packets of fries, while Shumail sat back, eyes still distant, a storm quietly building behind his composed exterior.

He didn't say it aloud.

But one thing burned quietly in his chest—

What will her answer be?

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