Chapter 8: Closer in the Shadows
The engagement talks haven't just knocked—they're pounding. Every phone call, every family message, every casual comment about timelines feels like a drum in my chest, reminding me of the life everyone expects me to step into.
And yet, despite the pressure, despite the weight of duty, there's Fahad.
We meet as usual for business. The conference room smells faintly of coffee and paper, like it always does. But today, the air between us is different. He's quieter than usual, his gaze softer, as if he's aware of the storm building in my life and wants to shield me from it.
"You look tired," he says gently, sliding a file toward me.
"I'm fine," I reply automatically, though my voice trembles slightly. Truthfully, I haven't been fine in days.
He watches me, his eyes never leaving mine. For a moment, the room seems to shrink until it's just the two of us, no family, no obligations, no expectations.
"Rhea," he says softly. "Talk to me. I know you're holding something back."
I hesitate, caught between wanting to confide in him and knowing I can't. Not fully. Not yet. But the truth slips out anyway. "My family… they're pushing for the engagement. Dates are being suggested. Plans are being made."
He nods, understanding without needing more words. He doesn't ask how I feel about Khalid—not yet—but I see the concern etched across his face. Concern for me. Not for himself.
"You don't have to do anything you're not ready for," he says finally. "Even if it feels like the world expects it."
I blink, startled by the intensity of his words. In that instant, I realize how much I've come to rely on him—not just as a colleague, but as someone who sees me. Truly sees me.
As the meeting continues, we work side by side, but the space between us feels smaller. Our hands brush when reaching for the same folder, and I catch his glance. It lingers a moment too long for coincidence, and my pulse skips.
Later, as we leave the office together, he doesn't pull away when we walk in step. There's no awkward distance. For once, the professional barrier feels like it's thinned, just enough to notice the warmth of his presence.
"I don't know how to handle all this," I confess, my voice barely audible in the quiet evening air.
He stops, turns to me, and smiles—not the professional, controlled smile from the office, but a gentle, understanding one. "Then lean on me. At least until you figure it out."
My chest tightens. I know what he's offering isn't just friendship. I know the pull between us is dangerous. Forbidden. Yet comforting in a way I can't resist.
And for the first time in weeks, I allow myself to lean, just a little, knowing the engagement is coming—but for now, I have Fahad. For now, he's close.