6th September, 2018

Sprawled across his king-sized bed like a starfish, Shumail Ibrahim slept soundly, arms and legs tossed carelessly in all directions. Dressed in a red pajama set adorned with white polka dots, he looked boyishly adorable. He lay on his stomach, hugging a pillow tightly to his chest while a tiny trail of drool decorated the corner of his mouth—a rare sight that would have shattered his meticulously curated image in the corporate world.

The open window let in a gentle breeze that crept across the room. As it hit his sleeping form, a slight shiver passed through him. The duvet, unceremoniously abandoned halfway off the bed and onto the floor, was all he suddenly wanted. Subconsciously, his leg searched for it at the foot of the bed. His sleepy frown deepened when he couldn't find it.

Eventually, his toes brushed against the edge of the comforter. With the dexterity only someone half-asleep could manage, he caught it between his toes and tugged it toward himself. Clutching the blanket with both hands now, he pulled it fully over himself. A soft, satisfied sigh escaped his lips as warmth cocooned him once again.

Peace returned.

That is, until his alarm blared like a vengeful banshee.

Shumail groaned, blindly smacked the alarm clock, and sat up sluggishly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The duvet, now once again the villain in his early morning tale, was tossed back to the floor. Still half-asleep but on autopilot, he trudged to his closet and pulled out a crisp white kurta and shalwar—the outfit he wore every morning for Fajr prayer.

After a brisk wudu and a quick check in the mirror to ensure he didn't look like a walking zombie, he stepped out for the masjid.

Returning a while later, he closed the door quietly behind him, placing the house keys back on his bedside table. With a lazy yank, he pulled off the kurta, dropped it in the laundry basket, and eyed the bed like it had personally invited him for a second round of sleep.

Who was he to reject such a tempting offer?

But first—he had to close the window. The chill from earlier still lingered. He shut it with a soft thud, scooped the duvet off the floor, and climbed back under its warm embrace.

The next three hours? A battle between the alarm and his willpower.

The alarm won—barely.

Groaning louder this time, Shumail sat up, squinting at the bright morning light that streamed through the curtains. "One day," he muttered, "I'll fire that alarm clock."

Dragging himself to the bathroom, he finally managed to take a proper shower. Cleaned up and fully awake, he slipped into his chosen outfit for the day—a white V-neck full-sleeved T-shirt, fitted jeans, and a navy-blue overcoat that fell just below his thighs. As he combed his hair and checked his reflection with a critical eye, he smirked.

"CEO, heart-throb, and reluctant early bird," he said to the mirror. "Not bad, Ibrahim. Not bad."

After gathering the files he needed from his study, he headed to the kitchen. Breakfast consisted of scrambled eggs, French toast, and a glass of orange juice—consumed with one hand while the other flipped through important notes on a digital file.

Once done, he grabbed his iPad and headed out.

"Good morning, Sir," greeted his chauffeur.

"Morning, Kamran," Shumail replied, slipping into the backseat.

As they cruised down the highway, he worked quietly on his iPad. But his thoughts drifted, and soon his fingers slowed.

His mind had wandered to her.

Ms. Erum Azam.

A smile tugged at his lips as he remembered the day he'd accidentally hit her with his car.

What might she be doing now? he wondered. Did she like the gift I sent?

A call broke through his thoughts.

"Good morning, Sir," came his secretary's voice. "You have a meeting with Mr. Xander Smith, Director of Qian Techs, followed by a dinner with new investors about the patents."

"Right. I'm heading to meet Mr. Smith now. Did you email me their contract?"

"Already done, Sir. And there's nothing else on your schedule after that. Best of luck for the meeting."

"Thanks." He cut the call and slipped his phone into his coat's inner pocket.

They arrived at the restaurant soon after, and Shumail made his way to the VIP lounge on the first floor. Mr. Smith greeted him warmly and they began discussing the partnership.

An hour later, they were wrapping up.

"The contract looks quite profitable, Mr. Smith. I hope this marks the beginning of a productive collaboration."

"The pleasure's mine, Mr. Ibrahim. It'll be exciting working with both the Ibrahim brothers."

Shumail's brow arched. "Both?"

"Yes. We've recently started working with Mr. Gufran."

That took the wind out of his sails.

"Well, I believe we're done here," Shumail said, standing abruptly. "I have another appointment. I'll take your leave."

"Of course. We'll send over the final contract."

Shumail gave a polite smile, shook hands, and walked out. As he descended the stairs, he dialed his secretary.

"Cancel the deal with Qian Techs," he said curtly.

