When Amal finds out that her disastrous Tinder match is now going to be her boss, she can't be more annoyed. Qais Ahmed is everything she never wants to be: narcissistic, manipulative and arrogant.

However, despite her relentless efforts, she is unable to resist his charm and wit and is drawn to him once she gets to know the real him.

She soon discovers that he isn't just a part of her professional life but has a deep connection to a past she is trying to forget.

Will this disturbing secret tear them apart or bind them together forever?

Read an excerpt from The World Between Us below:

I was a child prodigy with an IQ score that was way higher than that of other kids' of my age group. I am an only child. My father, Ahmed Butt, is a leading businessman in Lahore, which is why I was born with the proverbial silver spoon in my mouth. However, I am not apologetic for being born into a rich household.

I did have a rich family, but it was more dysfunctional than most of my friends' families. My father, a busy person, was away from home a lot on business tours, while my mother, who suffered from a mental illness (according to the doctors' diagnoses), remained at home, alone. Sensing that my mother was incapable of raising me, my father had hired a caretaker for me; he was my father's closest confidant, and I called him Ghulam Chacha. He has been with me for as long as I can remember.

I realize now that my mother missed her husband a lot and yearned for his love and attention. He showered her with expensive gifts instead; extravagant baubles that he bought for her from various countries around the world. He thought money and gifts would keep her happy and satisfied, but that was not what she wanted. If only my father had understood that money could not buy happiness, not for her at least.

I usually found her alone in the study, rocking back and forth in the rocking chair, the light of the dim lamp casting a glow on her pale face. She lived on medication and antidepressants, rarely spoke to anyone in the house and spent most of her time in her bedroom when she was not in the study. When my father wasn't around, she skipped meals and consequently grew weaker by the day. Seeing her lonely and sad made me miserable. I remember standing in the doorway of her bedroom and staring at her for hours on end. At the tender age of four, I needed her love and attention.

When Ghulam Chacha informed Dad about my mother's increasing frailty, he arranged for an appointment with a new psychiatrist, who prescribed a few more sleeping pills and relaxers and reassured Dad that my mother would soon recover.

However, the medication only worsened her condition because she stopped getting out of bed altogether—her meals were brought to her and the maids and carers gave her sponge baths, changed her clothes and looked after her needs. I, on the other hand, grew increasingly worried about her deteriorating condition and a sadness began to creep into my heart, leaving me depressed and consequently affecting my studies adversely.

I spent most of my time at my mother's bedroom door, watching her sleep. My window into her world diminished by the day and I missed her even more. I relayed whatever I needed to say to her through Ghulam Chacha. He was the one who tended to my needs, ensured that I ate on time and studied. Despite my cavalier attitude towards my academics, I managed to do well in my exams,astonishing my teachers with my effortless excellence: I would sit in the examination hall after casting a cursory glance at the textbooks. That's when people realized that I was a child prodigy, as mentioned above.

One day, I returned from school to find my mother sitting up in bed, her back resting against the headboard. Her cheeks were hollow, her face far more wrinkled than her age warranted and the dark circles around her sunken eyes stood out starkly on her porcelain skin. She was leafing through a photo album. She smiled when she noticed me and gestured me to come sit beside her. Delighted, I slipped my school satchel from my shoulder, let it drop to the floor and quickly went to sit by her bedside.

'Have you seen these pictures, my boy?' she asked, caressing my cheek with her cold hand.

'Yes, I have,' I had pored over these family photo albums numerous times in the past.

'Did you see how happy your parents looked in these pictures?' she asked, touching the pictures with wrinkled fingers.

'Yes,' I nodded.

'I wish I could be happy again . . .' she whispered, blinking back her tears.

Will Amal fall in love with Qais? Read The World Between Us  to find out!