The soft clink of cutlery against porcelain filled the dining room as Meher and Inaya sat across from each other, the warm glow of the chandelier casting gentle shadows on the table. Dinner had been quiet—comfortably so—until the sharp vibration of Inaya's phone shattered the calm.
The screen lit up.
Nabeel.
Inaya's brows knitted together instantly, her appetite vanishing.
"Did the money I gave him not cover his treatment?" she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.
Meher glanced up, curiosity flickering across her face. "Who is it?"
Inaya turned the phone slightly, as if the name itself irritated her. "Nabeel.
Why is he calling this late?" She scoffed. "I should just ignore him."
"Yeah," Meher said calmly, taking another bite. "Let him be."
The ringing stopped.
Silence returned—briefly.
A minute later, the phone buzzed again.
Inaya sighed and declined the call.
Again.
And again.
The vibration against the wooden table felt louder each time, crawling under Meher's skin.
"Oh my God," Meher snapped, irritated now. "Just pick it up. It's annoying. Put it on speaker."
Inaya rolled her eyes dramatically. "Fine."
She tapped the screen and tossed the phone between them.
"Hello?"
Nabeel's voice exploded through the speaker, sharp and venomous.
"You should at least have some dignity," he sneered. "It hasn't even been a week and you already found a new boyfriend?"
Inaya straightened in her chair, confusion flashing across her face. "What are you talking about?"
"Oh, don't act innocent," Nabeel continued. "I knew it back at the mall. The way he was hovering around you—it was obvious."
Her confusion morphed into anger. "Who the hell are you talking about?"
"Faqair," he spat. "So that's why you broke up with me, right?"
Inaya slammed her palm against the table. "Don't talk nonsense! Have you forgotten the punch already?"
Nabeel let out a mocking laugh. "I haven't—neither yours nor Faqair's. And I'll make you both pay for it."
Inaya froze. Her voice dropped. "Faqair punched you?"
"Don't pretend he didn't tell you," Nabeel snapped. "You always wanted someone rich anyway—"
The line went dead.
Inaya hung up and slammed the phone onto the table, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her face burning with rage.
"He's unbelievable," she growled. "He should've apologized instead!"
Meher wiped her mouth calmly and leaned back. "He won't," she said flatly. "Men like him are too full of their fragile male ego."
The phone buzzed again.
And again.
Inaya groaned and repeatedly declined the calls.
"I'll make a quick call," Meher said, standing up smoothly.
Inaya nodded distractedly. "Okay."
Meher disappeared into the hallway, her footsteps quiet but purposeful.
Inaya leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling, irritation knotting her stomach.
A few minutes later, Meher returned, her expression unreadable.
"He stopped?" she asked casually.
"No. I blocked him."
"Oh," Meher said, almost relieved. "Good."
Inaya narrowed her eyes. "Who were you calling?"
"No one," Meher replied quickly, avoiding her gaze. "Let's just eat."
They finished dinner in relative silence and later moved to the sofa, the tension slowly dissolving—until Meher's phone rang.
She glanced at the screen.
Police.
Inaya's heart skipped. "The police? Why are they calling you this late? Is everything okay?"
Meher answered and placed the phone on speaker.
"Yes?"
"Ma'am," the officer said firmly, "we've caught that man."
Meher's lips curved into a cold smile. "Good. Don't let him go. Make sure he stays in jail for a long time."
"Yes, ma'am."
Inaya blinked. "Is it the same guy who hacked your company's software?"
Meher's voice softened—but only slightly. "No. It's Nabeel."
The world seemed to tilt.
Inaya froze, eyes wide, realization crashing over her. "You… you called the police earlier, didn't you?"
Meher nodded. "Yes."
"They acted so fast!"
"I told them to."
Meher turned back to the phone. "Give it to him."
A pause.
Then Nabeel's voice returned, weaker but still defiant. "You're really quick to act, Meher."
"Of course," Meher replied smoothly. "I figured a single punch wasn't enough for you to learn."
Nabeel scoffed. "Inaya's always surrounded by rich people. She knows how to use them."
Meher's tone hardened. "Stop blaming others for your failures. Pay for what you did—and learn something for once."
"And if I don't?" he challenged.
Meher's voice dropped, chilling. "Then next time, it won't be the police. I'll come myself. And I promise—you'll beg me to stop."
Nabeel laughed nervously. "She's threatening me—". The police man snatched the phone from Nabeel.
"Don't worry, ma'am," the officer said. "He'll stay behind bars for a long time."
"Thank you."
Meher ended the call and turned to Inaya, who was staring at her like she'd just witnessed a storm.
"Close your mouth," Meher teased. "You'll catch flies."
Inaya burst out laughing. "You're so cool!"
"I know," Meher said proudly.
"You're seriously so good to me."
Meher leaned closer, playful now. "Then do me a small favor."
"Anything."
"It's my turn to wash the dishes. Do it for me."
Inaya grimaced. "Anything but that! You know I hate washing dishes."
Meher laughed. "Relax. I'm joking."
Inaya smiled. "But I'll keep you company while you do them."
Meher shook her head fondly. "Wow. Such a huge favor."
Laughing together, they headed toward the kitchen—lighter, safer, and unshaken.
To be continued...