The boardroom hummed with quiet intensity. Faris sat at the head of the table, his sharp gaze fixed on the projection screen as his team discussed the latest designs for a high-profile client's custom motorcycle. The presentation was flawless, and the room was filled with the confidence of a group that knew their product was exceptional.

Just as the lead designer turned the page of his deck, Faris's phone buzzed on the table. His eyes flicked to the screen, and his heart gave a faint lurch when he saw her name.

Mahak.

For a moment, he hesitated. His team was mid-presentation, and this was an important meeting. But then he remembered her voice, the way she would tease him for pretending to be "too busy" whenever she called. With a quiet sigh, he held up a hand to pause the discussion.

"Excuse me," he said, picking up the phone and standing. "I need to take this."

He stepped out into the corridor, leaning against the wall as he answered the call.

"Mahak, sab theek hai?" he asked, his voice softer now. (Mahak, is everything okay?)

"Tum busy ho?" she asked, her tone light but carrying a faint hint of guilt. (Are you busy?)

"Tumhari call ke liye toh main Prime Minister ke meeting se bhi nikal aaun," he teased. (I'd leave a meeting with the Prime Minister for your call.)

There was a brief silence on the other end, and then she spoke. "Faris, mujhe ek dress ka shade choose karne mein help chahiye." (Faris, I need help choosing a shade for a dress.)

Faris blinked. "Wait. Tumhare paas itni designers aur stylists hain, aur tum mujhe call kar rahi ho?" (Wait. You have so many designers and stylists, and you're calling me?)

"Yes, because they don't understand me, Faris," she replied dramatically. "Yeh kaunsa problem hai jo sirf tum samajh sakte ho." (This is the kind of problem only you can understand.)

Faris let out a soft laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Okay, batao. Kaunsa color?" (Okay, tell me. Which color?)

"Emerald green ya navy blue?" she asked, and he could hear the sound of fabric rustling in the background.

He paused, imagining her holding the dresses, the lines of frustration etched lightly on her brow. "Emerald green," he said finally. "Woh tumhari aankhon ko aur highlight karega." (It'll highlight your eyes more.)

There was another silence, but this one felt different.

"Faris," she said softly.

"Hmm?"

"You're not half as annoying as I tell you you are," she admitted with a smile in her voice.

Faris chuckled. "Aur tum utni impossible nahi ho jitna main pretend karta hoon." (And you're not as impossible as I pretend you are.)

When he returned to the boardroom, his team stared at him, wide-eyed.

"Sir, was that an emergency?" one of them asked.

Faris smirked, sitting back down. "Haan," he said casually. "Life-threatening."

That evening, Mahak lounged on the sofa, scrolling through her phone when Faris entered the living room.

"You chose emerald green," he remarked, gesturing toward her gown.

"And you were right," she replied, standing and doing a small twirl. "It does bring out my eyes."

Faris smiled, but there was a flicker of something softer in his gaze. "Tumhari aankhein kisi bhi color ko khubsurat bana deti hain," he said, his voice low. (Your eyes make any color beautiful.)

Mahak stilled, her pulse quickening. "Faris, tum..." she began, but her words trailed off.

He stepped closer, brushing a strand of her hair away from her face. "Kuch mat kaho," he murmured. "Bas mujhe dekhne do." (Don't say anything. Just let me look at you.)

Her breath hitched, but she didn't move away. The space between them felt charged, each moment stretching endlessly.

Finally, she broke the tension with a playful smile. "Tumhari meeting disturb karne ka worth tha," she teased. (It was worth disturbing your meeting.)

Faris laughed, stepping back. "Hamesha," he replied, his voice warm. (Always.)