Evening settled over the city like a quiet agreement unspoken, inevitable. The café glowed against the darkening street, warm light spilling through wide glass windows as traffic slid past in steady lines. Streetlights blinked awake one by one, watching without interest, without mercy.
Zayn sat where he always did by the window.
The seat wasn't chosen for comfort. It was chosen for control. From here, he could see everything before it reached him. He held his coffee loosely, eyes fixed outside, jaw set in a calm that had been earned, not learned. When he took a sip, it was unhurried. When he exhaled, it felt final.
The bell above the door rang.
Zayn didn't turn immediately.
He didn't have to.
A presence crossed the room measured, familiar. A chair scraped softly across the floor, stopping directly opposite him.
Only then did Zayn shift his gaze.
Danish sat there, relaxed as if the seat had been waiting for him all along.
A faint smile curved Zayn's lips. "Are you stalking me now?"
Danish chuckled, leaning back. "Stalking? No. I come here for coffee." A pause. "I just happened to see you."
"Funny how that keeps happening." Zayn leaned back too, mirroring him, smirk perfectly in place. "Enjoy your coffee then."
He moved as if to leave.
"Why are you going?" Danish asked. "Don't you want to talk to me?"
Zayn raised a single eyebrow. "No."
"But I do." Danish's voice stayed smooth. "Sit down, Hashmi."
The name wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
Zayn's expression cooled instantly. "What exactly do you want to talk about?
Danish signaled the waiter without breaking eye contact. "One latte."
Then, quieter, firmer: "Just sit for a while."
Zayn rolled his eyes but stayed. He lifted his cup again, the clink of porcelain against the saucer sounding sharper than it should have.
"How's business?" Danish asked, casual as a trap.
"It's not your business."
"Ohhhkay." A smile. "And your date?"
That did it.
Zayn looked directly at him now, eyes glinting with something dangerous. "Amazing," he said calmly. "We had a beautiful conversation."
He leaned forward, just enough to cross into Danish's space.
"Why do you care?" Zayn asked softly. "Giving me a warning?"
Danish chuckled, turning his gaze toward the window for a brief second. "Hashmi."
Then back again. "You know me too well."
Zayn smirked. "That's your problem. And my advantage."
Danish's hand clenched at his side. His smile stayed. His eyes didn't.
"She won't marry you," he said quietly. "You have everything but not the heart."
Zayn didn't flinch.
"What I want," he replied, voice smooth as steel, "I take. Whether it's winning someone over… or destroying someone."
For a moment, the air between them felt tight compressed, dangerous.
Danish bit his lip, then laughed lightly, lifting his cup. "We'll see."
"Just see," Zayn said.
He stood, reaching for his coat. As he stepped past, he placed a hand on Danish's shoulder firm, deliberate.
"The reign of jackals doesn't last forever."
Then he walked away.
Danish stared at the table, grip tightening around the cup in his hand until the heat spilled over his skin. He didn't react. He didn't hiss. His jaw locked as anger burned far deeper than the surface.
"Zayn Hashmi," he muttered, standing abruptly. "I won't let you do what you want. Never."
The waiter rushed forward. "Sir your hand, that coffee is—"
Danish pulled away and walked out without looking back.
Outside, the streetlights watched.
Inside, the table sat empty.
And power having checked in had already decided it wouldn't be leaving quietly.
To be Continued.....