𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱
It's been two days since... the incident.
You know which one.
The Feed-Me-Like-a-Royal-And-Say-Sorry-Like-a-Human incident.
Since then? Nothing. Nada. Zip.
No eye contact. No "how's your hand Zoya?". No dramatic CEO-style check-ins.
Well, I don't know if nothing happened or he's just... avoiding me.
But then again...why do I care?
Okay, I care a little. But let's pretend I don't.
I hadn't gone to the office either. My poor hand needed recovery, thank you very much. But it's better now. Not perfectly fine, but enough to go and serve the Mr. Cold Khan again.
Sigh.
I dragged myself out of bed, yawning.
"Come on, Intern Zoya," I muttered to myself. "Time to get up and be at the humble service of your one and only Mr. CEO."
I pulled out a simple pastel dress with a matching scarf, trying not to match it too well. Gotta keep the chaos alive. As I pinned my hijab in place, my brain, which clearly hates me, played that memory on repeat.
The famous Cold Khan...apologizing? Caring? Feeding me like I'm a fragile kitten?!
I giggled like an idiot.
"Get a grip," I told my reflection. "This man is one facial twitch away from being cast in a villain drama."
Still grinning, I made my way downstairs.
"Assalam u Alaikum, Deeda," I chirped. "You're looking so pretty today!"
She smiled back at me. "Thank you, beta. And you're as late as ever."
Touché.
"That's called dramatic entrance timing, Deeda," I winked and moved toward the breakfast table.
Mama, Chachi, and Tayi Jaan were sitting there already, having their usual tea-and-gossip hour. Dada Jaan was also there, as majestic and silent as a retired king.
"You're finally awake," Mama said.
"I was doing my civic duty," I said while grabbing a toast. "Dreaming solutions for world peace."
Laiba passed by with her mug. "More like dreaming about your boss."
I choked on my toast. "Excuse me? I would never—okay maybe once—but purely out of curiosity."
Ruman smirked from the doorway. "We all saw you smiling at your phone last night. You even whispered 'thank you' to your wallpaper."
"That was a private moment and you need to leave," I said dramatically, pointing a butter knife at her. "Some people respect boundaries."
Meanwhile, I inhaled toast like it was a race.
Everyone else in this house wakes up before sunrise. And then there's me. Crawling into the day like I'm jetlagged.
Classic Zoya behavior.
Tayi Jaan looked at me. "Where are you going, all dressed up?"
"Office, of course. Where else?" I said, stuffing the toast in my mouth.
"But isn't your hand still—"
Just then, my phone rang. Of course. Zaigham Khan works on a tighter schedule.
I glanced at the screen and stood up like I was in a military parade.
"Okay Tayi Jaan, Mama, Deeda! I'm going! I love you all, stay hydrated, don't miss me too much—BYE!"
"Zoya, wait! At least take lunch with—"
"CAN'T! HE'LL FIRE ME! LOVE YOUUUU!" I yelled, half-tripping over the mat as I ran toward the door.
I pushed open the door of his cabin...the place I'd been forcefully shifted to recently.
I knocked.
"Come in," his deep voice said from inside.
Why does he sound like he's constantly doing a voiceover for a thriller?
I stepped in, forcing a smile. "Good morn—"
"Miss Khan," he interrupted sharply, not even glancing up. "You're late. By fifteen minutes."
I blinked. "Uh—at least let me greet you before you assassinate me."
"What?"
"I said... I'm sorry. Won't happen again, Sir."
He looked up now. Stone-faced. "This is an office, Miss Khan. Not your living room. Punctuality is a standard here, not a favor."
Excuse. Me.
I stared at him like he'd grown a second head.
This man... this same man who spoon-fed me like a baby two days ago? This man who apologized? Now he's acting like I'm invisible again?
And because I'm me...Queen of Impulse...I crossed my arms and blurted,
I crossed my arms. "I thought maybe you'd changed, but nope. Same old cold-hearted corporate villain."
His eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, I've changed?"
