Paths Crossed

The cool morning breeze greeted Fiza Alvi as she stepped off the subway, her gray bag slung casually over her shoulder. She adjusted her hijab, and took a deep breath. It was her second day at NeuraTech—a critical step in her plan—and she was determined to maintain her composure. She walked briskly toward the glass doors of the towering building, her gaze focused and confident.

Inside the sleek lobby, the air buzzed with muted conversations and the faint hum of machinery. Fiza scanned her surroundings, taking in the sight of employees moving with purpose. This was her battlefield, and though she felt the tension of her mission pressing against her, she would not falter. She wasn't weak—just cautious.

Steeling herself, she headed toward the elevator, her mind rehearsing the day ahead. But as the doors slid open, her resolve momentarily wavered. Ibrahim Siddiqui stood inside, his tall, commanding presence impossible to ignore. Dressed sharply in a tailored suit, he exuded an air of effortless authority. Beside him was his secretary, Yousaf, holding a tablet and scribbling notes.

For a fleeting second, Fiza's heart skipped a beat. She hadn't expected to run into him so soon—not like this. *Stay calm,* she reminded herself, stepping inside and finding a spot in the corner.

Ibrahim glanced at her briefly, his piercing gaze almost unsettling, but he said nothing. Fiza lowered her eyes, focusing on the floor numbers as they ticked upward. She wasn't afraid of him—not truly—but the weight of her secret made her hyperaware of his every move. She kept her face neutral, her posture steady, unwilling to betray any sign of unease.

In the reflective surface of the elevator doors, Ibrahim noticed the young woman's quiet demeanor. Something about her struck him as unusual. She seemed composed, yet her fingers clutched her bag strap a bit too tightly. Her breathing was controlled, but the slight tension in her shoulders gave her away.

"Are you all right, miss?" Ibrahim asked casually, his voice calm yet direct.

Fiza's eyes darted to him before she quickly looked away. "Yes, thank you," she replied, her tone measured. She refused to appear flustered.

Ibrahim didn't press further but continued observing her discreetly. His instincts were sharp; he could read people well, and there was something about this woman that piqued his curiosity.

As the elevator reached the seventh floor, Ibrahim unexpectedly stepped out. Yousaf blinked in confusion. "Sir, your office is on the twelfth floor," he pointed out, following him into the hallway.

"I'll take the stairs from here," Ibrahim replied casually, adjusting his watch.

Yousaf frowned. "Stairs? Sir, you—"

"It's good for my health," Ibrahim interrupted, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He glanced back at the closing elevator doors, the image of the mysterious woman lingering in his mind.

Inside the elevator, Fiza exhaled slowly, her grip on her bag loosening. She wasn't intimidated by him, but his presence had thrown her off balance. She hadn't anticipated an encounter so soon, and she resolved to be better prepared moving forward. She reminded herself why she was here—to complete her mission and honor her family's sacrifices.

---

At his office, Ibrahim poured himself a cup of coffee, his mind replaying the brief interaction. Something about the woman's silence intrigued him. He wasn't sure why, but she didn't seem like an ordinary person.

His musings were interrupted by a call from Ayan.

"Brother!" Ayan's cheerful voice filled the room. "Guess what? I'm joining NeuraTech today."

Ibrahim raised an eyebrow, surprised. "How did Zara let that happen? She's never been supportive of you working here."

Ayan chuckled. "I think she finally gave in. Or maybe she has her reasons. Who knows? Either way, I'll see you in an hour."

Ibrahim hung up, his expression thoughtful. Zara's sudden approval didn't sit right with him. She always had an agenda. He made a mental note to keep an eye on the situation.

"Yousaf," Ibrahim called out, and his secretary stepped inside. "Bring me the resumes of all the new hires."

Yousaf returned moments later, handing him a neatly organized folder. Ibrahim flipped through the documents until his gaze landed on one resume in particular.

"Fiza Alvi," he murmured, scanning the impressive credentials. A top graduate, fluent in multiple languages, with accolades that far exceeded the requirements for her current position.

"Why did someone like her apply for an entry-level job?" Ibrahim asked, his voice sharp.

"The same question crossed my mind during her interview," Yousaf replied. "She said it was about money—she saw the listing and applied immediately."

Ibrahim's brow furrowed, skepticism flashing in his eyes. He nodded, dismissing Yousaf with a wave.

Leaning back in his chair, Ibrahim stared at the resume. Something didn't add up. People with qualifications like hers didn't take jobs like this without a reason. There was a story here, and Ibrahim intended to find out what it was.

---

Meanwhile, Fiza settled into her desk, focusing on her tasks. Her thoughts briefly flickered to Ibrahim and the near-miss in the elevator. She couldn't afford more encounters like that. For her plan to succeed, she needed to stay out of his line of sight.

But deep down, she knew avoiding him entirely would be impossible. This was just the beginning. The path she had chosen was fraught with challenges, but Fiza Alvi was not one to back down.

As she adjusted her hijab and returned to her work, her determination solidified. She was here for a reason, and no amount of nerves—or encounters with Ibrahim Siddiqui—would derail her mission.