The alarm buzzed sharply, slicing through the silence of dawn. Zavian’s hand shot out from beneath the covers, silencing it in one swift motion. He lay still for a moment, his dark eyes fixed on the ceiling, before pushing himself up. Another day, another routine—except this one, he knew, was already lined up with demands.
He changed into his workout gear and headed straight to the gym tucked neatly inside the house. For the next hour, the rhythmic clank of weights and the steady beat of his controlled breathing filled the room. Every movement was precise, disciplined—just like him. By the time he stepped out, sweat lined his forehead, his chest rising and falling with quiet exertion.
A quick shower later, Zavian stood before the mirror, adjusting the cuffs of his black Armani suit. The sharp cut hugged his tall frame, the dark fabric giving him the aura of power he carried effortlessly. With a final glance at his reflection—calm, unreadable, perfectly composed—he left for the office.
At his desk, papers and files awaited him, but he dealt with them swiftly. His mind was sharp, focused, unwilling to let distraction slip through. Yet the quiet hum of his phone vibrating across the desk pulled him out of that concentration.
“Coming today or not?” Rehan’s voice greeted him as soon as he answered, laced with impatience.
Zavian leaned back in his chair, lips curving faintly. “I’m coming. Don’t start with your drama so early.”
“Good. Don’t be late,” Rehan pressed, and the line went dead.
But almost as if fate had other plans, a soft knock landed on Zavian’s office door. His assistant peeked in, files clutched nervously in his hands.
“Sir, the client from Dubai just confirmed. They want the meeting now.”
Zavian’s jaw tightened. Of course. Timing could never be merciful. He exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose before gesturing for the assistant to let them in.
By the time the meeting ended, the clock was unforgiving. He snatched up his phone, dialing quickly. Rehan answered on the first ring.
“I’ll be late,” Zavian said, his tone clipped but steady. “I’ll reach by eleven-thirty.”
“Zav, you’re impossible,” Rehan groaned, but before more complaints could follow, Zavian had already ended the call.
Zavian’s black Lamborghini purred to a halt at the edge of the campus, the engine growling low before he killed the ignition. The car gleamed under the late morning sun, sleek and imposing, drawing a few curious glances from passersby—even though the courtyard itself was eerily quiet at this hour. Most students were already tucked away in their lectures, leaving the grounds almost deserted.
He stepped out, adjusting the buttons of his suit jacket with the same calm precision as always. The sharp click of his polished shoes echoed against the stone pathway as he made his way forward, every movement deliberate, every gaze that fell on him shadowed with curiosity.
For once, the university felt too still—silent corridors, empty benches, not a sound except the faint rustle of leaves carried by the breeze. Zavian’s brows furrowed slightly, but he continued, his tall frame cutting through the quiet like a storm yet to come.
Zavian’s stride was steady as he turned the corner, the echo of his shoes sharp against the marble floor. The campus was quieter than usual, his mind still lingering on the morning’s meeting, when suddenly—something collided against him.
A phone slipped from slender fingers, clattering against the marble with a sharp crack. The girl bent down quickly, panic flickering across her face.
Zavian’s eyes fell on her. Hazel brown. Wide. Striking. She wore a simple black dress, hair tied back into a ponytail that still brushed the length of her back. For a moment, the scene slowed—her frantic movements, her quickened breaths, the raw urgency in her expression.
And then her gaze shot up to meet his.
Her voice came sharp, trembling with anger.
“What the hell, look at what you’ve done!”
Zavian’s jaw tightened. His response was automatic, clipped.
“Watch where you’re going. Don’t blame me for your clumsiness.”
Her words snapped back, full of heat.
“Can’t you even pay attention? Are you blind or something?”
His expression didn’t shift, though a flicker of annoyance tugged at him. This girl dared raise her voice to him—for a phone? For her own carelessness?
You weren’t looking!” she pressed, her tone sharper now, almost desperate.
Zavian’s gaze narrowed. Most people lowered their eyes under his coldness. She didn’t.
