Taimoor

𝕿hick locks of dark brown hair cascaded like a waterfall down her back. Rich brown locks curtained her neck, brushing the sun-kissed olive skin. But that was where the monotony ended. Her kurta was an array of vibrant colors the likes of which I felt like I hadn't seen in ages. For years I'd trained myself to see only darkness or light. Evil or good. For years I'd trained myself to ignore the color of life. But I couldn't ignore this. I couldn't ignore her. She was both the dark cloud of the tempest and the rainbow of temperance. She held the promise of beautiful peace, but only if you could survive her storm. I saw the moment the soft slopes of her shoulders pulled tight, her body reacting to the threat, to the undeniable warning in my voice.

Staring with open hostility at each other, neither of us said anything. Large doe-like eyes searched my face, rimmed with a smattering of long eyelashes that fluttered as she blinked. And her lips... Blood pooled in my lower half, noticing their fullness, parting to let air in through their soft seas. Set amongst aristocratic cheeks and a small nose, I had no words for her beauty. The girl was gorgeous, undoubtedly so, but a nuisance. Just like her father.

"Just what I needed," my patience was beginning to fray. With a frustrated growl, I stepped backward, not enough to bring me out of the slash of light in the center, but enough for her eyes to catch and lock onto where I was. "You're insinuating that you'll kidnap me?"

"Go get your father. The police station tends to be a dangerous place."

If I were a better man, I would have ended this right here. But I was made differently, carved from stone like the very people who'd created me. I wanted to push her out to the edge. Her audacity and brazenness had lit a fire within me. This woman with her colors and her attitude was driving me mad. And the look in her eyes when she first saw me, she had looked startled, slightly embarrassed, and morbidly fascinated. There was something that darkened her intrigue. Something that made this whole encounter tempting and dangerous. She was a cohesion of multiple colors, all of them clashing against one another, fighting for dominance.

"You'll live to regret this. I'll make sure of it."

"I'm a man of my word. Prove me wrong and I will concede defeat. But," her eyes blazed with fury at the but, her hair strewn about her face, the scarf around her neck untidy, and her crystal-adorned khussa's tapping on my carpeted floor with disdain. "When you find out that you're wrong... I won't give you the luxury of stepping back from your word. I will come for you and your father and believe me, there will be no mercy from my end," I growled the last part, hoping to scare her and drive her away, escaping back into the shadows.

The apples of her cheeks flared red from her anger, and the elegant column of her throat flushed with healthy color. My eyes tracked the journey, fascinated by her reactions, her emotions, all of which were displayed so readily on her face.

"I will see you on Monday."

Good God, this woman did not know when and where to stop. She was adamant about hurtling down this path. She wanted to confront me. To fight with me and the darkness in me welcomed that. Wanted it to a fault. And far be it for me to deny myself.

You'll see me soon little dragon. Very soon.

She strode out of my office, throwing a scathing glance my way, her gaze determined. A weird rush of relief and disappointment came over me at her departure, as if the air itself had decided to leave with her. I crushed the disappointment and focused on the relief because it was much less complicated and more attuned to my current nature. I wait until the door had closed behind her before I took in a deep breath and braced myself for my interaction with Affandi.

"What a time to be alive. The mighty Taimoor being confronted by a young girl."

"You're still here?"

"You need to get a life," rubbing over his jaw, he thought for a moment and asked, "And you need to tell me what's going on. Why was that poor girl asking about her father? What have you done to him?"

My mouth thinned into a line of annoyance. This was not the conversation I wanted to have. "I haven't done anything."

"Can't, don't, and won't believe you."

"Why are you so interested? My sister not keeping you busy?"

"I'm sure Zeenia would be very interested to know about the comings and goings of your office," he put a finger up and shook his head. "Actually, I'm positive that Zeenia would be very interested to know about this girl."

"Don't you dare."

"And the fact that your father hasn't recovered from his tyrant ways," Affandi's chuckle grated through the air. "Tell me, who is she?"

"Careful."

He shrugged, "This is the first female who's seen you in the past six years. You didn't run away from her, you listened to her talk, didn't throw her out, excuse me for thinking that there is more to this story."

I swallowed hard, feeling my scarred skin pull tight over my throat. I was used to barely breathing—barely living. But that was forever the fate of a shadow... to be present in the world but shackled to a life that wasn't my own. I moved back to my chair, bracing my hands on the table, looking at the crack on the side, long forgotten. Had I done that in one of my rages? I couldn't remember. I couldn't remember much these days.

"She's a means to an end. That's it."

"Part of your revenge scheme?" when I didn't reply, he sighed and settled back in the chair. When I don't respond, he arched an eyebrow at me but I looked away, allowing my gaze to drift to the ever-changing numbers on the monitors in front of me for a moment, "She's an innocent Taimoor. You can't have her suffer for her father's sins."

