𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞
I was deep in my beautiful, blissful sleep, floating in dreamland, probably winning an award or marrying a Turkish drama hero, but reality sucker-punched me with the screeching of my alarm.
I groaned like a dying goat, blindly flailing my arm around to shut the thing up.
But instead of hitting the alarm clock, my hand got tangled in something like spiderweb.
What the... spiderweb??
I yanked my hand back, only for the "web" to let out a shriek.
Wait, webs scream now?
My eyes flew open, only to find out...
My hand. In Laiba's hair.
And she was glaring at me like she'd already written my murder confession and was heading to court. Oops.
"Laiba," I whispered in horror. "I thought you were the snooze button..."
"You psycho! You nearly pulled my soul out through my scalp!" she roared.
Naturally, I did what any guilty little sister would do in this moment.
I flashed her a bright, cute dimpled smile... and ran for my life.
She lunged. I ran. Fast.
"Laiba, mercy! I'm your little sister-"
"Exactly why I'm gonna kill you myself!"
I darted down the hallway, tripping over my own dupatta, shrieking for my life as she chased me like a horror movie villain in pajama pants.
"Laiba, wait! I was half-asleep!"
"YOU'LL BE HALF-DEAD IN A MINUTE!"
She charged after me like a bull on Red Bull. I bolted into the bathroom, slammed the door shut, and leaned against it like it was a shield from death itself.
I could still hear her huffing on the other side. "Just wait, Zoya. I'm putting chili powder in your shampoo next time!"
I pretended not to hear. Survival mode: ON.
Inside the bathroom, I lazily brushed my teeth with one hand while checking my phone with the other. Half my mind was still in dreamland.
Until my eyes casually glanced at the wall clock outside through the foggy mirror.
8:30 AM.
I. Froze.
A full three seconds passed before the reality hit me like a truck.
"EIGHT. THIRTY?!?"
I screamed like I was being murdered in a horror movie.
"OH MY ALLAH! I'M DEAD. I'M ACTUALLY GOING TO DIE. TODAY. AT THE HANDS OF CEO AKROO KHAN."
Zaigham Khan, the Great Akroo Khan, was going to roast me alive. No, he'd drink my blood instead of his bitter black coffee. The man respected time like it was oxygen.
I ran out of the bathroom looking like I had seen a ghost, and I probably was one now.
I yanked open my closet, grabbed the first outfit I could find didn't care if it matched, didn't care if it was ironed, didn't care if it belonged to me or Laiba, and got dressed in record time. I nearly put both legs into one pant leg but hey, minor detail.
"Ya Allah," I whispered under my breath, attempting to sneak past them like I was part of the furniture.
"Beta, good morning," Tayi Jaan said sweetly, eyeing my one sock that had tiny fried eggs on it. I was about to say good morning back, but my mouth decided to betray me.
"Assalam u Alaikum... I mean... good waalik... I mean... salam u... sorry I'm late."
Flawless. Absolutely nailed it. Zoya!
Deeda squinted. "Why are you walking like a crab?"
"I'm late," I muttered.
"Laiba told me you tried to rip her scalp off," Mama said calmly.
"That is a lie. A misunderstanding. My hand accidentally fell into her... hair... nest. It was self-defense." I grinned.
At that exact moment, Laiba came down the stairs like a storm survivor. Her hair looked like it had been in a small battle. Maybe a large one.
"She pulled out actual strands, Mama. Real strands. I counted four," Laiba glared, holding up fingers like a police report was about to be filed.
I held up my hands. "Peace. I offer peace. And maybe your hair got dramatic all on its own."
Baba lowered his paper. "You do realize it's almost 9?"
That's when it hit me like a brick wall.
"OH MY ALLAH!" I yelled, making everyone flinch. "I'm late. I'm so late. That Akroo Khan is gonna fire me and blacklist me from corporate existence. I'll have to open a chai dhaaba on the footpath. Ya Allah, why didn't the alarm work?!"
"You were fighting with it in your sleep," Laiba deadpanned.
Ignoring everyone, I ran toward the dining table, grabbed a slice of toast, dipped it in tea like a barbarian, stuffed it in my mouth, burned my tongue, then fanned my mouth with a cushion.
"I'm fine. Everything is under control."
"No it's not," said Mama. "Your scarf is on backwards."
