The sun glistened over the tranquil shoreline where Anjali stood, her feet dipped in the cool water as gentle waves kissed her skin. Her hair flowed with the rhythm of the wind, cascading in effortless waves that mirrored the natural beauty of the scene. The pashmina shawl she draped across her shoulders was a masterpiece of Libaas—a winter collection piece in soft hues of beige and brown, adorned with intricate floral embroidery. The fine threads depicted delicate branches of jasmine intertwined with golden vines, exuding elegance and warmth.

The camera clicked rapidly as Anjali twirled, the shawl catching the breeze and creating a mesmerizing dance of fabric and light. Nuha stood a few feet away, watching intently as the project head discussed angles and adjustments with the photographers. With a slight nod of approval, Nuha signaled her satisfaction and turned to the designers.

"Everything is going as planned," she remarked. "Let’s wrap up before noon. I want the final shots submitted by Friday for review."

The team nodded, bustling back to their tasks as Nuha turned toward Nasr, who was standing quietly at a distance, observing the shoot. She gestured for him to follow, and together, they headed toward her car.

---

In the sleek interior of her Porsche, Nuha adjusted the rearview mirror as Nasr slid into the passenger seat. The faint hum of the engine filled the silence as she pulled out of the beachside location.

“I’ve invited a group of investors for our annual meeting and get-together,” Nuha began, her tone calm yet purposeful. “The arrangements were finalized before you joined Libaas. It’s a tradition to host this meeting at the Emirates Golf Club. This year, we’ll also be discussing expansion plans for the international market.”

Nasr glanced up from the schedule Nuha had handed him earlier, scanning the neatly outlined agenda. His brows furrowed slightly at a particular note.

“Golf practice?” he questioned, looking over at her.

Nuha smirked slightly, her eyes remaining fixed on the road. “It’s more than a game, Nasr. It’s a display of power, composure, and strategy. For people in our world, playing golf well means you’re not just in the game—you’re here to win. You’ll understand once you start playing.”

Nasr leaned back in his seat, processing her words as Nuha navigated through Dubai’s bustling streets. The city’s modern skyline sparkled in the distance, a testament to ambition and relentless growth.

---

As they pulled into the parking lot of the Emirates Golf Club, Nasr’s attention was drawn to the rows of luxury cars parked around them. The gleaming logos reflected the affluence of the place: Porsche, Bentley, Aston Martin, Maserati, Tesla—even a futuristic Cybertruck stood out among the lineup.

Nuha parked her car effortlessly and stepped out, heading to the trunk. Nasr followed, still taking in the extravagance of the scene.

He paused for a moment, his gaze lingering on the Porsche logo. The reality of his surroundings hit him once again—this was a different world from the one he had left behind in Lahore.

“Here,” Nuha said, breaking his thoughts as she opened the trunk and reached for the golf kit.

Nasr stepped forward quickly. “I’ll carry it for you,” he offered, his hand brushing hers as he took hold of the bag.

Nuha raised an eyebrow but let him take it. “Let’s see if you’re as determined on the field as you are about carrying golf kits,” she remarked with a slight teasing smile.

Nasr chuckled, adjusting the weight of the bag on his shoulder. “Determination isn’t an issue, but I can’t promise I won’t embarrass myself.”

Nuha’s smirk deepened as they walked toward the clubhouse. “That’s what the practice is for. Now, let’s see if you’ve got what it takes to play this game of power.”

---

Nuha adjusted her stance, her gloved hands firmly gripping the golf club as she prepared for the swing. Her blazer rested neatly on the back of a garden chair, leaving her in a crisp white blouse tucked into tailored trousers. The sleek bun she wore barely shifted despite the December breeze, which carried the faint scent of freshly cut grass. Her baseball cap shielded her from the sun, while dark sunglasses hid her sharp gaze.

She drew the club back smoothly, her movements confident and practiced, and struck the ball with precision. The satisfying thwack echoed in the open field as the ball soared through the air, landing gracefully near the target. Nuha casually swung the club over her shoulder, her gloved hand resting on her hip as she watched the ball roll to a perfect stop.

Nasr stood nearby, silent but impressed. His sharp eyes followed her every move, noting her control and poise. It was clear she wasn’t just playing—she was commanding the game, much like she did in every aspect of her life. She was a strategist, precise and unwavering, and it showed in the way she dominated the course.