"Oh, nothing," I said sarcastically. "I was just hallucinating the part where you apologized and fed me food like a normal human being."
He stood still for a second, then said flatly, "If you're done wasting more time, get to work."
"But—"
"Dismissed."
Ugh. I stormed back to my desk, throwing myself into the chair like I was auditioning for a tragic film.
I opened my laptop with a dramatic sigh. "This man is going to be the reason I develop a permanent forehead wrinkle."
And just as I muttered it, his voice came again from inside.
"Miss Khan. If you're done staring at me like I'm your personal Netflix drama... kindly start your actual work."
My jaw dropped. "How do you do that?!"
"Do what?" he said dryly.
"Know when I'm staring?"
He didn't answer.
See? Superpowers. Confirmed.
I groaned internally and opened my laptop.
"Poor me," I whispered dramatically, typing nonsense just to look busy.
"Trapped in the office of a man who feeds you one day and fires laser beams from his eyes the next."
This internship better come with therapy vouchers.
I was fully immersed in my work, trying to ignore the ever-present buzzing in my brain called Zaigham Khan, when there was a knock on the door.
"Come in," he said in that usual deep, uncaring voice.
And of course.
Of course it had to be her.
The last person on Earth I wanted to see.
Oliveoil.
I mean Olivia.
She walked in like she owned the oxygen in the room and just stood there for two full minutes... staring at me. Or maybe trying to figure out whether my existence was still a thing.
Then, like the confident cartoon villain she is, she marched toward his desk like she belonged there.
She leaned down.
Leaned.
Woman, are you mute or just dramatically allergic to personal space? You can speak from a reasonable distance. This isn't a whisper challenge.
"Mr. Khan," she said, her voice dripping with fake honey. "I needed your help with something."
Of course you do.
I narrowed my eyes at her like I was preparing to shoot lasers. Then I looked at him.
His expression? Blank.
"Yes, Miss Olivia. What do you need?" he replied in the same flat tone he uses when talking to Siri.
She fluttered her lashes. "I just needed some guidance regarding these files," she said sweetly, then reached forward and....touched his hand.
She. Touched. His. Hand.
WHAT IN THE ACTUAL—
And he didn't even flinch.
This man loses his mind when I so much as knock on the wrong side of the door, but here we are...Oliveoil caressing his knuckles like it's a spa appointment, and he's just casually explaining Excel formulas like it's Tuesday.
Seriously?
He has problems with me, but not her? Why isn't he telling her off? Why isn't he pushing her hand away? Why is he just sitting there like a mannequin on discount?
I could practically feel steam coming out of my ears. And maybe nose. Possibly both.
As if things weren't ridiculous enough, she leaned in further, unnecessarily close.
Why don't you just sit in his lap at this point? Would save you the leaning effort.
And him? Nothing. Still not reacting. Just pointing at the files and explaining things like her proximity wasn't about to cause a murder in this room.
My patience snapped.
I stood up—abruptly, loudly—and the stack of files in my lap tumbled to the ground with a dramatic thud.
Both of them turned to look at me.
Oliveoil had that look. That look like I had just interrupted her private movie screening of Fifty Shades of Professional Invasion.
Too bad.
"I also need help," I said, trying to keep my voice steady and respectful. Which, let's be honest, is not my natural tone.
Zaigham blinked, obviously surprised.
And her? She looked like I had committed a national crime. Ma'am, please. He is my husband, not your unpaid office crush.
I bit down on my teeth so hard, I'm fairly sure at least one molar cracked.
There was an awkward pause.
"I... needed help with these client briefing notes," I added, shuffling the fallen papers like an emotionally unstable librarian.
"Later," she said sweetly. "Right now, I came first."
The audacity of this woman.
I faked a polite smile...so polite it could cut glass...and turned to him instead.
"Miss Olivia, I'm an intern assigned directly under him," I said, my voice laced with sugar and sharpness. "You're not even from this department. Maybe you should ask your own team head for guidance instead of crashing into ours."
