The morning skies over the Emirates Golf Club were heavy with clouds, the light drizzle softening the otherwise vibrant greens of the course. The December rain had made the air cool and crisp, perfect for golf. Despite the weather, the club buzzed with activity, its members undeterred as they strolled with umbrellas and golf bags in hand.

Nuha stood near the entrance, dressed for the occasion in corduroy brown pants and a beige polo shirt that matched perfectly with her gloves and baseball cap. Her ponytail swung lightly behind her as she adjusted her cap and looked around. The rain gave her skin a faint sheen, and her sharp, observant eyes scanned the arriving investors.

Next to her, Nasr shifted in his crisp new outfit-grey pants, a black polo shirt, white sports shoes, and a matching baseball cap. His gloves were snug, and though he appeared composed, there was a slight tension in his shoulders. Today wasn't just about appearances; it was about proving himself in a realm entirely unfamiliar.

One by one, Nuha greeted her investors with a smile that was both professional and warm. "Gentlemen," she began, gesturing towards Nasr, "this is Nasr, my secretary. He'll be assisting me today."

The investors, a mix of seasoned professionals and budding entrepreneurs, exchanged pleasantries with Nasr. The drizzle picked up slightly, and they moved toward the sheltered pavilion near the course.

"Shall we start the game?" one of the investors suggested.

"Of course," Nuha said, her tone confident and inviting.

But then, as if to test the newcomer, one of the older investors smiled at Nasr. "Why don't you start us off, young man? Let's see what you've got."

Nuha glanced at Nasr, her expression unreadable but her eyes steady. The unspoken encouragement was there: Show them what we practiced. Show them that you belong.

Nasr took a deep breath, gripping the club with the same precision Nuha had drilled into him during their practice sessions. The drizzle cooled his skin, and Nuha's words echoed in his mind: Golf isn't just a game; it's a metaphor for power. Control the game, and you control the room.

He stepped forward, positioned the ball, and steadied his stance. With a practiced motion, he swung the club. The ball soared into the air, landing gracefully on the green, earning an approving hum from the investors.

"Well done," one of them remarked.

Nuha nodded subtly, a flicker of pride crossing her face. Nasr caught her glance, and though she said nothing, it spoke volumes: Good start.

As the game progressed, the group moved through the course, laughter and conversation flowing amidst the light rain. Nuha played her strokes with practiced ease, her ponytail swaying slightly with each swing. She maneuvered the club like an artist at work, each motion deliberate and confident.

"Your technique is impressive, Ms. Hafeez," one of the investors said, smiling.

"Years of practice," Nuha replied with a polite nod, her gloved hand resting on her hip as she watched her ball roll smoothly into place.

The conversation shifted naturally to business as they progressed to the next hole. Nuha led the discussion with her usual poise. "We've been exploring ways to expand Libaas into the international market. Offering worldwide shipping will allow us to reach clients who already admire our work but feel constrained by the lack of accessibility."

An investor nodded thoughtfully. "International shipping opens many doors, especially if you align with reliable logistics partners."

"We're already in talks with a few," Nuha replied, adjusting her glove. "The plan is to start with select regions and gradually scale. Quality control will remain our priority, no matter the reach."

As they discussed logistics and market trends, Nasr remained attentive, absorbing the nuances of Nuha's business acumen. He noticed how she balanced her strokes with calculated pauses in conversation, using the game itself as a subtle tool to assert her control over the room.

At one point, as the rain lightened, Nuha handed Nasr the scorecard to mark their progress. "What do you think, Nasr?" she asked, her tone inviting yet challenging.

"I think it's ambitious," he replied, glancing between her and the investors. "But I also think ambition is what got Libaas here in the first place."

The investors chuckled, one of them commenting, "He's a quick learner, Nuha. You've trained him well."

Nuha's lips curved into a faint smile. "I only hire those who are willing to learn," she said simply, turning back to her next shot.

By the end of the game, the rain had stopped, and the clouds began to part. The investors seemed pleased, not just with the meeting but with the experience Nuha had orchestrated-a blend of leisure and purpose, subtle but effective.

As they parted ways, one of them shook Nuha's hand firmly. "It's always a pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Hafeez. Looking forward to the next steps."

Nuha inclined her head gracefully. "Likewise."

As the investors drove away, Nuha and Nasr walked back to the pavilion. "You did well today," she said, glancing at him.

"Thanks to your coaching," he replied, his voice earnest.

Nuha's gaze lingered on him for a moment before she smiled faintly. "Well, let's hope it's enough to seal the deal."

The December wind picked up again, ruffling Nasr's hair. He pulled his cap down slightly, feeling a new sense of confidence. Nuha was right-golf wasn't just a game. It was a statement.