A gust of wind rustled the trees and swept over the field, tousling Nasr's jet-black hair. The strands fell over his forehead in disarray, catching the light as if brushed with midnight oil. He instinctively tried to fix them, though the wind seemed determined to mess them up again.

Nuha turned to him, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. She walked toward him, her golf club still balanced effortlessly on her shoulder. “Your turn,” she said, holding out the club to him.

Nasr hesitated for a moment. “Are you sure you want to ruin your perfect streak?” he teased, though his gaze flickered to the golf club with a mix of curiosity and trepidation.

Nuha smirked, shaking her head slightly. “Let’s see what you’ve got,” she replied, handing him the club. Then, she removed her baseball cap and offered it to him as well. “You’ll need this more than I do.”

Nasr accepted both, glancing at the cap in his hand before looking back at her. “I’m starting to think you enjoy watching me embarrass myself,” he remarked, but the hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

“Consider it character building,” Nuha retorted, stepping aside to let him take his place on the field. “Now, show me if you can match my dedication—or at least keep the ball on the course.”

The challenge in her tone spurred him forward as he adjusted the cap on his head and gripped the club. Nuha folded her arms, leaning back slightly as she watched him. The wind played with her hairline, but her focus remained sharp, as if she were studying more than just his swing.

---

Nuha stepped closer to Nasr, observing his awkward stance with a mixture of amusement and patience. “First, loosen your grip,” she instructed, reaching out to adjust his hands on the club. Her touch was firm but precise, guiding him without hesitation. “You’re holding it like it’s a cricket bat, not a golf club.”

Nasr chuckled nervously, his fingers shifting under her direction. “Well, cricket’s all I know. This feels... fragile.”

“It’s not fragile; it’s refined,” Nuha corrected, stepping back slightly to appraise his posture. “Golf is about precision and control, not brute force. Think of it as a dance, not a brawl.”

He straightened, rolling his shoulders back as she gestured for him to position his feet. The December wind caught his hair again, brushing it across his forehead, but his focus remained on her instructions.

“Good,” she said, nodding approvingly. “Now, keep your arms steady, and when you swing, follow through. Don’t just hit the ball—direct it.”

Nasr adjusted himself again, lifting the club hesitantly. Before he could swing, Nuha interrupted. “Wait. Your stance is too stiff. Relax. This isn’t a battle; it’s a strategy.”

“Easy for you to say,” he muttered, glancing at her. “You make it look effortless.”

“That’s the point,” Nuha replied with a faint smirk, stepping beside him. She picked up another club and swung it gracefully to demonstrate, the movement fluid and deliberate. “You don’t let them see the effort; you show them the result. That’s the politics of perception. People underestimate you when they think you’re out of your depth. The trick is to play their game better than they ever expected.”

Nasr watched her carefully, the weight of her words sinking in. “So, golf is... a metaphor for life?”

“It’s a metaphor for power,” she corrected, lowering her club. “Look around.” She gestured to the pristine course surrounded by luxury cars and manicured lawns. “These people? They don’t come here just to play. They come here to be seen, to make deals, to showcase their control. Golf is a symbol, and symbols matter.”

Nasr followed her gaze, taking in the serene but undeniably charged atmosphere of the club. “And that’s why you’re here? To show them you belong?”

Nuha turned to him, a glint of steel in her eyes. “No, Nasr. I’m here to show them that I’m better. They’ll smile, they’ll shake hands, but by the end of the meeting, they’ll know who’s in control.”

Nasr nodded slowly, gripping the club with renewed determination. “Alright,” he said, taking his position again. “Let’s see if I can at least get the ball in the air.”

Nuha stepped behind him, her hands lightly guiding his shoulders. “Relax. Breathe. Focus on the ball, not the swing.”

He inhaled deeply, concentrating. With a steady motion, he swung the club, sending the ball arcing into the air. It didn’t go far, but it landed on the green.

“Not bad for a first shot,” Nuha remarked, a hint of approval in her tone.

Nasr exhaled, a small smile breaking across his face. “Not bad at all.”

Nuha tilted her head, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “With a little more practice, you might even impress someone.”

He glanced at her, the challenge in her words not lost on him. “And by ‘someone,’ you mean the investors, right?”

Nuha’s smile widened, her eyes sharp and unwavering. “Of course.” But as she turned away, a flicker of amusement softened her expression, as though she’d left the real answer unspoken.