It was late—far later than either of them should've been awake. The house sat in complete silence, the kind that only settles after every light has been switched off and every door shut for the night. But in Zayn's room, a single lamp glowed faintly, casting long shadows across scattered papers and open files.
Faqair and Zayn were still working.
Zayn finally paused, rubbing the tension from the back of his neck.
"Alright," he said quietly. "It's too late. You can finish the rest tomorrow. Go to sleep."
"Hmmm." Faqair began packing up his things, but something tugged at his mind—something Inaya had said earlier that afternoon. With a sudden spark of worry, he picked up his phone and glanced at his reflection. He ran a hand through his hair, checking if any strands fell out.Zayn frowned. "What are you doing?"
Faqair froze halfway, hand still in his hair. "Nothing. Just… um—are you having hair fall?"
Zayn blinked. "No. What's wrong?"
Faqair hesitated. "Well—well—nothing. I'm going now."
Zayn raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You're really not going to tell me?"
Faqair turned around with the strangest laugh, the kind that betrayed more than it hid. "Yes, well… I was talking to Inaya this afternoon, and she… uh… put a serious curse on the person who hacked Miss Meher's company's software."Zayn stared and then, slowly, his eyebrow rose even higher. "That doesn't work on us…"
Faqair widened his eyes innocently. "What?" he asked, trying to act ignorant.
"Her curse," Zayn clarified, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "So don't stress. And if your hair does fall out, just wear a fake wig."
Faqair jumped. "Yeah—hmm—what?! I didn't do anything! I was just standing nearby!"
"Then don't stress," Zayn repeated calmly.
Faqair sighed, then murmured, "You know what? I felt too bad for Miss Meher today."
Zayn glanced up sharply. "Why?"
"Are we doing the right thing?" Faqair asked quietly. "She lost her sister… shouldn't we go easy on her?"
Zayn didn't answer immediately. His jaw tightened; the silence between them stretched. He finally exhaled.
"Don't forget what Asad Khan did to us," he said, voice low, steady, dangerous. "Family for a family. I'll ruin his business and his whole damn family. If you're not with me, I can do it alone."
"No, no," Faqair said quickly, hands raised. "I'm with you in everything. After all… he deserves that."
"Good," Zayn said. "Now go and rest."
"Okay. Good night."
"Hmmm."
Faqair slipped out of the room and disappeared down the hallway.
The moment the door clicked shut, Zayn's expression changed. Faqair's question echoed inside him like an unwelcome whisper. Are we doing the right thing?
He ran a hand over his face, then grabbed his phone and dialed a number.
"Hello?" he said when the call connected.
"Hello, Mr. Zayn," a man responded. "How can I help you?"
"You know about Meher Khan from Khan Corp, right?"
The man chuckled. "Who doesn't? She's awesome. A hot topic every week—"
"I didn't call to hear you praise her."
"Right. Sorry."
"I heard her sister is missing."
"Yes. It's been years, but Meher Khan isn't giving up on her."
Zayn's voice dropped. "I need you to find out about her."
There was a pause. "But… that seems almost impossible."
Zayn's expression hardened. "You know I don't like the word impossible. I don't care whatever it costs."
"…Understood. I'll look into it."Okay," Zayn replied, his voice steady but something heavy lurking beneath. "Call me as soon as you get any lead."
"Okay, sir."
Zayn cut the call.
For a moment, the room was silent. The soft hum of the air felt louder than it should have. Zayn lowered the phone slowly, his eyes fixed on some distant point in the dark—somewhere far beyond the walls of his room.
In a low, almost whispered voice, he said:
"This is the last thing I can do for you, Meher. I'm not going easy anymore."
The words hung in the air, heavy and final, as if he had crossed a line he could never step back from.Slowly, he laid in the bed, letting his back sink into the mattress. The dim glow of the lamp washed over his face, catching the tension in his jaw and the worry lingering in his eyes.After some time, he ran a hand over his head—checking for hair fall just like Faqair had.
He stared at his palm.
"Thank God," he muttered. Then he stopped. "What am I doing?"
He shook his head, sighed, and straightened his blanket. After a deep breath, he pulled it over his face and shut his eyes.
But sleep didn't come easily.
To be continued....