20th November, 2018

The morning after was hectic for Shumail. With barely a sip of coffee to fuel him, he headed straight to meet Mr. Chang and the two of them went directly to the production site. The day passed in a blur of blueprints, assembly lines, and team briefings. It wasn't until his stomach let out a dramatic gurgle late in the evening that he realized he'd skipped lunch entirely.

"Typical," he muttered to himself, massaging his temples as he excused himself and drove back to his hotel suite.

On his way, he picked up a burger and fries combo from a local fast-food joint. Sitting on the balcony, the Tokyo skyline sparkling behind him, he dug into his food like a man on a deserted island.

With one hand occupied by a sauce-dripping burger and the other managing the fries, he somehow still managed to navigate to Eram's chat. His messages were a one-man show: a monologue of texts with not a single reply.

It irritated him. No, scratch that-it infuriated him.

But swallowing his pride with his next bite of burger, he decided to try again. With one greasy thumb and a messy screen, he typed with his clean left hand:

*"Hey there! Salam!

How are you doing, Eram?

Well, I'm not doing good. Have to survive eating fast food. weeps dramatically**

He hit send, chuckled at his own sarcasm, and focused on finishing his food, which he devoured like it was a five-star meal.

Licking his fingers clean, he glanced at his phone.

Seen.

No reply.

Again.

The anger hit him square in the chest this time. He had texted her multiple times since he arrived in Japan. Not a single reply. And now, seen again?

He gritted his teeth, dropped the phone on the couch, then picked it up again. He couldn't hold back anymore. Typing with the rage of a man who'd just been ghosted by someone he actually cared about, he wrote:

"Ms. Azam, do you take me for granted?! You've suddenly started behaving so unusual, and I seriously cannot figure out why! For Allah's sake, please tell me what the hell is going on!"

He hit send and threw his phone on the couch like it had personally betrayed him. Running a hand through his hair, he took deep breaths, trying to calm the storm brewing inside him.

And then, he made a decision.

If she didn't want to talk to him, then fine. He wouldn't text her either.

For two whole weeks, he kept his promise. Not a single message, not a single thought about her -or so he told himself. He buried himself in work, skipped meals, and tried pretending the thought of her didn't tug at his chest every few hours.

But he cracked.

He was alone in the conference room one evening after a grueling day. The tie around his neck was loose, his shirt creased, and his patience nonexistent. Everyone had gone. Silence filled the room.

Taking out his phone, he dialed her number. It rang.

And rang.

And rang.

No answer.

He hung up and opened their chat.

"Please talk to me, Eram! I don't know what's bothering you, but I'm tired! Please! I'm unable to understand what's the matter with you..."

Message sent.

And read.

She was online.

But no reply.

He sighed, pocketed his phone, and left.

Later that night, Shumail sat alone in his suite. The television played some Japanese reality show in the background, but he wasn't watching. He was too wrapped in his thoughts.

His phone buzzed.

He ignored it at first, assuming it was some random work update. But then it buzzed again.

A call.

From Eram.

He blinked.

Then blinked again.

Just to be sure he wasn't hallucinating, he wiped his eyes and stared at the screen.

Yes. It was real.

He swiped to answer.

"Salam," he said cautiously.

"Walaikum Salam," she responded, her voice small, unsure.

"How are you?" he asked.

"I'm fine. How are you?"

"I'm surviving," he replied, his tone a mix of sarcasm and sincerity. "Everything alright, Ms. Azam?"

There was a pause.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Ibrahim. I troubled you a lot. I'm really sorry."

Shumail sat upright. "I've been really worried for you. Are you really okay? If there's something wrong, you can tell me. Maybe I can help."

"I'm fine. Don't worry."

"Are you really?"

She just hummed.

He exhaled, relieved. At least she was talking to him again.

"So... when are you coming back?" she asked suddenly.

"Oh? Surprised you'd want me back," he said, teasing. "Work's almost done. I should be back in a day or two. Why do you ask?"

"I have something to tell you," she said, her tone... different. Was that shyness?

"What? What is it?"

"I won't tell you on call. Come back, and then I'll tell you."

Now he was curious.

Two days later, he was on his flight back to Canada. The product launch had reached its final phase. Mr. Chang had insisted Shumail go back, especially after catching him staring at his phone one too many times.

As soon as his plane landed, he headed straight home.

He was halfway through changing into his pajamas when the doorbell rang.

"Really? The universe won't even let me change into comfy clothes?" he muttered, trudging down the stairs.

He opened the door to be nearly tackled by a bear hug.

Zaid.

"You drama queen! I missed you so much!"

"Stop calling me that!" Shumail groaned.

Shahmeer and Aahil joined in, laughter and sarcasm filling the room as the four of them settled in like no time had passed.

They played Xbox, devoured snacks like starving wolves, and traded barbs all night. Eventually, they noticed Shumail had passed out mid-conversation. The guys set him down comfortably and crashed around him.

The next day, Shumail slogged through a mountain of paperwork at the office. As soon as he was done, he drove to Eram's place.

It was evening. The sky was a soft navy blue, stars beginning to dot the horizon, and the crescent moon hung like a shy smile.

He called her. She picked up instantly.

"Salam!" Her Voice came out in a whisper.

"Walaikum Salam? everything alright?."

"Yeah. How are you?"

"Fantastic as always. Where are you, by the way?"

"Walking home. Just about to reach." Her voice dropped to a hush, followed by a pause. Then, almost hesitantly, "When are you coming back?"

He saw her just then.

There she was-back to him, standing still under a flickering streetlight. Her shoulders sagged slightly, like the weight of something unsaid had finally caught up to her.

He smiled faintly and raised the phone to his ear.

"Turn around," he said quietly.

"Huh?" she frowned, half in confusion, half in disbelief. Slowly, cautiously, she turned.

And froze.

Her eyes locked on him. Widened. Disbelieving.

Then, like a dam breaking, her expression crumpled.

"Hey, hey! Don't cry!" he said, walking toward her. "I mean, I know I'm charming, but I didn't think I'd bring tears."

She let out a choked laugh-but it was too late. The tears were already flowing.

He stood before her now, only inches away, trying to read her.

But her face was a contradiction. A smile that didn't reach her eyes. Tears that weren't quite sorrow. Or were they?

"Eram... what's wrong?"

She shook her head quickly, wiping at her cheeks. But the emotion clung to her, raw and real.

She didn't answer-not yet.

Because she didn't know what to say.

Were these tears relief from seeing him again? Or the guilt of what she was about to do? Of something she knew would change everything?

For a moment, time stood still.

The city noise faded.

The air was still.

And under that dim streetlight, the world shrank to just the two of them-two people standing on the edge of something unknown.

He could feel it in his chest. That electric pause before something shifts. Something irreversible.

She finally spoke, barely above a whisper. "There's something I need to tell you."

His heart skipped.

Not because of her words.

But because of her tone.

Because whatever came next... he knew nothing would be the same

Assalamualaikum!

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