"Fashion," I said confidently, spinning around and tripping over the carpet. Almost face-planted into the house help's tray of juice. The maid caught it just in time.
"Where's my bag? Has anyone seen my black tote with the panda keychain? It has my whole life inside!"
"You left it in the garden, Yesterday" the maid answered helpfully.
"Right, thank you," I said.
As I zipped toward the main door like a tornado, our driver Bilal opened it just in time.
"Drive like the wind, Bilal Bhai. And if we crash, tell Akroo Khan I died stylishly."
I jumped into the car, toast crumbs on my lips.
I recited Duas through my whole journey, my heart was already beating so loudly.
Today was an important project discussion and I was late. Not fashionably late, potentially-fired late. I could practically imagine Mr. Akroo Khan drinking my blood through those sharp ice-gray eyes.
"Ya Allah, please save me today. I'm too pretty to get fired. Let me at least finish this internship with some dignity."
As the car rolled to a stop, I didn't even wait for the driver to say bye before I flung the door open and sprinted toward the building like my life depended on it, which it technically did.
"Assalam u Alaikum," I wheezed at the receptionist as I passed, ignoring her stunned face.
She blinked at me. "Miss Zoya, your heels-"
Too late. One heel got stuck in the carpet and twisted. "Ow, NO, not now," I whispered-yelled, yanking it free and speed-limping toward the elevator.
I jabbed the button a thousand times like it would make it come faster. Ya Allah, it was like the elevator knew I was in trouble. The doors finally opened, and I ran in like a criminal escaping a crime scene.
Reaching the boardroom, I paused to catch my breath, slapped on a smile like nothing was wrong, and pushed the door gently.
All the heads turned to me. I froze.
"Oh. Great. Zoya. Just great," I muttered under my breath.
Mr. Akroo himself, was seated at the head of the table, wearing his signature icy expression. He looked at me like I just walked in wearing clown shoes. But surprisingly, he said nothing. Just turned back toward the screen.
I slid into the nearest chair like a silent ninja, trying not to exist.
The room had a few familiar faces. Aayan bhai, our too-serious CFO, was nodding like a robot. Nouran api, the Creative Director, was already typing something on her tablet and not even looking up.
I was silently doing a little victory dance in my head, thinking I'd somehow survived the storm today. But of course, who was I kidding?
After about fifteen minutes of silent panic, Zaigham stood up and walked to the board like he was preparing for battle. Calm. Icy. Terrifying. He pointed out a few things on the screen.
"These projections here," he said, tapping the slide, "are not aligned with our target KPIs. Aayan, I'll need updated numbers by tomorrow."
Aayan bhai, seated three chairs down, nodded sharply. "On it."
His tone was calm. Too calm. That scary calm.
Then his eyes flicked to me.
"Miss Zoya, it's your turn now."
OH MY ALLAH.
My soul left my body for a second.
My presentation, which I didn't even complete.
You're gone now, Zoya.
I stood up slowly, palms sweaty.
"Sir, I... I couldn't complete it due to... s-some reason."
I could feel his glare tightening. Oh no. Oh no no no.
"Which reason, may I know, Miss Khan?" His voice was calm. But not the good kind of calm. The murder-you-internally kind.
My heart thudded. Everyone was staring at me. Nouran api looked like she wanted to crawl under the table for me.
"T-That I can't say in front of every-"
"You are suspended from this internship for one month," he cut in, not even letting me finish.
Wait-WHAT?! That escalated so fast I nearly choked on my own regret.
"Wait what? Sir, I-I'm sorry. Yesterday was... my nikkah," I blurted.
Another pause. He looked at me calmly like he was deciding between exiling me or just straight-up firing me.
"Your Nikkah certificate?"
SERIOUSLY? Who walks around with a Nikkah certificate in their tote bag?
"I-I don't have it with me right now."
"Bring it to me tomorrow. Otherwise, you're suspended for a month, Miss Khan."
"Yes, Sir," I mumbled and slumped back into my seat like a sad burrito.
The moment the boardroom door closed behind me, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
"What was that meeting?" I muttered to myself, speed-walking back toward my cabin like a cat that had just barely escaped bath time. "Why do I always end up breathing the same air as Mr. Akroo during quarterly reviews?"
My heels clicked against the marble a little louder than necessary. Not my fault I was dramatically injured by a prolonged exposure to CEO-level glares. Honestly, if Zaigham Khan's icy gry eyes could file complaints, I'd have a permanent HR warning.
