Abbas leaned against the balcony railing of his office, the city skyline stretched out before him. The buzz of the office below-phones ringing, footsteps echoing, conversations humming-had grown grating. Most days, Abbas thrived in the chaos, managing the demands of Zehra Essentials with the efficiency of a machine.

But not today.

Today, his mind was elsewhere. On her.

He let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. Jaan. That's what she was to him, not just a term of affection but a truth he felt in every bone. Yet, she didn't seem to understand how completely she had unraveled him. Around everyone else, he was guarded, unreadable-a man of few words. But with her, he softened in ways that scared him.

"Sir, the board is waiting for you," came a voice behind him.

Abbas turned, his expression instantly hardening. He gave a curt nod, brushing past the assistant without another word. His staff knew better than to linger in his presence; his intensity kept people at a distance.

But Zehra? She had been different from the start.

Later that evening, Abbas found himself back at Zehra's apartment. He didn't ask for permission before coming; he never did. He wasn't sure why she hadn't kicked him out yet, but a part of him hoped she never would.

When she opened the door, she was barefoot, dressed in a simple kurta and leggings, her hair falling loosely over her shoulders. The sight of her like this-unpretentious and real-always caught him off guard.

"You again?" she teased, stepping aside to let him in.

Abbas smirked, slipping off his shoes. "Get used to it, jaan."

Her cheeks warmed at the nickname, but she quickly turned away, heading toward the kitchen. "I made tea. Want some?"

"Always," he replied, following her.

As she poured the tea, Abbas leaned against the counter, watching her with a soft intensity. She moved with quiet efficiency, her focus on the task at hand.

"You don't have to keep coming here, you know," she said, handing him a cup.

"And miss this?" he said, gesturing to her small but cozy kitchen. "Never."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the small smile tugging at her lips.

They settled in the living room, the tea steaming between them. Abbas leaned back on the couch, his posture relaxed in a way it never was around anyone else.

"You're quiet tonight," Zehra observed, sipping her tea.

"I'm always quiet," he said with a shrug.

"Not around me," she countered, her tone soft.

Abbas's lips twitched, and he glanced at her, his mismatched eyes thoughtful. "That's because you're different."

Her brows furrowed. "Different how?"

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to his cup. "You make it easy to be myself."

The vulnerability in his voice made her chest tighten. She wasn't used to seeing this side of him-the side that wasn't all sharp edges and impenetrable walls.

"I'm not sure how I do that," she admitted.

"You don't have to do anything," Abbas said, meeting her gaze. "You just... exist. And that's enough."

Her breath caught, and for a moment, she didn't know how to respond. Abbas wasn't the type to share his feelings easily, and hearing him speak so plainly left her unsettled in the best way.

As the evening wore on, Abbas stayed longer than usual, lingering in her space as if it were his own. Zehra didn't mind; his presence had become strangely comforting, even when they sat in silence.

At one point, she noticed him absentmindedly playing with the corner of a cushion, his brow furrowed in thought.

"Abbas," she called softly, drawing his attention.

"Hmm?"

"Do you ever get... tired of people?" she asked, her voice hesitant.

"All the time," he admitted, his lips quirking into a faint smile. "Why?"

"I don't know," she said, shrugging. "You just seem... closed off. Except when you're here."

His expression softened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "That's because you're the only person I don't feel the need to hide from."

Her heart skipped a beat, and she quickly looked away, her cheeks warming. "You're going to make me regret letting you in, aren't you?"

Abbas chuckled, the sound low and warm. "Never."

The night stretched on, the conversation flowing easily as they drifted from topic to topic. Abbas told her about his childhood again, recounting the times he had escaped to the kitchen with his father to avoid the noise of parties his mother hosted.

"Abbu always said cooking was the best therapy," Abbas said, a fond smile on his lips. "I didn't understand it then, but I do now."

"You still cook?" Zehra asked, genuinely curious.

"Not as often as I'd like," he admitted. "But I've made an exception for you."

She blinked, startled. "For me?"

Abbas shrugged, his gaze steady. "You needed someone to feed you. I'm just filling the role."

Her lips twitched with amusement. "And here I thought you were just trying to control my diet."

"Maybe a little," he said, smirking.

Zehra shook her head, laughing softly. Despite herself, she couldn't deny how much lighter she felt when he was around.

As Abbas prepared to leave, he hesitated by the door, his gaze lingering on her.

"Zehra," he said softly.

"Yes?"

"Don't let the past win," he said, his mismatched eyes holding hers. "You're too strong for that."

Her throat tightened, and she nodded, unable to find the words to respond.

Abbas reached out, his hand brushing hers for the briefest moment before he stepped back. "Goodnight, jaan."

"Goodnight," she whispered, her heart aching as she watched him walk away.

When the door closed behind him, Zehra leaned against it, her chest tightening. Abbas had a way of breaking down her walls without even trying, and she didn't know whether to fight it or let herself fall.