Once at the Ibrahim Estate, he walked in through the main doors, nodding at greetings from employees. His secretary met him at the private elevator.

"Sir, your friends are waiting for you in your office."

"Perfect," he said with a smirk.

Upon entering, he peeked inside like a mischievous child checking for traps. Seeing no one, he tiptoed to the couch, retrieved a hidden playgun, and headed to the side door leading to the gaming room.

With the finesse of an action hero, he kicked open the door—only to immediately dodge a sponge bullet from Aahil. He rolled, fired back aimlessly, and dived behind the couch.

The room erupted in chaos. Laughter and foam bullets flew freely. Shumail popped up, shot Zaid in the arm, then ducked again.

Shahmeer fired back and landed a shot square on Shumail's forehead.

"Headshot!" he shouted.

"Lucky shot!" Shumail yelled, grinning.

Zaid charged him, they wrestled, and both tumbled onto the couch. Eventually, everyone ran out of ammo and collapsed laughing.

"I miss this," said Aahil, lying on the floor and panting.

"Good old days," Shahmeer agreed.

Shumail wiped his forehead and sighed. "Thank you for this surprise, guys. After a morning like mine, I needed this."

"What happened?" Zaid asked.

"Gufran's joined hands with Qian Techs."

Shahmeer rolled his eyes. "That 'good-for-nothing' cousin? Please. Like he could touch Ibrahim Estate."

"He'll just mess up again, and I'll be the one cleaning up after him," Shumail grumbled.

Later that evening, Shumail sat in a restaurant waiting for the investors. He glanced at his watch—early.

His phone rang. The caller ID flashed Mr. Chang.

"Good evening, Mr. Ibrahim. I'm terribly sorry but we'll need to reschedule. Some urgent family issues came up."

"I completely understand. Family first," Shumail said kindly.

"Thank you for understanding. We'll meet soon."

After hanging up, Shumail stood, slung his coat over his arm, and walked out while replying to an email on his phone. He didn't notice someone walking straight toward him.

Crash.

His phone almost slipped from his hand.

"Oh no! I'm so sor—" he stopped mid-apology. "Ms. Azam?"

Erum looked up, eyes wide. "Mr. Ibrahim."

"We really should stop meeting like this—or invest in collision insurance," he teased with a grin.

She smiled shyly. "I was here to meet a friend, but she cancelled. I was just about to head back."

"And I was here for a meeting that got cancelled too. Fate's clearly up to something."

She laughed quietly.

"By the way," he asked hesitantly, "Did you receive my gift?"

"I did."

"And... did you like it?" he asked, holding his breath as her expression turned serious.

For a terrifying moment, she just looked at him—expressionless.

Then she smiled. "I loved all of them. Thank you."

He exhaled in exaggerated relief. "You almost gave me a cardiac arrest. Don't do that."

She giggled. "I told you it wasn't necessary."

"It was the first time I ever gifted something to a girl, you know. I panicked, did research, and concluded that hijabs are a hijabi's best friend."

"Well, you chose perfectly."

He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly pleased. "Now that we're both free... would you like to grab dinner?"

Eram's smile faltered. "I really need to get back home. I'm sorry."

"Oh, of course! Maybe next time we bump into each other?"

She chuckled. "In Sha Allah. Allah Hafiz."

She began to walk away, but he called out, "Wait, let me drop you home."

"It's fine, really—"

"I'm not asking this time. It's a gentleman's duty." He grinned at his own dramatic flair.

Blushing slightly, she nodded and followed him to his car.

After settling in, he noticed her door hadn't shut properly. When she didn't catch on, he stepped out, walked around, and gently retrieved the edge of her dupatta from the doorframe before shutting it securely.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"No problem, Ms. Azam."

As they drove, she gave him directions. Soon they pulled up outside her apartment building.

"I live on the 10th floor. Thanks again."

"I'm just glad I could help."

She stepped out, turned, and smiled softly. "Allah Hafiz."

"Allah Hafiz."

As she disappeared into the building, Shumail rested his head against the seatback, a slow smile spreading across his lips.

Ms. Eram, you really are something else.

There's this quiet charisma about you—

Mujhe hamari agli mulaqat ka intezaar rahega...

Dobara milengi na mujhse?

His heart whispered.

The streetlights flickered past as Shumail drove back, a gentle hum of the engine the only companion to his thoughts.

His tie had loosened on its own, or maybe he just didn't bother fixing it after dropping her. The scent of her soft vanilla perfume still lingered faintly in the car, teasing his senses like a memory he wasn't quite ready to let go of.