I shot a nervous glance through the glass wall as I passed his cabin.
There he was, back to being surgically attached to his laptop, jaw clenched, fingers typing like they were mad at the keyboard.
Classic Mr. Akroo behavior. He didn't even glance up.
Not that I wanted him to. Actually, yes, maybe just once. For research purposes.
My cabin was right next to his, separated by one shared wall and way too little emotional distance.
I slid into my chair, dramatically flopping my head onto the desk.
"Zoya Khan, you survived," I whispered, "barely, but you did."
I was sitting here having a full-blown breakdown over a ten-minute boardroom update.
"You know what I need?" I muttered, yanking open my drawer. "Chocolate. Or a personality transplant. Whichever comes first."
Just as I was about to fish out an expired granola bar from my drawer, my phone buzzed.
Mr. Khan: Come to my cabin. Bring the updated files.
"Of course you text now. Of course." I stared at the screen like it had just declared war.
I stood up, smoothed my dress, grabbed the files like they were weapons, and muttered, "Yes, General Grumpy, your loyal soldier is reporting for duty."
I knocked once, then barged in anyway. Because knocking is a formality, and I was five seconds away from emotionally combusting.
"Assalam u Alaikum, Sir," I chirped with a dazzling smile I'd practiced in front of the mirror. It said: I'm calm, collected, and definitely didn't just spill coffee on my shoe five minutes ago.
Zaigham didn't look up. "Wa Alaikum Assalam. Keep the file on the corner."
On the corner. Not my desk, not thank you, not how's life, Intern Zoya? Just... "corner." Wow.
I tiptoed across the room like I was sneaking past a sleeping lion, placed the file with the care of someone defusing a bomb, and stood there. Like a lamp. A lamp that was sweating.
He typed. The keys clacked like judgment.
"So... um... I can walk you through the report," I offered, already regretting opening my mouth. "In case-like-if you want-"
He exhaled sharply. Not loud, but loaded.
"No need. I've read it."
Translation: Don't waste my time.
I blinked. "Right. Haha, obviously. Of course. You're the CEO, you read everything. You're like-"
He finally looked up.
Sweet heavens, why was his gaze so... sharp? Like a scalpel. Or a laser pointer aimed directly at my nervous system.
"Miss. Zoya."
"Yes?" I squeaked, instantly aware that my left shoe was still half-wet and making weird squishy sounds on the carpet.
"Page six. Did you check the adjusted budget?"
Page six. Page six. Was that the one with the graphs? Or the table? Or the part where I doodled a tiny potato in the margin by accident?
"Yes! I mean-yes, sir! Of course."
I flipped through the file in full panic, nearly dropping it, flipping straight past page six, then back again like a chaotic raccoon shuffling cards. "There! Column B! I adjusted the forecast because of the vendor delay. Which... you probably already noticed because... yeah. You notice things."
He raised one eyebrow.
The room temperature dropped.
"You highlighted the change with... pink?" he asked, deadpan.
I looked. Oh. Yes. I had used my glittery pink highlighter.
I nodded. "It's bold! Eye-catching! Very... impactful?"
His jaw tightened. Slightly.
"Use standard formatting next time."
"Got it. Professional. Beige. Boring. No glitter."
His stare hardened just a millimeter.
"Miss. Zoya."
"Yes, sir."
"You don't need to narrate every thought. Just answer what's asked."
Oh. Right. Shut up. Got it.
But then, miracle of miracles- he said:
"Good. You've started trimming the unnecessary fluff."
I blinked. What? WHAT?
Was that... a compliment? From Mr. Akroo the Merciless?
I wasn't prepared. There was no training for this moment. No HR guide for "How to Process Unexpected Approval from Your Ice-Cold CEO."
"Thank you, sir!" I said too loud. Then quieter. "I mean... thank you."
Silence.
Then he added, almost like an afterthought, "Stop panicking every time you walk in here. You're not on trial."
Excuse me?
Not on trial?
Sir, I live in constant psychological court the minute I breathe near your office.
"Absolutely. Totally not panicking. Haha," I lied with a smile that belonged on a glitching robot.
I backed away slowly. "Okay then... I'll just... gently close the-"
"Miss. Zoya."
"Yes?"
"Don't slam it this time."
Rude. One time. I slammed it one time and now it's my legacy.