She looked at me like she was two seconds away from lunging across the desk and strangling me with her lanyard.
Oh please, try me. I've got time.
But before her next Oscar-worthy scene could begin, she turned to Zaigham again and said, "Mr. Khan—"
"Miss Olivia," he cut her off smoothly, still not looking at me. "From today, you'll be assisting Miss Nouran directly. Any issues, go to her. Not me."
Wait, what?
"Dismissed."
She stood frozen for half a second, lips parted. Then, reluctantly, she walked out with that classic fake grace of hers, heels clicking dramatically across the tiles like we were in some kind of fashion drama.
The moment she left, I turned to him, boiling.
My pulse was racing, and even the calm expression on his face was enough to set me off.
I stormed toward him. "You always have a problem with me...never listen to what I say....and she was literally clinging to you! You didn't see it? Or were you just pretending not to?!"
He was still sitting in his chair, calm as a monk, just... watching me.
He slightly turned his chair in my direction, and that stupid amused look appeared in his eyes.
Excuse me?
I'm here about to declare war and this man looks like he's watching stand-up comedy?
"I'm talking to you!" I snapped. "Why didn't you stop her? She was about to sit on your lap! If I hadn't interrupted, would you have offered her coffee too?"
His lips twitched.
Oh no. Not the smirk.
"Are you jealous, Mrs. Khan?" he asked, tilting his head.
I blinked. "No. Why would I be jealous?" I scoffed. "That's just basic office etiquette, Mr. Khan."
He raised a brow slowly. "Since when do you care about etiquette, Miss Khan?"
Oh he's pushing it now.
"If the topic is my husband, then of course I'll care. Who else should care? The cleaning staff?!"
The words were out before I could stop myself.
And then I froze.
My eyes widened. Oh no. No no no—
I slapped a hand over my mouth. "I—I mean I did—but not in that way—I—"
I spun around, fully intending to bolt before I embarrassed myself any further, but life wasn't done with me yet. My foot slipped slightly over the uneven rug, and the next thing I knew—
I was in his lap.
No. Nope. Nooooope.
My whole face turned the shade of a firetruck.
I tried to get up immediately, but his arms wrapped around me securely, keeping me right there.
"W-What are you doing?!" I hissed, trying not to sound as breathless as I felt.
He looked at me with quiet amusement dancing in his eyes. "Still not jealous, Mrs. Khan?"
"I—no! Why would I be—jealous?!" I stuttered, cheeks practically burning.
He leaned in slightly, voice low, gaze unblinking. "You're a terrible liar."
I huffed and tried to push him away again. "Let me go!"
But he didn't budge.
"I will throw a file at your face," I muttered.
His lips smirked again. "Do it. Then I'll have a real excuse to hold you longer. Injury care, you know."
Oh my Allah.
Someone call HR.
Or a time machine.
Or a black hole. I'd take anything right now.
I stared at him, still in his lap, still held in place like I belonged there or something.
What the hell was happening right now?
Was this... was this some twisted series or what?
"Is Mr. Khan...the famously emotionless robot....flirting with me?" I muttered out loud before I could stop myself.
His brow lifted a fraction. "I'm not flirting."
"Oh really?" I snapped. "Because it feels like you're auditioning for the role of 'office heartthrob with mysterious smirks'....and nailing it."
"You think I'm mysterious?" he asked, clearly entertained now.
"I think you're annoying," I retorted.
He nodded like he was considering it. "So that's why you get jealous every time someone comes near me."
"I'm not jealous!" I shouted....instantly regretting the volume. "I'm just... observant. Of inappropriate desk behavior."
"Hmm." He looked unconvinced. "You're also conveniently sitting on my lap, Mrs. Khan."
"I fell here!"
"And haven't moved."
"I tried! You held me hostage!"
"I was helping," he said smoothly, tilting his head. "Your balance is tragic."
I blinked at him, mouth parting in disbelief.