"Ms. Eram Azam," he muttered to himself with a smirk, tapping the steering wheel.
"You confuse me, charm me, and leave me speechless—all while holding your dupatta like it's a secret weapon."

The smirk faded into a smile that reached his eyes.

As he stopped at a signal, his phone buzzed on the dashboard. Aahil's name flashed on screen.

"Yaar, what happened? You vanished after the sponge bullet war. Koi nayi mission par ho?" Aahil asked, his tone teasing.

Shumail chuckled. "You could say I got ambushed. Ran into Ms. Azam again."

There was a pause. "Again? Bhai, if this was a movie, I'd say Allah Himself is shipping you two hard."

"Feels like it." Shumail leaned back. "I offered dinner, she said no."

"Oof. Brutal."

"Relax, she smiled. Giggled even. And... she accepted the hijabs."

Aahil let out a mock gasp. "Next step: shaadi ke cards print kara lein?"

Shumail rolled his eyes. "Goodnight, Romeo."

He hung up, but not before Aahil's laughter echoed into the empty car.

Later that night, Shumail stood on the balcony of his room, the wind tousling his hair. His overcoat had been discarded hours ago, replaced with a comfy hoodie and sweatpants.

In one hand he held a cup of black coffee, in the other—his phone. Shumail and Eram hadn't exchanged numbers, hadn't planned anything, yet here he was, craving her presence.

He quickly ran back in and sat cross-legged at the foot of his bed with his laptop. His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

"What if she thinks I'm a creep? Hacking into her workplace system for her number?" he groaned. "Get a grip, Shumail."

Five minutes later, he had her number.

Because of course he did.

He stared at it, debating whether to call. 

He didn't call. He didn't text either.

He just stared at her name.

"Too early," he muttered. "Too eager is the first step to creeping someone out."

Still, he typed a message:

"Hope you reached safely, Ms. Azam. Let me know if your door ever tries to eat your dupatta again—I'm developing a trauma."

He stared at it for a second.

Too flirty? Too soon? Too much?

He deleted it. Then typed again:

"It was nice seeing you again. Take care. 

Shumail."

Short. Sweet. Safe.

He hit send before he could overthink it again.

Setting the phone down, he looked out at the sleeping city.

Unbeknownst to him, back in her room, Eram's phone buzzed on the dresser.

She picked it up, read the message. 

Her eyebrows shot up as she stared at the screen, Shumail Ibrahim's name glowing on her phone. A thousand questions flickered through her mind in the span of a heartbeat.

How did he get her number?

She hadn't shared it. Not even by accident.

But then her shoulders slowly relaxed, a resigned breath escaping her lips. 

Of course he found it. Of course he did.

There was a reason she knew just how capable he was. A reason she never talked about.

A reason buried in a memory she'd locked away like a secret file marked classified.

How she knew about his "skills"... well, that was a story for another day. A day when truths would be harder to swallow than lies.

For now, she just left the message on read.

And wondered if answering it would unravel more than she was ready for. 

A smile was trying to make its way to her lips, a genuine smile and it was because of his concern. She wanted to feel happy, that someone cared for her.

But it stopped.

Frozen mid-curve.

Like it had been caught in a lie.

Her gaze clouded, and in the quiet hum of the night, an image flashed before her eyes—sharp, jarring.

Not a memory. A wound.

The warm flicker in her chest was instantly doused by something cold and metallic slithering up her spine.

She placed the phone back on the dresser with calculated calm, though her fingers trembled ever so slightly.

No reply.

No room for softness.

Not now.

She turned off the light, and darkness swallowed the room whole. With slow, deliberate movements, she slid under her blanket.

Her heart thudded hard, but not with nervous anticipation.

It beat like an alarm—rapid, panicked, warning.

Because what she felt wasn't butterflies.

It was fear.

Raw. Fresh. Familiar.

And it had a face.

Assalamualaikum guys

I know it's been really long that I updated but sorry I was being a lazy bum and it was taking a hell lot of willpower to make myself to write :p
Soory again *holding ears*

And then when I finally wrote the chapter and decided to update yesterday...wattpad decided to mess up with me by deleting the chapter and eventually I had to write down the chapter all over again!

Anyways..

Coming back to the chapter...how was it?
Isn't it such a coincidence that Shumail and Erum keep meeting time and again?

Any suggestions how should they meet next time?

Comment down below and I'll tryna write from the syggestions which I'll find the most magical yet romantic situation in which they'll meet next time ;)

Cya next time..untill then
Hasta La Vista Baby! B-)