---

Nuha and Nasr stood under the shaded awning of the Emirates Golf Club as the rain began to fall again, light droplets tapping on the canopy above them. The valet was nowhere to be seen, but the scent of wet grass and fresh rain filled the air. Nuha adjusted her cap, her hair damp from the drizzle earlier in the day.

Her eyes shifted toward Nasr, who stood silently beside her, his black polo shirt slightly damp from the humid air. She wanted to ask how he planned to get home in this weather. But she held herself back, adopting her usual air of composure. Instead, she spoke with a nonchalant tone. "Let's discuss the meeting in the car. We need to debrief the board of directors later."

The valet finally appeared, parking the sleek black Porsche in front of the entrance. Nuha reached for her golf kit, balancing her umbrella in one hand, but Nasr took the bag from her with ease, slinging it over his shoulder.

"I'll carry it," he said firmly.

Nuha raised a brow but didn't argue. As the security guard rushed to assist, opening the trunk, Nasr began placing the kit inside. His hand brushed against the handle of her umbrella as he adjusted the placement.

"Let me hold that for you," he said, his voice soft but resolute.

Nuha hesitated, her gaze meeting his. Without waiting for her response, Nasr tilted the umbrella slightly, holding it firmly over her head as they stepped into the rain. The cold droplets splashed against his exposed shoulder while the rest of him remained dry under the umbrella's wide arc.

By the time they settled into the car, the rain had intensified, tapping insistently on the windshield. Nuha slid into the driver's seat while Nasr placed his tablet on his lap, ready to take notes. She started the car, the engine's purr cutting through the sound of the rain.

"Where do you live?" she asked as she adjusted the rearview mirror.

Nasr's fingers tightened around his tablet. "Just drop me at the nearest metro station," he replied.

Nuha glanced at him briefly. His tone was polite, but she could sense his hesitation. It didn't take much for her to understand why. A car like hers in a neighborhood like his would draw attention-attention he clearly didn't want.

"Alright," she said evenly, shifting gears. The windshield wipers moved rhythmically, clearing the rain as they drove onto the slick road. The warmth of the car enveloped them, a stark contrast to the chill outside.

"Today went well," Nuha said, breaking the silence. Her eyes stayed on the road, but her tone was lighter. "The investors seemed on board with the international shipping plan. The focus now is finalizing logistics-especially for the US, UK, and Canada. Those markets will need streamlined operations."

Nasr nodded, pulling up his tablet to jot down key points. "We'll need detailed timelines for shipping partnerships and a dedicated team for handling international customer service," he noted.

"Good," Nuha affirmed. "We'll work out the specifics tomorrow in the office."

As they discussed the next steps, Nasr's attention flicked briefly to a notification on his tablet. A reminder about Zoya's bridal shower dress popped up, and he realized he hadn't followed up with her about its return.

"Speaking of headaches," he began hesitantly, "I haven't been able to reach Zoya about that dress she borrowed for her bridal shower."

Nuha pressed her lips together, letting out a soft click of her tongue. Her eyes narrowed slightly, frustration flashing across her face. Without missing a beat, she tapped the screen on her car's dashboard, connecting to her phone.

"Let's settle this now," she said, her tone sharp as she called Zoya. The phone rang twice before the automated message played: "Please leave your message after the tone."

Nuha sighed in exasperation and ended the call. "Figures," she muttered, gripping the steering wheel tighter. "We'll deal with it tomorrow. My head's too full to think clearly right now."

Nasr offered a small nod, sensing her irritation. The car fell silent for a moment, save for the hum of the engine and the rhythmic swish of the wipers.

Nuha glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "So, you really want me to drop you at the metro station?" she asked.

"Yes," Nasr replied quickly, avoiding her gaze. "It's more convenient."

She didn't press further, steering the car toward the nearest station. As they approached, she parked at the curb, the rain still coming down steadily.

"Keep the umbrella," she said in a professional tone, handing it to him as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

Nasr hesitated for a moment before taking it. "Thank you," he said, his voice low.

Nuha gave him a curt nod, watching as he stepped out and disappeared into the station.

---

Nasr's journey home was long and damp. The rain had caused significant delays in public transportation, and the metro was unusually crowded. By the time he transferred to the bus heading to his neighborhood, the sky had darkened completely, and the roads were choked with traffic.

When he finally reached his apartment building, his shoes were soaked, and the hem of his pants clung uncomfortably to his legs. He climbed the narrow stairs to his shared flat, feeling the day's weight settle on his shoulders.

Still, as he removed the umbrella Nuha had given him, a small sense of warmth lingered. It wasn't just the kindness behind the gesture-it was the understanding she had shown, even in her typically reserved way.