"Do you... do you train for these comebacks?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he said, "You should stop making faces when other women talk to me. You're very expressive. It's distracting."
"I wasn't making faces," I lied.
He gave me a look.
Okay fine, maybe I did scowl a little. Maybe I imagined tossing a stapler at Olivia's head. Maybe I mumbled 'bitch sit on his lap if you want' under my breath.
But I had self-control. Kind of.
"I swear, I'm going to shove your laptop down your throat if you don't stop talking like that," I warned.
"Now, now," he said, lips twitching again. "Violence in the workplace, Mrs. Khan?"
"Stop calling me that!" I said, flustered.
"That's literally your name."
"Yeah but not like that! Not when you say it like I'm some lovesick housewife who got lucky."
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.
"Are you lucky?" he asked.
Dead. I'm dead. Bury me with my sarcasm.
I pushed against his chest again, this time with all my strength. "Let. Me. Go."
He finally loosened his hold, and I fell off his lap, nearly tripping over his chair as I stumbled back.
"Oh my Allah," I muttered, adjusting my scarf, face hotter than lava. "I'm suing you. HR will hear about this."
He didn't even blink. "I'm the CEO."
"Exactly! It'll be a very dramatic internal conflict."
Zaigham just leaned back in his chair again, like this was any other Wednesday.
"You can stay, you know," he said casually, flipping open his file again. "If you need help with those reports."
"I'll figure it out myself," I grumbled, scooping up the files I had dropped earlier.
I hurriedly excused myself for a coffee and bolted out of his cabin like my scarf was on fire.
My hands were literally trembling as I tried to scoop coffee into the machine. And not from caffeine withdrawal...but from him. The way he looked at me. The way he held me. The way I fell into his lap like a clumsy K-drama heroine with no sense of gravity.
"Pull yourself together, Zoya," I whispered to the coffee machine. "You're an intern. You came here for experience and a paycheck. Not to accidentally become the lead in Mr. Khan's slow-burn romance."
I took a deep breath and started sipping my coffee like it was some kind of emotional painkiller.
And then, Aniyaa walked in my bestfriend.
She took one look at my face and narrowed her eyes like a hawk. "What happened? You look like you just walked out of a rom-com disaster scene."
"I don't," I said, too quickly.
"Okay, then why are you drinking your coffee like it's laced with anxiety?"
I gave her a very diplomatic shrug. "Zaigham Khan is being... weird."
She tilted her head. "Weird how? Like, emotionally available weird or emotionally threatening weird?"
"Emotionally confusing," I muttered. "Like one minute he's Mr. Freeze, the next minute he's—" I paused. "Ugh, never mind. You won't get it."
She raised a brow. "Try me."
I sipped again and sighed. "Let's just say... he's inconsistent. One day he's feeding me food like a thoughtful human being, and the next he's scolding me for being fifteen minutes late like I crashed his car. I mean, make up your mind, man!"
Aniyaa smirked. "So basically he's... caring but cold? Sweet but scary? Attractive but unavailable?"
"Why do you sound like you're describing a deadly dessert?"
She laughed. "Because that's exactly what he is, isn't he? Dangerous and delicious."
I gave her a look. "Can we not use the word 'delicious' for my husband?"
"Oh. So now he's your husband?"
I nearly choked on my coffee.
"I mean technically—ugh! Don't twist my words! I'm just saying he's confusing!"
She walked to the fridge, grinning. "Uh-huh. And does this 'confusing' include you blushing like a tomato?"
I tried to act casual. "It's warm in here."
"It's an air-conditioned building."
"Well, my feelings aren't."
We both snorted at that one. I groaned dramatically and leaned back against the counter.
"I don't know what to do with him. I can't tell if he wants me to act like a professional intern or his—" I paused again. "Forget it. Doesn't matter."
She looked at me curiously but didn't push.
That's when my phone buzzed.
I stared at the screen.
"He wants me and the coffee," I mumbled.
Aniyaa peeked over my shoulder. "Oh wow. That sounds like a trap."
