𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞
I was buried in today's file mountain when a particular clause decided to play peekaboo with my brain.
Clause 9.3(a): "Any cross-entity approval must be routed through board-level exception if existing provisions don't fall under the override matrix clause..."
I blinked. Then blinked again.
What?
Did someone write this after running out of caffeine and common sense?
I sighed and pushed my chair back. "Well, guess who needs Mr. Grey-Eyed Robot's help now?" I muttered under my breath. My legs didn't agree with my heart, but I got up anyway and walked towards his office, reminding myself not to trip and die.
I knocked lightly.
"Come in."
His voice, flat, deep, and efficient as always.
As I stepped inside, the last sliver of joy I had left for the day just melted away.
Of course she was here.
Olivia Russel.
Head of Marketing. Pretty, poised, and permanently parked next to Zaigham Khan's desk like she owned the spot.
She glanced at me and smiled,a fake, plastic one that said: You're late, sweetheart, he's already mine.
I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly stayed up there.
"Sir, I need your help with something," I said, keeping my tone neutral but oh-so-done with life.
Zaigham looked up from his screen, those stormy grey eyes doing a quick scan of my face before flicking briefly to Olivia.
"Hmm. What is it, Miss Khan?"
Before I could answer, I noticed Olivia still standing way too close to him, like, invading-my-personal-space close. Honestly, was she trying to decode his skincare routine?
I opened my mouth to ask again, but he cut in, turning to her sharply.
"Miss Olivia, please go speak to Miss Nouran regarding your queries."
Her brows shot up like she'd just been slapped with a wet file.
"Me? Discuss it with her? Why? She's the one interrupting here. Why is she even-"
I swear I almost launched my file at her surgically arched eyebrows.
Zaigham's tone dropped, all clipped ice. "Miss Olivia. I don't like repeating myself."
"But-"
"Dismissed."
And just like that, she spun around and stomped off like an angry duck in heels. I didn't even try to hide the smirk that crept up my face. That was satisfying. Very, very satisfying.
He turned his gaze back to me, uh-oh, target re-locked.
"Yes, Miss Khan. What clause is giving you trouble now?"
I cleared my throat. "Clause 9.3(a) in the supplier merger doc. I read it four times, sir. It's still refusing to make sense."
He gestured toward the seat across from him. "Sit."
I sat and passed him the file. He leaned forward, brows drawn, eyes flicking over the text.
"This clause refers to cross-entity approvals," he began, "specifically when the approval flow bypasses the standard procurement hierarchy. You see this term 'override matrix'? That refers to the conditions under which a junior board can't approve exceptions and needs full board involvement."
I blinked at him. "So, basically... we need the senior board to say yes if the baby board can't handle it?"
He stared at me for two seconds.
"That's one way to put it."
I grinned. "I knew it! I'm smarter than I look."
"You're louder than you think," he muttered.
I placed a hand on my heart. "Wow. Thank you for that compliment. I'm touched."
"Anything else?"
Yes. Therapy. Emotional damage. A cookie.
"Nope, that's all," I chirped. "I mean unless you want me to bother you more. I've got a whole list."
He didn't answer.
Typical.
I turned to leave, but couldn't help sneaking one more peek. He was already back to typing, laser-focused.
Ya Allah, was this man born with a spreadsheet in his hand?
"Also... I didn't roll my eyes this time," I pointed out helpfully.
No response.
"But I was tempted."
He looked up then. Slowly. Brow slightly raised.
Uh-oh.
"I mean, I didn't! Control! Self-discipline! Growth!" I said quickly, giving him an exaggerated thumbs up.
He stared at me.
I took that as my cue to flee. "Okay! Bye!"
And just like that, I stumbled out of his cabin, file in hand, dignity somewhere lost under his cold, terrifying gaze.
I left my desk on a mission. A sacred mission. A caffeine mission.
Today's to-do list had bullied me enough. My brain had already waved a white flag, and if I didn't get coffee in the next five minutes, I might've filed a resignation letter out of spite. So I marched toward the pantry like a woman with purpose.
As soon as I entered, the sweet scent of roasted beans hit me like a warm hug. Ahh. The only office romance I approve of: me and my coffee machine.
Just then, Nouran api walked in, all calm and elegant like she floated here on clouds.
I chirped in. "Assalam u Alaikum, api! Should I make one for you too?"
She nodded, with her signature soft smile. "Wa Alaikum Assalam. Yes please, if you're free."
"If I'm not free, I'll pretend I am," I grinned. "That's what this internship has taught me so far."
She chuckled as I started prepping her cup. "You're adjusting well, it seems."
"Let's not go that far," I said, pouring milk like I was on a cooking show. "Yesterday I emailed the lunch menu to the entire Finance department. On purpose? No. Do I regret it? Also no."
