"The acquisition of the Northern textile plants is non-negotiable, gentlemen. If the margins aren't at twelve percent by Q3, we pull the funding."
I didn't look up from the leather-bound folder in front of me. The boardroom in my Islamabad headquarters was freezing, the AC humming a low, mechanical tune that matched the rhythm of my life. Around the mahogany table, men twice my age shifted uncomfortably.
I liked the discomfort. It meant they were focused. It meant I was focused.
"But Mr. Malik, the labor transition in the North takes time—"
"Time is a luxury we don't have," I interrupted, finally looking up. My gaze was cold, polished, and entirely empty of sentiment. "You have the revised contracts by EOD, or don't bother coming to the morning briefing."
I stood up, the chair scraping against the marble floor, and walked out before they could offer another excuse.
Back in my private office, the silence was absolute. Islamabad stretched out beyond my window—beautiful, organized, and distant. I had moved my main operations here three years ago, leaving the chaos of my family in Karachi. It was easier this way. No prying questions from my sisters, no "accidental" run-ins with the neighbors.
My phone vibrated on the desk.
[Mom]: Zayn, beta, have you booked your flight? Ramzan starts in two days. Your father has already asked me about your arrivel 3 times since this morning. Don't be late this year.
I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose. Karachi.
Going back for Ramzan and Eid meant three things:
Dealing with Nawal's endless energy and Iqra's piercing observations.
Enduring my father's "business legacy" lectures.
And the one thing I had been successfully avoiding for months...
The Siddiqui family.
Specifically, her.
I opened my desk drawer and caught a glimpse of a small, silver fountain pen—a gift from a lifetime ago. I slammed the drawer shut.
"I'm going home," I muttered to the empty room. It wasn't a happy thought. It felt like a surrender. I had built a fortress in Islamabad to keep my heart still, but thirty days in Karachi was more than enough time for the walls to come crumbling down.
I pressed the intercom. "Sarah, clear my schedule for the next month and place all the important meetings online. I'm heading to Karachi tomorrow morning tell ahmed to book my flight."
after a few minutes Ahemd intered my office he handed me the scedule for thr onlinr meetings and my ticktek for karachi
"if anything happend call me , keep me up to date 24/7 , and make sure nothing goes wronge while i am gone"i tell him
"yes sire , i will make sure of it" as he left the room .after a few minutes i grabed my stuff and head home
The rain in Islamabad always felt different than the rain in Karachi. Here, it was disciplined, washing over the wide, clean avenues of the capital with a quiet persistence. From the window of my penthouse, the Margalla Hills were shrouded in mist, looking as cold and untouchable as I felt.
I tossed my suit jacket onto the Italian leather sofa. The apartment was a masterpiece of minimalism—grey marble, glass, and expensive silence. No family photos on the mantle. No lingering scent of home-cooked spices. Just the faint smell of expensive cologne and air-conditioned air.
My flight was at 7:00 AM tomorrow.
I walked to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water, my reflection in the dark window catching me off guard. At twenty-eight, I had the kind of success men spent their whole lives chasing. I had the Islamabad headquarters, the respect of the board, and a reputation that kept my enemies at bay.
But tomorrow, I wouldn't be "Zayn Malik, the CEO." I'd be "Zayn," the son who didn't call enough, the brother who was too serious, and the grandson who was the key to a legacy I wasn't sure I wanted.
My phone chimed on the counter. A notification from a calendar I usually ignored.
Reminder: Ramzan Day 1 - Karachi.
I walked to my bedroom and pulled out a sleek, black suitcase. I packed with precision—five tailored shirts, three suits, and a single, worn-out sketchbook I had kept hidden at the bottom of my drawer for five years. I didn't know why I was taking it. Maybe as a reminder of why I had left in the first place.
As I set my alarm for 5:00 AM, the silence of the apartment felt heavier than usual. Tomorrow, the quiet would be gone. The peace I had built in Islamabad was about to be shattered by the one person I was most afraid to face.
I pulled the covers up, staring at the ceiling. Stay professional, Zayn. It's just a month. Don't let the Karachi heat melt the ice.