Under the yellow glow of the overhead light, Selena carefully guided the needle through her patient's lacerated finger. The antiseptic tang of iodine blended with the faint metallic scent of blood, both of which she had long since grown accustomed to. Her workspace was meticulously arranged: a syringe of lidocaine lay beside an open suturing kit containing scissors, a needle holder, and tissue forceps. Blood-soaked gauze pads were scattered on a tray, while a small metal bowl of iodine sat ready for sterilization.

"Almost done," Selena murmured, her voice steady as her fingers worked with precision. The patient winced slightly, but she reassured him with a quick glance.

Once the final knot was tied, she removed her gloves and stepped back, inspecting her work. "Keep this clean, and avoid wetting it for a few days," she instructed, handing the patient post-procedure care tips.

As the patient left, Selena turned to the computer at her desk, her fingers dancing over the keyboard as she logged the procedure into the hospital's system. Just as she finished typing, her phone buzzed on the counter. Wiping her hands, she glanced at the screen and saw Nuha's name.

"Hey," Selena answered, leaning back in her chair.

"Lunch after your shift?" Nuha's familiar voice was brisk but warm.

"Sure, I'll be done by four."

"Great. I'll text you the place," Nuha said before hanging up.

Selena sighed, slipping the phone into her pocket. Lunch with Nuha meant a break from the chaotic rhythm of the hospital, but she knew her best friend always had something up her sleeve.

---

Nuha placed her phone down on her sleek glass desk, the light from the large windows casting a soft glow on her workspace. Adjusting her tailored navy blue blazer with white, thin dotted stripes, she grabbed her laptop and walked toward the conference room. Beneath her blazer, her pearly white silk blouse shimmered faintly under the sunlight. A silver dainty wristwatch and a minimalist ring completed her look, while her dark brown hair, slicked back into a low bun, highlighted her sharp features. Her dark olive skin glowed flawlessly as she walked with purpose.

The conference room buzzed with anticipation as her marketing team prepared to present. Nuha, ever poised, took her seat at the head of the table.

"We've been brainstorming ideas to expand our market in South Asia," a team lead began, "and we suggest hiring a Pakistani actress as our brand ambassador. She could appeal to the audience we want to target, both in Pakistan and abroad."

Nuha's eyes lit up. "That's an excellent idea. If executed well, this could elevate Libaas to another level." She typed notes into her laptop as she spoke. "Let's form a task force to identify potential actresses, calculate costs, and create a campaign framework. I'll need updates by the end of the week."

The room murmured in agreement, but then a scoff interrupted the momentum.

"It's a waste of money," Sohail Chaudry, a senior employee in his 50s, said disdainfully. His bald head shone under the room's fluorescent lights. "We should stick to traditional methods. Bringing in celebrities will drain our resources and leave us in debt."

Nuha's expression remained calm, her voice steady. "On the contrary, this isn't about short-term gains, Mr. Chaudry; it's about building a legacy. This plan has potential, and if executed correctly, it could transform our brand's image."

The room fell silent as Nuha's confidence overruled the dissent.

"Let's move forward with the plan," she concluded, closing the discussion and moving on to the next agenda.

---

By four o'clock, Selena arrived at the restaurant Nuha had chosen. She spotted her best friend seated at a corner table, her laptop open as usual. Nuha's navy blue blazer stood out against the minimalist decor of the restaurant, her pearly white silk blouse glowing softly in the ambient light. Her low bun was sleek and flawless, her dark olive skin radiant against the backdrop of the city skyline visible through the glass walls.

Selena sat down, placing her bag on the chair beside her. "Still working, I see," she teased.

Nuha glanced up briefly, offering a faint smile. "Always something to do."

As Selena scanned the menu, the waiter arrived with their order. He was tall with dark olive skin, jet-black hair, and thick eyebrows. His uniform was crisp, and his name tag read Nasr.

Selena looked up at him with a smile. "Thank you for the food," she said warmly. Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, "You know, you should be a model."

Nasr blinked, his expression a mix of surprise and shyness. His gaze shifted from Selena to Nuha, who was so engrossed in her laptop that she hadn't noticed his presence or the food.

Selena, unfazed, reached into her bag and pulled out a business card, handing it to Nasr. "Contact the marketing team at Libaas. You might have a future with us."

Nasr stared at the card in disbelief, his eyes darting to Nuha for some form of acknowledgment. She, however, remained oblivious, her attention fixed on her screen. Taking the card hesitantly, he nodded and left.