Nouran api laughed again, just as Rayyan bhai walked in like it was a fashion runway. He always looked like he belonged in a marketing campaign for watches or something. Behind him was Kabir from HR.
Nouran api gave me one last smile before exiting the kitchen with coffee in her hand.
Rayyan bhai narrowed his eyes. "Coffee? This early? What's the occasion?"
"The occasion is: I haven't screamed in front of a wall yet today, so we're celebrating," I replied.
Kabir leaned on the fridge. "Should we be concerned, or...?"
"You should always be concerned," I shot back, dramatically sipping my coffee.
Rayyan bhai grinned. "What's it like working under Supreme Commander Zaigham Khan?"
I widened my eyes. "Bro, do you know he once sent me a five-paragraph email because I forwarded a file with a smiley face?"
Kabir choked on his laughter.
I continued, "He has this look, okay? Like he's calculating how many brain cells I burned by existing."
Rayyan laughed. "Sounds intense."
"I breathe too loudly and he raises an eyebrow," I said. "And don't even get me started on Olivia. The woman basically acts like she's auditioning to be Mrs. Khan."
We were laughing, me especially, feeling like I finally found people who understood my pain, when suddenly they both fell silent.
Completely.
I paused mid-rant. "Why do you both look like someone just unplugged your souls?"
I turned around, and boom.
There he was.
Mr. Akroo Khan.
Standing in the doorway with that look on his face. You know, the one that screams, "I expected disappointment and yet I'm still disappointed."
Hands in pockets, posture straight, and a frown so serious, even the kettle gave up boiling.
He didn't blink. Just said, "Miss Khan. My office. Now."
I gulped. "Y-Yes, sir."
Rayyan bhai instantly moved away from the counter like it was about to explode. Kabir nodded slowly, like this was my funeral.
I fake-smiled at them. "Thanks for abandoning me, Traitors."
Rayyan whispered, "Good luck."
Kabir whispered, "You'll need it."
I straightened my shirt, took one final sip of my coffee for courage, and followed Mr. Akroo himself down the hallway, praying he hadn't heard any part of the Olivia bit.
Spoiler alert: He totally had.
I stepped into his office like a kitten who'd just been yelled at for scratching the couch. My sneakers made the softest sound on the marble floor, and there he was, standing by the giant window, hands in his pockets, back facing me like some dark movie villain mid-mood swing.
"Mr. Zaigham..." I called out, hoping he wouldn't notice my voice shaking.
He turned slowly, eyes locking onto mine like he could already smell the trouble I brought with me.
There was a pause.
A long one.
Then-
"So, do you come here to play, Miss Khan?"
I blinked. "Sorry?"
He tilted his head slightly. "What were you doing in the pantry?"
"I... went to fetch myself a coffee," I said, pretending to admire the floor tiles instead of meeting his cold gaze.
"And some bonus gossiping on the side?" His tone was so casual it felt like an insult wrapped in velvet.
"No! I was just- I mean, Rayyan bhai came and then Kabir-"
"Were you reviewing the files on that shelf?" he asked, pointing toward the massive glass shelf behind his desk.
My eyes darted. "Yes..." I said, very unsure why we were suddenly playing a courtroom drama.
"Good," he said. "Rearrange them."
I blinked.
"...Sorry?"
"Rearrange. Them. All. One by one."
My eyes widened. "Wait what?! All of them?!"
"You heard me, Miss Khan."
I looked at the shelf like it had personally betrayed me.
"But that's like... a hundred folders! Sir!"
He raised an eyebrow.
Translation: Shut your mouth and get to work.
I sighed dramatically, like I was carrying the weight of the corporate world and dragged myself to the shelf.
Picking up the first stack like it was the emotional baggage I never asked for, I started walking toward the door.
"Where are you going?" he asked, brows furrowed.
I paused mid-step. "Uhh... to my cabin?"
"Not there." His voice was sharper now. "Keep them on the couch. Here. In front of me."
I froze. "Huh?"
"Miss Khan," he said slowly, "I don't like repeating myself."
I closed my eyes. Ya Allah, grant me strength. And maybe a new job.
I fake-smiled like the intern of the year. "Sure, sir."
I turned around and began placing the files one by one on the couch across from his desk like a librarian under surveillance.
As I lined up the second folder, he said, "From tomorrow, you'll be working here."
I almost dropped the file. "Here?! In your office?!"
"I'll have the staff arrange a desk for you in the corner."
I choked on absolutely nothing. "Excuse me?!"
He leaned back in his chair, totally calm. "Since you seem so... easily distracted, I'll keep you where I can see your progress."
"Do I look like a toddler to you?" I snapped. "Why do I need constant monitoring?!"
He didn't flinch. "If you're forgetting, Miss Khan, let me remind you, you're an Executive Assistant intern working directly under me. That makes you... basically a corporate child."