“I don’t owe you an explanation,” he replied, voice colder than steel. “Move carefully next time, or stay out of my way.”
Her breath hitched, her jaw tightening, before she shoved past him. The air shifted as she left, her perfume faint but lingering.
He remained still for a moment, watching her retreat with detached eyes. But inside, he replayed her face—the urgency in her words, the heat in her gaze.
It unsettled him.
His voice, when it came, was a quiet verdict meant only for himself:
“Pathetic.”
And then, without a second glance, he continued forward, his composure unshaken, though her hazel eyes still flickered in the corners of his mind, uninvited and unwelcome.
The auditorium buzzed with anticipation as students filled the rows, whispers rolling like waves through the hall. Zavian walked in with the same quiet authority that followed him everywhere. His suit, his stride, the unshakable calm on his face—he drew eyes without effort.
On stage, the host’s voice rang out, announcing the arrival of the guests. The crowd stirred, clapping and murmuring. But Zavian’s attention had already found something else.
There.
In the sea of faces, his gaze locked—instantly—on her. The same girl from the corridor. The black dress. The hazel-brown eyes that had glared at him with fire. Aylin.
Her expression shifted the moment she recognized him. Shock flashed across her face, too raw to be hidden. She turned quickly to her friend, whispering something under her breath, but the disbelief lingered in her features, her lips parting, her shoulders stiff.
…Her expression shifted the moment she recognized him. Shock flashed across her face, too raw to be hidden. She turned quickly to her friend, whispering something under her breath, but the disbelief lingered in her features, her lips parting, her shoulders stiff.
Zavian’s gaze flicked over her—brief, detached—long enough to register her reaction, the way surprise unsettled her usually composed face.
And then, nothing.
His eyes moved past her as if she were invisible, his expression unreadable, his composure unbroken. To anyone watching, it was clear: she meant absolutely nothing to him.
Only a faint, unreadable thought stirred in the back of his mind, gone almost as quickly as it appeared.
The event wound down, the formalities of the internship announcement dragging longer than Zavian had patience for. By the time he stepped out of the university, the afternoon sun was already dipping, the air thick with restless chatter from students. He ignored it all, sliding into his Lamborghini and heading back toward the office.
Hours blurred in paperwork and meetings until his phone lit up with an incoming call. His father’s name flashed across the screen.
Zavian hesitated, jaw tightening before he answered.
“Zavian,” his father’s voice was calm, almost cautious. “It’s Saturday today. Why don’t you come home tonight? We could have dinner together. Like a family.”
For a moment, silence stretched. Then Zavian’s reply came, sharp and bitter.
“Family? We don’t have that kind of bond.”
On the other end, his father’s breath caught. He said nothing, only silence pressing through the line. Then, softly, almost pleading, he added,
“It would mean something if you came. To your sister To all of us.”
Zavian exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on the phone. His voice was flat, dismissive.
“I’ll see.”
And before his father could say more, he ended the call.
That night, he returned to his mansion first, stepping into the quiet solitude he preferred. A shower later, the water washing away the stiffness of the day, he dressed simply and drove to his parents’ estate.
The moment he stepped through the door, the sound of light footsteps rushed toward him.
“Bhai!”
Mashal’s voice rang with joy as she threw her arms around him from behind, hugging him tightly. Zavian’s composure cracked for the first time that day—his brows lifting in mild surprise, his chest loosening with something almost like relief.
He turned to her, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“Mashal…”
he murmured, turning to look at her properly.
Her blue eyes sparkled with laughter as she grinned up at him. She had always been his weakness. Though only four years younger, he treated her like a child, protecting her fiercely.
She had just returned from the U.K. after two years of study, and stepping back into their home in the U.S. had changed the atmosphere completely. For Zavian, her absence had been a silence he never admitted to anyone. Her presence now was the only thing that made coming here bearable.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d be here tonight?” she teased, tugging his sleeve.
“Because I wasn’t sure I would come,” he admitted quietly, his voice carrying a softness he allowed only for her.
