The morning after the confrontation with Rayyan, the air in the office was different.
Zoha sat at her desk, pretending to read an email. But her thoughts were tangled, playing the memory of Zafar's words on repeat.
"You mean more than you should."
Why couldn't he just say it?
Why did he pull her close, only to push her away the next second?
He hadn't spoken to her since yesterday. No messages. No calls. Just silence.
And Zoha had promised herself long ago—she wouldn't chase people who didn't fight to keep her.
Just when she was about to pack up for lunch, her phone buzzed.
From: Zafar
My driver is downstairs. Come with me.
No "please." No explanation. Just a command.
She sighed.
She went.
The car ride was quiet. Tense.
Zafar sat beside her in the backseat, eyes glued to the window, jaw locked tight.
She glanced at him. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
They stopped in front of a small restaurant—quiet, private, expensive.
Zafar held the door open for her. Still silent.
Inside, they sat at a corner table, away from everyone. The waiter took their order and left them in the silence they both refused to break.
Finally, he said, "I don't like how I spoke to you."
Zoha blinked. "Is that your version of an apology?"
He looked at her, eyes tired. "I'm not good at this."
"At what?"
"This." He gestured between them. "Feeling. Saying things. Trusting people."
Zoha's heart softened, but she didn't let it show.
"You can't treat me like I belong to you when you don't even know what you want from me."
"I do know what I want," he said suddenly. "I just don't know how to ask for it without ruining everything."
A beat passed.
"I want you in my life," he confessed. "But I'm still learning how to let people stay."
Zoha felt something shift inside her. His voice—so honest, so broken—wasn't the voice of a cold boss anymore. It was the voice of a man afraid of losing something precious.
"Then let me stay," she whispered.
He looked at her. Really looked at her.
"I'll try," he said. "But don't expect flowers and love poems."
"I don't want flowers," she said. "I want the truth. Even when it's ugly."
He reached across the table, gently took her hand.
And for the first time in a long time, his touch didn't come with walls.
That night, he dropped her off personally.
Before she stepped out of the car, he stopped her.
"Zoha."
She turned.
His eyes were softer now. "Thank you… for not walking away."
Her heart broke and bloomed at the same time.