I sighed. "It always is."
I stood outside his cabin door, clutching my coffee like it was a peace treaty. Deep breath, Zoya. You've got this. You are calm. You are collected. You are not thinking about accidentally falling into his lap like the start of some fanfiction gone rogue.
I knocked lightly.
"Come in," came his voice....flat, neutral, usual.
I stepped inside and, surprise surprise, he was typing away on his laptop like he hadn't just emotionally short-circuited me twenty minutes ago.
"Here," I placed the file on his desk and gently—okay, passive-aggressively—placed the coffee beside it.
He glanced at it. "No sugar?"
"Just like you prefer," I said. Then blinked. "I mean. I assumed. Based on observation. And pattern. Not obsession."
He looked up at me, brow twitching like he was fighting a smirk. "Noted."
Noted?? That's it?
I stood there, pretending to fix a stack of files that did not need fixing.
He said nothing.
I cleared my throat. "Did you, uh, need anything else?"
"Hmm." He tapped the screen slowly, eyes still on it. "You seemed... flustered earlier. I assumed you'd want a break."
"Oh no, I'm perfectly fine," I said with a fake little laugh that probably sounded like I swallowed a frog.
He finally looked at me. His eyes scanned my face, lingering for half a second too long.
Then he said, completely deadpan, "You've got coffee on your lip."
I froze. "What? Where?"
He didn't move. Didn't blink. "Right side. Upper lip."
I wiped it furiously with the back of my hand. "Thanks. I'm not embarrassed at all."
"Clearly."
I narrowed my eyes. "Are you—teasing me?"
He raised a brow. "Me? Never."
Liar.
My brain was screaming and my heart was doing a tap dance but I still gave him my best unimpressed face. "You are very good at pretending nothing happened."
He tilted his head. "Nothing did happen."
"That's exactly what I mean!" I blurted, then realized I'd just told on myself.
He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "And what exactly do you think happened, Miss Khan?"
The way he said my name was criminal.
I scrambled. "I don't know. Maybe I almost tripped. Maybe someone caught me. Maybe they could've, I don't know... acknowledged it?"
He blinked slowly. "You want me to formally acknowledge that my wife tripped and fell into my lap?"
"Your intern tripped," I corrected. Then winced. "I mean—ugh—you know what, forget it."
He stood up.
Why is he standing up.
Why is he walking toward me like a villain in slow motion.
He stopped just a breath away, eyes sharp and unreadable.
"I didn't trip," I blurted before he could even open his mouth. "It was gravity. Unfair gravity. That...and your chair being in the way."
He was already standing in front of me, too close for comfort, arms folded with that annoyingly unreadable expression on his face.
"You fell into me."
"You were there," I hissed, taking a step back that landed me square against the cabinet behind me. "You caught me. That's very different."
"Very well," he said with maddening composure, taking one step closer. "I caught you."
I blinked. "That's—no! You're not supposed to agree!"
A slight twitch tugged at the corner of his mouth, barely there, but enough to cause chaos in my already scrambled brain. Great. His smirk was now certified dangerous.
He tilted his head slightly, voice low. "Would you rather I had let you fall?"
"I...well....obviously not! But you didn't have to just... sit there and smirk while I was having a full-blown heart attack!"
"I wasn't smirking."
"You were internally smirking," I accused, eyes narrowing. "Your eyes were smirking."
"That's impressive. I should add that to my resume."
I folded my arms. "Why are you like this?"
He took one more step, close enough now that I could literally count the flecks in his grey eyes.
He leaned in a little. "Because your reactions are... interesting."
Oh no. Nope. Not doing this again. Abort mission.
"I'm leaving now," I said, attempting a graceful spin on my heel.
"Do be careful," he said, voice perfectly calm behind me. "Wouldn't want gravity to win again."
"Don't flatter yourself!" I snapped without looking back...and promptly walked into the doorframe.
I heard the unmistakable sound of a low chuckle as I fled.
A shy smile came on my face.
To be Continued......