"Her father is the reason why she's in this mess. How do you think he'll react when he finds out about our little meeting tonight?"

"You're turning into your father."

"Who's turning into who now?" I stared up at the door, annoyance fizzing through me. Apparently, anyone could come up into my office at any point. At sixty-five, my father's hair didn't contain a single thread of silver. It was swept perfectly over to one side, not a strand out of place. Affandi shot up off the leather chair, his posture straight and tense, giving me a warning look over his shoulders. His observation unnerved me. I was not in the habit of laying out my plans to others, his line of questioning, the infliction in his tone and the expression on his face, made me think he knew the affect she had on me. And he didn't want me to mention this to my father.

"Mr.Mughal."

"Nice to see you Asfandyar. How's Zeenia?"

"Happy as ever."

"Taimoor. I heard of a security breach," apprehension corded my muscles like rope twisted to the breakpoint. "How did they dodge the plethora of guards in this building? I asked for the security tapes to be brought up. Once we have some facial recognition we'll file a case."

"There's no need for that. It was a misunderstanding."

"Someone dodged security for a misunderstanding?" I shrugged not wanting to give him an answer. He didn't deserve one. "Not that I expect you to know, you are the CEO of this company."

"Not until you have the board vote me in and hand over those papers to me."

"You have your brother's shares, what more do you want?"

Control. Power. Vengeance.

"I've created my own space here. I should be compensated accordingly."

Affandi edged towards the door, the second time in thirty minutes, done with our little contest. Whatever my sister had done to him seemed to be working. He knew when to shut up and leave."I should be going."

"Say hello to your father for me. Tell him I'll see him on Monday."

"He's not your lapdog," I snapped, just as the door clicked shut, with a hint of a bite in my tone.

"Never said he was."

I sat back and rolled a pen between my fingers. "You could have asked your secretary to convey that information," might as well get some information out of this unfortunate meeting. I was going to have a double serving of this nonsense in about two days when we met Asfandyar's father and his financial chief for lunch.

His top lip curled as his gaze evaluated me top to bottom. As if I should know why. How else would he make sure that his only son-in-law knew that he wasn't good enough to be married to the great Zeenia Ali Mughal? "Tell me, what's your plan for the Winter Gala? What will the CEO of Mughal and Co. be bringing to the table?"

"Something they won't expect."

"I hope so. There's no room to fail. We've waited years for this," there was an unsettling edge in his eyes, a mirror of what I carried in mine. As if he'd seen the entire world, down to every crevice, and found all of it so very disappointing. His eyes fell on my face and his gaze softened ever so slightly. "How're things with that secretive project of yours? Made any headway lately?" my mind immediately conjured up a set of big, russet hazels eyes seething with fury, ready to rain fire and brimstone down on me and I grimaced, going back to typing on my laptop.

"None."

"That's unusual even for you."

"I've been caught up in a lot of loose ends," I could tell my answer startled him because he cleared his throat and adjusted his silky blue tie. "Incompetence has taken hold of this establishment. I don't know how you missed it all those years ago."

"If this is about..."

"It's not about him."

He raised an eyebrow, silently reminding me that he knew me better than that. "Your mother has requested your presence at Mughal Manor at the end of the month. She hoped that you would find it in your heart to visit us."

"You and I both know what her 'requests' really are."

"Fantastic. I'll let her know you're coming."

"Mr. Mughal," both of us looked up to see my PA looking harried and stressed out. Jibran now hovered near the four-month threshold—a trooper if I ever saw one, or one masochistic lunatic, but the man had the uncanny ability to know when I needed saving, "There's a message for you from the London Branch. They want to know if you'll be available for a call soon?"

"Schedule them in for a call in thirty minutes," I ground out, staring at my father and hoping that he would get the hint and leave. Nodding at me courteously, Haider Ali Mughal got up and smoothed his meticulously ironed dress shirt, and moved towards the door, his eyes on the papers on my desk.

"You're like him. More than you know. He would have been proud of you," I knew exactly what he was referring to, and I ignored it, just like I always did. He'd dug the hole I was sitting in with his own mistakes, and now he was shoveling mud to bury me inside of it. Old tension strung itself through my muscles. The instinct to blame and shout was stronger than the whispers that said it was not the time. Not yet. Conversations with my father were dangerous, volatile things when we were forced into the same room and there weren't enough exits. When any question from my father could turn out to be a grenade with the pin already pulled.

"I'm like me. Unless you have anything pressing to say to me, good night. I'll see you on Monday."

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So. What do we think? What's it like in Taimoor's head? Comments, thoughts, feedback?

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