Salar Shah, having wrapped up all his meetings, typed a brief message on his phone screen:
"Half an hour."
This message was for John and Edward.
Manhattan's evening was as
radiant as ever, yet Salar's face carried that same composed seriousness that had become a part of him over the years. Twelve years ago, when he first arrived in New York, he was only a fourteen-year-old boy—silent, broken within, yet outwardly strong. But Salar's story had not begun in New York.
His mother, Muneeza Shah, was an educated and dignified woman—soft-spoken yet firm in her beliefs. She had married Azmeer Shah by choice. Azmeer Shah held a high position in the field of nuclear energy. He was a man of logic and science, not tradition. After marriage, at Mukarram Shah's insistence, they moved to Khuzdar, but despite countless efforts, Azmeer Shah refused to take on the role of a tribal chief. He stood against those outdated customs that placed people under subjugation. However, out of love for his father, he did not leave the town.
A year after their marriage, when Salar was born, Mukarram Shah's joy was beyond measure. It felt as though his legacy had found its heir. From childhood, Salar was extremely close to his grandfather. He was exceptionally intelligent—something Azmeer Shah noticed first. Yet along with that intelligence, an unusual arrogance and detachment were also growing within him—something quite rare for an eight-year-old.
Thus, Azmeer Shah decided that Salar needed some distance from his home environment. For Mukarram Shah, this decision was nothing less than a shock, but eventually, he had to give in to Azmeer's insistence.
Salar was enrolled in the residential campus of the well-known boarding institution, Lahore Grammar School, in Islamabad. Discipline there was strict, and the academic standards were high. Initially, Salar visited Khuzdar every week to meet his grandfather, but over time, those visits became monthly. The city's atmosphere, its freedom, and its competitive environment began to suit him.
He always stood out—excelling in every subject. Teachers admired his intellect, yet he would simply nod at their praise, as if success meant nothing extraordinary to him.
Then, at the age of fourteen, life changed everything.
In an accident, both Azmeer Shah and Muneeza Shah passed away.
That day stripped Salar of his childhood. He had always been serious, but now his seriousness turned into a mysterious silence. No tears, no outbursts—only walls rising within him.
Reluctantly, Mukarram Shah decided to send him to New York, hoping that a change of environment might heal his wounds. He was admitted to Trinity School, where everything was different—an international curriculum, modern teaching methods, and an environment of free thought.
His English literature teacher, Mrs. Emily Carter, was often astonished by his analysis. His physics teacher, Mr. Daniel Richards, admired his logical grip. Professor Martin Hayes of global politics frequently remarked that Salar's thinking went beyond the syllabus.
Yet, he would simply nod at their praise, as if excellence did not surprise him.
With time, his detachment and arrogance deepened, though he was never rude—he simply maintained distance.
And now—twelve years later—that same Salar stood at the entrance of Manhattan's private, members-only club, The Core Club, alongside Edward and John.
Edward smiled and asked,
"Why do you always choose places like this?"
Salar replied calmly,
"Because here, people don't try to prove themselves. They simply are who they are."
Amid the city's dazzling lights, he was still, in essence, that same fourteen-year-old boy. He was no longer just Mukarram Shah's heir—he had built an identity of his own.
The moment they stepped into the club, it felt as though the ordinary world had been left outside. Dim golden lights, soft music, the mingling scent of expensive perfumes, and composed conversations of influential people—everything carried a refined elegance.
While John and Edward were still taking in the atmosphere, Salar's gaze fell upon the two girls who had visited his office earlier that morning. With them stood another girl—Kathy.
Kathy was known for her bold style and confidence. The moment she saw Salar, her eyes lit up. In fact, many girls in the club subtly glanced in his direction. His height, his poise, his confidence—he resembled a Greek god. Not arrogant, but self-aware. Dignified, yet distant.
Kathy walked toward him with slow steps. She was the only, pampered daughter of wealthy parents, accustomed to attention. But for Salar, she—and others like her—were nothing more than momentary distractions… except one.
A name he had never fully accepted.
Kathy prepared a drink for him herself and stood beside him, as though she belonged in his world. Salar, as usual, took the glass, had a sip, and silently looked toward the music.
But today, something was different.
As he lifted the glass again, a face suddenly appeared in his mind—Aizal.
Those simple eyes. That unintentional smile. That moment… when she had unknowingly touched something soft within him.
Salar shut his eyes abruptly, as if trying to shake the thought away.
"Why…?" he questioned himself silently.
"Why is that girl taking over my mind?"
Within moments, he felt as though all intoxication had faded. The glass was still in his hand, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
In that instant, perhaps to escape his own thoughts, he suddenly pulled Kathy toward him and moved to the dance floor. Kathy was surprised, yet happiness was evident on her face. The music was fast, the lights dim, and she stayed close to him.
But there was no real emotion in Salar's eyes. It was as if two states were clashing within him—habit, and a new feeling he refused to accept.
Around midnight, he left the club. As always, Edward dropped him home and left. Sitting by the car window, Salar remained silent. The city lights blurred past, yet that same face lingered in his mind.
Days passed.
Meetings, deals, clubs, people—everything continued as usual. But despite himself, he couldn't rid himself of Aizal's presence. He refused to acknowledge it, yet the feeling was stubborn—silent, but persistent.
Salar had always kept his emotions under control.
A week had passed since he last saw Aizal.
It had only been seven days, yet for him, time seemed to move differently. Outwardly, his life was perfectly normal—meetings, files, decisions, investments, phone calls—everything in order. No one could guess the unrest within him.
But the truth was—he was uneasy.
A strange restlessness… one he himself could not understand. He did not want to give it a name, perhaps because naming it would mean accepting it.
Aizal's face appeared in his thoughts again and again—her eyes, her silence, that fleeting glance she had once given him. He grew irritated, forcing himself to focus on work, reminding himself that emotions were weaknesses. Yet this feeling wasn't weakness—it was something else, something he couldn't comprehend.
Even now, he sat in his office—the vast glass walls overlooking the city—yet his eyes were fixed on an open file while his mind wandered elsewhere.
He hadn't met Zaheer in the past few days either. Their schedules had kept them apart. Perhaps it was for the best—Salar himself didn't want to reveal this inner turmoil to anyone.
Suddenly, the ringing of his phone broke the silence. Half-asleep, he reached out and answered,
"Hello…"
His voice was indifferent—but the very next moment, the voice on the other end brought him fully alert.
That voice… the one he couldn't forget.
Restlessness and anger surged within him at once.
"Mr. Salar, you still haven't completed what you said. Anyway, I never expected anything good from you. Send the divorce papers quickly. I can't carry this burden any longer. I have other problems in my life."
Aizal's voice was cold, yet the pain behind it was unmistakable.
Her words struck directly at Salar's ego. His mind snapped.
"Instead of being grateful, you speak to me like this? If you don't trust me, then fine—I won't give you a divorce! Do whatever you want. Let's see how you get it."
His tone carried defiance, pride, and an unfamiliar hurt.
Silence fell on the other side… and then the line disconnected.
The beeping sound startled him.
"She's messed with my head…" he muttered.
"Why did I say I wouldn't give the divorce? Fine… let her suffer. She'll learn what it means to talk to Salar like that… then I'll give it—"
But the word stopped on his lips.
He couldn't bring himself to say "divorce."
Both were trapped within the walls of their own pride.
Days passed. Salar found himself waiting for her call, yet to soothe his ego, he kept lying to himself:
"If Aizal asks again, I'll send the papers. This relationship means nothing to me either…"
But deep within, the truth was something else—perhaps this bond was deeper, more real, and more destined than he was willing to admit.