In that moment, surrounded by walls that felt cold and distant, Mashal was the only thread tying him to the meaning of family.
The dining table was set, the soft clinking of cutlery filling the silence between Zavian and his parents. Conversation was minimal, as always—until Mashal broke it with her usual energy.
“Bhai,” she began, her eyes gleaming mischievously, “I’m here for only one month, so you’ll have to take me out. No excuses. You’ll show me around, everywhere I missed in the last two years.”
Zavian raised a brow at her, his lips tugging at the faintest ghost of a smile. “You’ve been here your whole life, Mashal. What’s left to see?”
She rolled her eyes dramatically. “That’s not the point! It’s different when you go with you. Besides…” She leaned forward conspiratorially, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret, “…you have no choice. I’ll keep annoying you until you agree.”
Across the table, their mother’s lips curved into a small smile at the familiar banter, though their father remained silent.
Before Zavian could reply, Mashal clapped her hands lightly, shifting to her next demand. “Oh! And one more thing—I want a room in your office. Just a small one. I’ll design it myself and show you what I can do. Then you’ll have no excuse not to hire me for your next project.”
Zavian stared at her, his expression unreadable. “You’re not serious.”
“I am very serious,” she countered, grinning. “You’ll see, bhai. I’ll prove myself.”
Dinner carried on, the quiet broken only by Mashal’s playful chatter. But then Zavian, almost casually, asked,
“So… how was it in the U.K. with Rehan?”
The color drained slightly from Mashal’s face before she forced a quick smile. “It was… fine. Everything was fine.”
Zavian studied her carefully, noticing the flicker she tried to hide. “I used to ask Rehan how you were,” he continued, his tone even, “but still… you didn’t trouble him too much, did you? He’s here now, so you’ll be on your own. Just… take care of yourself.”
Mashal straightened, her voice soft but firm. “I’m fine, bhai. I can manage on my own.”
Zavian nodded slowly, though his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, filing away her reaction. “Good. Still, I’ll ask him. Maybe his next project will take him back to the U.K. again. That way, you won’t have to worry. And besides,” his gaze softened just a little, “you can work on interior design anywhere—even there.”
Mashal quickly shook her head, eager to change the subject. “No, bhai. Not right now. I don’t want that. I want to work with you.”
Then, as if flipping a switch, her expression brightened mischievously. “And speaking of which—enough boring talk. After dinner, you’re taking me out for ice cream. And you can’t say no.”
Zavian sighed, but the corner of his lips curved faintly. Mashal had always known how to corner him—and he let her.
Later that night, true to her demand, Zavian drove Mashal out for ice cream. The city lights shimmered around them as they sat by the counter, Mashal happily digging into her bowl while Zavian remained composed, eating slowly, almost absent-mindedly.
Out of nowhere, Mashal glanced up at him with a mischievous grin.
“Bhai, you should just get married soon. Then I’ll have a bhabhi, and the two of us will go out together. I won’t bother you anymore.”
Her tone was playful, teasing, but her eyes sparkled with genuine warmth.
Zavian’s spoon paused midway. His gaze, cool and steady, shifted toward her.
“Marriage isn’t something I have time for,” he said flatly. His voice carried no hesitation, only that cold detachment that always built walls around him.
Mashal pouted dramatically. “Uff, you’re impossible. One day, I’ll make you regret not listening to me.”
He didn’t respond, only returned to his ice cream with quiet finality. Mashal shook her head, muttering under her breath with a smile, but didn’t press further.
When they were done, he drove her back to their parents’ house
As Mashal disappeared into the house, their mother lingered by the doorway. Her eyes rested on Zavian, filled with a quiet longing she didn’t voice.
“You should come more often,” she said softly. “Your father won’t say it, but he misses you too.”
Zavian’s jaw tightened, his expression unreadable in the dim light. He gave a slight nod, nothing more.
Her lips curved into a faint, bittersweet smile. “Take care of yourself, beta.”
Without replying, he turned away, sliding back into his car. The engine roared to life, carrying him once again into the silence of his own world.
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