It was just past noon when the call came in.
"Ma'am," the receptionist's voice came through the intercom, "the nanny had an emergency. She had to leave early. Mr. Zafar said to bring Ezra up to the office. He'll watch him for the next hour."
Zoha stood up from her desk. "I'll take care of it," she said.
She wasn't sure why she offered. Maybe because the thought of Ezra alone in a room made her chest ache. Or maybe… maybe because she already felt a strange connection to the boy. She had no one left in this world. And Ezra, innocent and smiling, made the air feel lighter.
When she entered the nursery room on the lower floor, Ezra was sitting quietly on a playmat, holding a stuffed lion. He looked up at her with wide brown eyes, blinking slowly. His bottom lip pouted slightly.
"Hey, little prince," Zoha whispered, kneeling in front of him. "Did your nanny leave you too soon?"
Ezra stared.
Then, with a sudden smile, he dropped his toy and crawled straight into her arms.
Zoha laughed gently, surprised by his trust. She scooped him up, holding him against her chest.
"You smell like baby shampoo," she said softly, brushing his hair back.
Ezra giggled, patting her cheek with his tiny hand.
In that moment, something in Zoha melted completely.
Back in the office, Zafar was on a call when Zoha entered with Ezra.
He looked up—and stopped mid-sentence.
Ezra had his tiny fingers twisted in Zoha's hair. His head rested on her shoulder. And Zoha… she looked peaceful. Not like an employee. Like something else. Like she belonged in that moment.
Zafar's heart did something strange in his chest. A twist. A sharp breath he didn't expect.
He hung up the call and stood.
"I can take him," he said, reaching for his son.
But Ezra held Zoha tighter, whimpering softly.
"He's a little sleepy," Zoha said. "I can keep him until he rests. Only if it's okay."
Zafar didn't answer at first. He was watching her. Her soft hands holding his baby. Her gentle eyes. The way Ezra trusted her without question.
"…Fine," he finally said, his voice low. "But if he cries, bring him to me."
Zoha smiled. "I don't think he will."
She sat on the small couch in the corner, humming a lullaby her mother used to sing to her. Ezra lay against her chest, breathing slowly, his lashes resting on his cheeks.
And Zafar watched.
He pretended to read emails. Pretended to work. But his eyes kept drifting back.
She was too soft for his world. Too kind. Too bright.
She would break here.
So why did the room feel warmer with her in it?
And why… did he not want her to leave?
That night, after Zoha left, Zafar stood by Ezra's crib at home. The baby was sleeping. Safe. Calm.
Zafar brushed his son's hair gently, remembering the way Ezra had clung to her. The peace in Zoha's eyes. The sound of her lullaby.
His fists clenched.
This couldn't happen.
He didn't trust women.
He couldn't afford to.
And yet… today, for the first time in years, his office had felt less like a battlefield—and more like a home.