I used to think I understood control.
I was wrong.
The first time I noticed Fahad differently, it wasn't dramatic. No music. No sudden realization. Just a moment during a meeting when he said my name, and I felt something tighten in my chest for no reason I could explain.
We were seated across a long table, papers spread between us, voices calm and professional. Business as usual.
"Does this timeline work for you?" Fahad asked, sliding a document toward me.
"Yes," I replied, nodding. My voice sounded steady. I was proud of that.
But when our eyes met, something lingered. Too long for business. Too brief to call out.
I looked away first.
From that day on, I became aware of him in ways I shouldn't have been. The way he listened—really listened. The way he never interrupted me. The way he respected my opinions without making it feel like a competition.
And that scared me.
Because I was raised to believe feelings were weaknesses you disciplined out of yourself.
Our meetings became frequent. Necessary. Always professional. Always careful.
Yet I started noticing small things.
How he paused before speaking, as if choosing his words carefully around me.
How his gaze softened when I laughed—even at things that weren't funny.
How the room felt fuller when he was present, emptier when he left.
One afternoon, after a long discussion, silence settled between us.
"You're quieter than usual," he said.
"I'm just tired," I answered quickly.
He studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Don't push yourself too hard."
It was such a simple sentence.
I carried it home with me like a secret.
That night, I lay awake longer than I should have, wondering why his concern mattered so much. Wondering why his name surfaced in my thoughts uninvited.
I told myself it was admiration. Respect. Familiarity.
Anything but the truth.
Because admitting the truth meant admitting that something was starting—something I had no intention of allowing.
And yet…
The next time I saw him, my heart betrayed me before my mind could catch up.
That was when I knew.
Chapter 5 wasn't about love.
It was about denial.