I nodded, performed a dramatic slow-motion door close like I was wrapping up a theatre play, and tiptoed out.
Back in my cabin, I dramatically collapsed into my chair like I'd just returned from war.
Rayyan bhai passed by outside and peeked in. "Survived?"
"Barely," I whispered. "He raised an eyebrow. Do you know what that means?"
He blinked. "...That he didn't hate your work?"
I pointed at him. "Exactly. We're in uncharted territory. Next week, he might even nod."
Rayyan bhai laughed. "Calm down."
Calm down?
I just got verbally knighted by a human iceberg. I deserve a parade.
Zaigham stared at the closed glass door for a solid five seconds.
Why is she always... bouncing?
He turned back to his files, only to realize the corner of one document now had smudged highlighter ink on it. Yellow. The same bright yellow she always wore. The same pen she had been swinging around like a baton during the meeting.
He exhaled sharply.
It's an office. Not a circus.
A knock interrupted his thoughts.
"Sir, would you like coffee?" his secretary peeked in.
"No," he said curtly.
Pause.
"Actually... make it black. Extra strong."
Because clearly, he was going to need it today.
He glanced toward the shared glass wall between his cabin and Zoya's. She had just spun in her chair and bumped her knee on the desk. Again. She winced, held her leg, and mouthed something overly dramatic like, followed by dropping a file... then vanishing under her desk to retrieve it.
Zaigham rubbed his temples.
From the other side of the glass, she popped back up and waved with a grin like she hadn't just done a full gymnastics routine.
He didn't wave back.
She grinned wider.
He closed the blinds.
I swear, stepping into this house after work is like entering a live circus-except here, everyone thinks they're the ringmaster.
"Who parked behind my Civic again?" Ayaan bhai's voice boomed from somewhere near the stairs.
Rayyan bhai shouted back, "If it's that deep, Uber next time!"
I didn't even blink. This was background noise at this point.
I was parked on the couch, legs folded up like a ninja turtle, laptop balanced on a cushion, glasses slightly crooked, trying to find that document before Mr. Akroo lost the last thread of whatever patience he had left.
PDF folder... no. Downloads... nope. Why do I have five versions of the same CV?
"Looking for aliens in there?" Aaliya walked by with a bag of chips, raising a brow.
"No. Just my nikkah nama."
She stopped. "Why?"
"Because apparently, my boss thinks I invented my entire marriage for the drama."
She burst out laughing.
"I'm serious!" I glared.
"You would do that," Ruman muttered from the floor while poking the WiFi router with a screwdriver. "You faked a fever in ninth grade using a hair straightener."
"Excuse me, that was artistry."
Ayat piped up from behind the dining table, "What did you call him again? Mr...?"
"Mr. Akroo," I deadpanned. "Not to his face, obviously."
A wave of laughter rippled through the room.
"I need to find that certificate before he starts thinking I forged my birth certificate too," I muttered, slamming my laptop shut and heading toward the kitchen.
"Mama?"
She was slicing onions like they'd personally offended her.
"Yes, beta?" she said without turning around.
"Do you know where my nikkah certificate is?"
She paused.
Dead silence.
Then slowly turned around, onion in one hand, knife in the other, eyes narrowing like I'd just confessed to a crime.
"Why do you need that?"
I sighed. "My boss wants proof that I'm actually married."
She blinked twice. "Wow."
"Exactly."
"I kept it in your drawer. The top one. All your things are there."
Of course. That drawer was like a time capsule. I probably had my third-grade math test still living in there.
Mama went back to slicing onions.
I turned to leave, then paused.
"Do I look like someone who'd fake a marriage?"
She gave me that classic mom look. You know the one that's fifty percent amusement, thirty percent pity, and twenty percent judgement?
"You look like someone who'd fake a solar eclipse to skip work."
Tch.
Unfair, but not wrong.
I sat on the edge of my bed and opened the drawer.
Boom. Chaos.
One glitter pen exploded. A birthday card from two years ago slid out. And then, buried under an expired blood test report.
My nikkah certificate.
Staring up at me like it was offended I'd forgotten it existed.
I shoved it into a file with a sigh. "Here you go, Mr. Akroo. Proof that I am, unfortunately, very legally married."
I zipped the file shut, grabbed my tote, and marched out of the room with a mutter:
"Tomorrow's going to be fun."
To be Continued.....
Vote and Comment...how's the chapter?