The words "I didn't realize being around me would hurt your pride that much" had played on a loop in my head like a glitching record. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her standing on that balcony, wrapped in her pjs, looking at me with a pity that burned worse than her anger.
My pride? I'd built a career on my pride. I'd survived Islamabad on it. But sitting there in the dark, I had to admit—she had aimed for the one crack in my armor and hit it with terrifying precision.
By 8:00 AM, I was at the library site. I had a coffee in my hand and a mental script prepared. I was going to be reasonable. I was going to acknowledge the "stress" of the night before and move past it.
I pushed open the heavy plywood doors of the north wing, expecting the hollow silence of the construction site.
Instead, I was met with a wall of laughter.
"No, no, Salar—if you put the shelving there, the light hits the spines and ruins the leather. Basic physics, man!"
I stopped in my tracks. Alayna was standing near a stack of timber, but she wasn't alone. Zara, her best friend, was perched on a crate with a clipboard, looking like she was enjoying herself way too much. And leaning against the marble pillar—the one I had been inspecting yesterday—was Rayan.
"Zayn! Look who showed up to actually do some work," Rayan shouted, waving a hand at me.
Alayna didn't look over immediately. She was pointing at a sketch on her tablet, talking animatedly to Zara. She looked... different. The exhaustion from the hospital was hidden under a layer of focus, and she was wearing a simple linen kurta with her hair tied back. She looked like the artist again, not the grieving granddaughter.
"What is this?" I asked, my voice coming out stiffer than I intended. I walked toward them, my shoes echoing on the dusty floor.
"It's called 'consulting,' Zayn," Alayna said, finally turning to face me. Her eyes were calm. Too calm. There was no trace of the girl from the balcony. "I realized that since we have such a tight deadline, I needed a few more sets of eyes. Zara is helping with the archival layout, and Rayan is... well, Rayan is here for the heavy lifting."
"I thought we agreed this was a two-person management team," I said, looking at the group. I felt a sharp, irrational surge of annoyance. I had come here to talk to her, to settle the air between us, and now I was surrounded by a committee.
"We agreed to finish the project," Alayna corrected, her tone perfectly professional—almost identical to the one I'd used on her two days ago. It was a pointed move. "More hands make less work. Isn't that what you said about 'optimization'?"
I clenched my jaw. She was using my own vocabulary against me. Again.
"Yo, Zayn, don't look so grumpy," Rayan said, throwing a mock-salute. "I'm just here to make sure the structural supports are as solid as your ego. Alayna said you might need the help."
I shot Rayan a look that would have withered a normal person, but he just grinned.
I looked at Alayna. She was already back to talking to Zara, dismissing me as easily as a footnote in a report. She had effectively neutralized me. I couldn't pull her aside to apologize or argue about the "pride" comment with her friends standing right there.
She hadn't just called for help; she had called for a buffer.
"Fine," I muttered, flipping open my laptop on a makeshift desk. "If we're 'optimizing,' then Zara, I need the archival specs by noon. Rayan, the foreman is in the back. Alayna..."
I paused. She looked up, one eyebrow arched.
"Yes, Mr. Malik?" she asked, a challenge dancing in her eyes.
"The north wing measurements," I said, my voice dropping. "They're still off. We need to re-verify them. Together."
"Actually," Alayna said, turning back to her friend. "Zara and I already did that this morning while you were presumably still finishing your espresso. The files are in the shared drive."
She smiled—a small, polite, devastatingly distant smile.
I sat down, the blue light of the screen reflecting in my eyes. I was the CEO. I was the man in charge. But as I watched her laugh at something Rayan said, I realized I had never been more of an outsider in my own hometown.
She had won this round before I'd even stepped into the building.