I gaped at him. "You did not just say that."
He returned to his laptop like this conversation hadn't just shattered my dignity into dust.
Ya Allah, why always me?
Grumbling under my breath, I picked up another file and muttered, "This couch and I are going to develop trauma together."
The files were endless. Like multiplying rabbits. I arranged, categorized, aligned, re-aligned, only to realize I'd been on the same client's folder for ten minutes because I kept sneaking glances at Mr. Akroo Khan.
I wasn't even trying to stare. He just sat there like some perfectly sculpted statue, except the statue was typing aggressively and frowning at graphs. His brows furrowed every time he read something, lips pressed in a line, sleeves rolled up.
It was criminal behavior, really. Looking that good while stressing me out.
I peeked again.
His voice came, deadpan, cold, and without looking up from the screen.
"Miss Khan, wouldn't it be more productive if you worked instead of staring?"
I jumped like someone caught mid-crime. "I was not," I mumbled, cheeks heating as I shoved the folder deeper into the stack.
He didn't even spare me a glance. Just kept typing, as if he had eyes on the back of his head.
How did he even know? Is there a secret mirror behind that monitor?
I buried myself in work after that, determined not to give him another reason to roast me.
Minutes turned into hours. My stomach started protesting quietly... then less quietly... and then loudly, like a drama queen on stage.
But no. I wasn't going to stop. I was being a responsible adult. Zaigham Khan might think I'm a clown, but I was going to prove I could be focused and committed. Even if I fainted in the process.
By the time the clock hit Allah-knows-what, I was seeing spreadsheets in my dreams. My head hurt, my back was stiff, and my stomach was preparing for war.
Still, I walked over to his desk with a file in hand, swallowing the ache in my gut.
"Sir, I couldn't find the latest vendor contract updates in this batch," I said, flipping it open and trying not to sway.
He finally looked up at me.
And right then-growwwlllll.
No.
No, no, no.
That was not my stomach.
Except, it was. Loud enough to echo. Echo.
I froze. He blinked. His gaze dropped to my stomach like it just betrayed national secrets.
"Why did you skip lunch?" he asked, voice neutral but the slight crease between his brows giving away the lecture about to come.
I rubbed the back of my neck. "Uh... I just wanted to finish this. I lost track of time."
He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head faintly before going back to typing.
Right. No sympathy. Classic.
I returned to my little couch corner, dramatically flopping down like a tragic heroine. My stomach growled again, but this time I just glared at it.
He could've at least offered a granola bar. Or asked if I wanted lunch. Or, okay maybe not asked, but like... a polite "go eat" would've been decent. But nope. Why would the Ice King care?
I sighed.
Huh. Maybe one day he'll say: "Come, Mrs. Khan, let's have lunch together."
And maybe the moon will turn into cheese.
A few minutes passed. I was scrolling through the next folder, trying to ignore the imaginary food dance in my head, when I felt a shadow fall over me.
I looked up, and nearly fell off the couch.
There stood. Mr. Zaigham Akroo Khan. Holding not one, but two food containers. His expression unreadable. His presence still intimidating. But the food... the food looked like heaven itself.
I blinked at the containers. Then at him.
"Are these... for me?"
He tilted his head slightly, utterly nonchalant. "No. For the couch."
I stared.
Then, snorted. "Wow. So my dear husband does care for me after a-"
I stopped.
My hand flew to my mouth.
Did I just say that out loud?
I did.
I DID.
Abort mission. Abort. Throw yourself out the window, Zoya.
He stared at me. His face unreadable. But his ears, just a little, turned pink.
"I mean-I was just-uh-"
He raised a brow. "If you're not interested, I can take these back."
"No!" I jumped up, grabbing the containers like they were gold. "I'm interested. I mean, I'm starving. Thank you."
He gave a short nod and placed the food gently on the side table.
Then, without another word, he turned and walked back to his desk like nothing happened.
Zoya Khan, control yourself. The man brings you lunch once and you're ready to print wedding invites.
I opened the container and took a bite.
Okay. But still. He did bring me food.
The moment I stepped into the Khan Villa, it felt like a circus on steroids. Screams, cushions flying, Ayat running around like she'd had twelve Red Bulls, and Rayyan bhai yelling, "PUT THAT DOWN, YOU MINIATURE CRIMINAL!" to Allah knows who.
"Peace," I whispered to myself, clutching my bag tighter. "That's all I ever wanted."
As I turned the corner, a football zipped past my face, LITERALLY grazed my eyelashes. I yelped and dodged like a trained ninja. "YA ALLAH! This isn't a house, it's a war zone!"
Just then, I saw Zayyan bhai standing calmly in the middle of chaos like some philosophical monk. "Zayyan bhai, do something na! Ayat just tried to assassinate me with a football!"
