Shaan had mastered the art of walking away.
From arguments.From apologies.From people who expected too much.
The world admired him. At twenty-eight, he had already built what most men spent a lifetime chasing. A successful firm. A name that carried weight. A presence that made people straighten their backs when he entered a room.
He liked that.
Respect was easier than love.Power was safer than vulnerability.
That evening, as he stood near the glass window of his high-rise office, the city lights flickered below like scattered stars. Beautiful from a distance. Meaningless up close.
His phone buzzed.
"Ammi" flashed on the screen.
He let it ring.
Family conversations had a way of digging into places he preferred to keep sealed. Expectations. Marriage. "You've changed." "You don't pray like you used to." "You're not the same Shaan."
They were right.
He wasn't.
But change didn't scare him. Weakness did.
He picked up the phone on the fourth ring.
"You're coming tonight, right?" his mother asked softly.
"For what?"
"Your uncle's dinner. I told you. Please don't embarrass me."
Shaan closed his eyes briefly. Social gatherings bored him. Forced smiles. Judging eyes. Subtle questions about why he wasn't married yet.
"I'll come," he said flatly.
He ended the call before she could say more.
The house was full of voices when he arrived. Laughter. Cutlery clinking. The smell of biryani and perfume mixing in the air.
People noticed him instantly.
"Shaan beta, you've become so successful.""Still single?""You should settle down now."
He responded with polite half-smiles. Controlled. Distant.
He didn't hate people. He just didn't trust closeness.
And then he saw her.
She wasn't standing in the center of the room trying to be noticed. She was near the balcony door, helping his aunt arrange plates. Simple light-colored outfit. No heavy makeup. No dramatic laughter.
Calm.
Too calm.
For a second, his eyes lingered longer than necessary.
She looked up.
Their eyes met.
There was no shyness in her gaze. No attempt to impress. Just steady, quiet observation.
It irritated him.
Most girls either tried too hard around him or avoided direct eye contact. She did neither.
She simply looked at him as if he were… normal.
He looked away first.
That annoyed him even more.
Later, he found himself standing near the balcony for fresh air. The noise inside felt suffocating.
"She doesn't usually like crowded rooms either."
The voice came from behind him.
He turned.
It was her.
Up close, her presence felt even calmer. Not weak. Just composed. As if she carried her own weather inside her.
"And you are?" he asked, tone neutral but edged with superiority.
"Maihreen."
Just her name. No extended introduction. No attempt to impress him with degrees or achievements.
"And you already know who I am," he said.
A small pause.
"Yes," she replied. "You're Shaan."
No admiration in her tone. No awe.
Just a statement.
He studied her. "And what do you think of me?"
The question slipped out before he could stop himself. He wasn't sure why he asked.
She didn't answer immediately. She looked at the city lights instead.
"I think," she said gently, "you look like someone who's tired of pretending he isn't tired."
The words hit somewhere deep.
His jaw tightened.
"You don't know me."
She nodded slightly. "You're right."
No argument. No defensiveness.
That calmness felt like a mirror, and he hated what it reflected.
"I don't pretend," he said coldly.
"Everyone does," she replied softly. "Sometimes even to themselves."
He felt something sharp move inside his chest. Not anger. Something worse.
Exposure.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Be careful making assumptions about people you just met."
She didn't step back.
"I'm not assuming," she said. "I'm observing."
For the first time in years, Shaan felt challenged without being attacked.
And it unsettled him.
That night, driving back to his apartment, her words replayed in his mind.
You look like someone who's tired of pretending he isn't tired.
Ridiculous.
He wasn't tired. He was disciplined. Focused. Detached by choice.
Yet when he entered his dark apartment and the silence wrapped around him, something inside felt heavier than usual.
He loosened his tie and sat on the edge of his bed.
The city was loud outside. His life was loud outside.
But inside, it was quiet.
Too quiet.
For a brief moment, he remembered a younger version of himself. A boy who used to pray without being reminded. Who used to believe without questioning everything. Who used to feel.
He pushed the thought away.
Faith was for people who needed comfort.He needed control.
And love?
Love was weakness disguised as devotion.
He lay back, staring at the ceiling.
Yet for the first time in a long while, control felt fragile.
And for reasons he refused to admit, the calm eyes of a girl named Maihreen refused to leave his mind.