Once he was out of earshot, Nuha looked up, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. "You're so shameless," she mocked. "You have a husband, yet you're doing this?"

"It's better to have options," Selena quipped with a wink.

"Did you talk to Aariz?" Nuha asked, her voice casual but her gaze pointed.

Selena paused, her confident demeanor faltering. She looked away, fumbling with her fork. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."

"How is he?" Nuha asked, her attention drifting back to her laptop.

"He's good," Selena said, nodding absently. "Good."

Nuha didn't look up. "Why don't you call him?"

Selena laughed, knowing Nuha's estrangement from her own family. "You don't call your family either."

Nuha finally looked up, her face a mask of seriousness. "Okay, okay," Selena relented with a laugh. "Let's eat."

For the first time that day, Nuha closed her laptop, and the two friends shared a meal.

---

The restaurant was silent now, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound breaking the stillness. Nasr removed the disposable black apron tied around his waist and the gloves he had been wearing to clean the tables. He folded the apron neatly, tossing it into the trash, and grabbed his bag before heading to the small bathroom in the back of the restaurant.

The overhead light in the cramped bathroom flickered as Nasr splashed cold water on his face. He glanced up at the cracked mirror, his tired reflection staring back at him. His dark olive skin was worn from the long shift, and his jet-black hair, disheveled from hours of work, framed his sharp features. With a deep breath, he changed into his own clothes-a faded shirt and a pair of well-worn jeans.

Outside, the other staff were packing their belongings, their muffled chatter filling the otherwise empty space. The tables and chairs were neatly organized for the next day, and the lights were dimmed to a warm glow. Nasr slung his bag over his shoulder, ready to leave, when one of the waiters called out to him.

"Nasr! Can you take out the kitchen trash before you go?" the waiter asked, motioning toward a large black plastic bag knotted tightly at the top.

Nasr hesitated, his body aching from the day's work, but he nodded. "Sure," he muttered, grabbing the bag. It was heavier than it looked, and he struggled for a moment before finding his grip.

The back alley was eerily quiet, the cool November air brushing against his face as he dragged the bag to the dumpster. The sky was jet black, no stars, no moon-just an endless, empty void above him. Nasr heaved the bag into the dumpster and dusted his hands off on his jeans.

As he began walking home, his thoughts wandered. The streets were deserted, the faint echo of his footsteps the only sound accompanying him. He shoved his hands into his pockets, shoulders hunched against the chill. A faint, painful smile crossed his lips as he sighed, looking up at the empty sky. "No stars tonight," he murmured. "Not even the moon."

His fingers brushed against something in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw the card Selena had handed him earlier that day. Libaas. The name felt foreign yet promising as he ran his thumb over the embossed letters. For a moment, he stopped walking, staring at the card under the dim streetlight.

---

The apartment building he called home loomed ahead, its walls cracked and faded. A group of men sat on the front stairs, their bulky figures clad in loose pajamas. They smoked cigarettes, their voices low and raspy. Nasr held his breath as he walked past them, the acrid stench of smoke hanging heavy in the air.

Inside, the fluorescent lights flickered weakly, casting a dingy glow on the peeling paint of the walls. His shared room was no better. Six beds were lined up in the cramped space, barely any room separating them. The air smelled of stale sweat and lingering food, and the sink was piled high with dirty dishes.

Nasr set his bag down and sighed. Dinner sat on the counter-a plate of burnt lentils and cold flatbread. The six men who lived here had divided the chores: three cooked, and three cleaned. Nasr's duty was to do the dishes, a task he loathed but accepted. His odd hours meant he couldn't cook, as his roommates would starve waiting for him.

He glanced at the plate of food, his stomach twisting with hunger. He thought about his mother's warm meals, the comforting aroma of her spices, and the way she would insist he eat more. But those days were long gone. Now, even if he had the energy to cook, he wouldn't. He was too tired, too drained to put in any effort.

After a quick shower, Nasr changed into comfortable clothes and sat in the dimly lit room, eating the burnt lentils in silence. The sound of his roommates' snores echoed around him, making his eyelids grow heavier with each passing moment.

He cleaned the dishes methodically, the cold water biting at his hands. Once the sink was clear, he made his bed, smoothing out the thin blanket before collapsing onto the mattress.

Staring at the ceiling, he whispered to himself, "I'll get used to it." It was the same thing he'd been telling himself for the past six months, ever since he had left Lahore for Dubai.

As the sounds of the city faded into the quiet of the night, Nasr closed his eyes, clutching the faint hope that tomorrow might be different.