He looked up from his phone. "Survival of the fittest, Zoya."
"What in the Darwin nonsense-"
Before I could finish, Ayat came running, holding a tray of snacks dangerously tilted to one side.
"Catch!" she screamed and flung a samosa at me.
I caught it. Barely.
"Are you people normal?" I asked the air. "Like has anyone in this house ever sat quietly and read a book?"
"No," Aaliya answered from the couch, not looking up from her phone. "You're in the wrong family, babes."
Rayyan bhai popped out from behind the sofa, wearing a cape made from Mama's dupatta. "I AM THE DARK KNIGHT."
"More like 'The Dramatic Headache'," Ruman api muttered as she walked in, sipping her coffee with the poise of a retired queen.
I plopped myself beside her and dramatically threw my head in her lap. "Ruman. Ru. Ru-ru. Ruru. My life is in shambles."
She sighed. "What happened now? Did you trip over your own shoelaces again?"
"Worse," I whispered. "Mr. Akroo Khan."
Her eyes lit up with wicked interest. "Spill the tea already."
"That man, that beautiful, evil statue of a man, made me rearrange files. For hours. Without food. Without water. I was one 'percent' away from fainting."
Ruman looked mildly impressed. "Wow. Character building."
"And then," I sat up, full drama activated, "my stomach GROWLED. In front of him. Loudly. Like a dying dinosaur. I wanted to disappear."
Rayyan snorted from across the room. "Romance 101: Starve, then embarrass yourself."
"Here's the best part," I continued. "I went to ask something, you know, professionally, and guess what? He brought me lunch."
Everyone paused. Blinked.
"YOU'RE LYING," Ayat screamed from the hallway.
"I kid you not. Came with containers and all."
"What did you say?" Ruman raised an eyebrow.
I cringed. "I may have... accidentally blurted out 'Wow, so my dear husband does care about me,' while giggling like a 2000s drama heroine."
Rayyan bhai choked on his juice. "You what?!"
"And then," I added, hiding my face behind a cushion, "his ears turned pink."
They all screamed like dying hyenas.
Ayat screamed again. "THIS IS BETTER THAN NETFLIX!"
Aaliya laughed so hard she fell off the couch. "I can't-- I can't breathe, Zoya you're so doomed."
"Do you think he liked it?" I whispered to Ruman, puppy eyes fully activated.
Ruman just smirked, sipping her coffee like she knew the next ten episodes already. "Oh sweetheart... you're already the main character. He's just catching up."
Before I could finish sulking over my accidental "dear husband" comment, Laiba walked in, giving everyone the look of a tired school principal.
"What's happening here? Ayat, why are there crumbs on the ceiling fan? Zoya, why do you look like you confessed your feelings to a brick wall?"
I sat up straighter. "Correction: A very handsome, annoyingly uptight brick wall."
Rayyan bhai grinned. "She called him 'dear husband' by mistake."
Laiba froze. "You WHAT?"
"It slipped!" I protested. "It was the hunger! The files! The starvation! My brain wasn't in control-"
"She giggled too," Ruman added smugly.
"Oh my Allah." Laiba plopped down beside me, looking scandalized and excited. "Tell me everything. Word by word."
"I already did!"
"No no, I want the tone. The expression. The shoulder movement. Did he blink after you said it? Tilt his head? Cough? Scratch his eyebrow?"
"His ears turned pink."
They all screamed again. I swear, the walls of Khan Villa were shaking at this point.
Aaliya clutched her chest. "He blushed? That ice king of a man BLUSHED?"
"I didn't say 'blushed.' I said ears turned pink. There's a difference!"
"Sweetheart," Ruman said, sipping her second coffee like it was wine, "from him, that's basically a public love confession."
"Plot twist," Zayyan bhai suddenly muttered from behind his book. "He's planning to kidnap her and throw her into a document vault for calling him 'dear husband.'"
"You all are haters," I said, pointing dramatically around the room.
Rayyan bhai chuckled. "Yeah? When's the grand romantic gesture? He brings you a stapler with a bow on it?"
Laiba gasped. "What if he does that? Oh my Allah, imagine! 'For you, Miss Khan. May your files never scatter again.'"
I rolled onto the floor with a groan. "I hate all of you."
Ruman grinned. "Love-hate. That's our family motto."
Just then, Mama called from the hallway. "Zoya beta, come here!"
I stood up with the energy of a 90-year-old. "Mama I'm emotionally drained. I've been publicly humiliated in my own office and then attacked by my own cousins."
"Stop with your dramatics now and come here!" she called again.
"Coming, coming," I grumbled, trudging toward the dining room like a soldier going to war. "If Mr. Akroo Zaigham Khan saw this chaos, he'd probably relocate me to Antarctica."
To be Continued....