Chapter 24:Lines in the Dust

The morning sun had not yet touched the glass towers of Karachi when Zayan Khan entered Khan Global Enterprises. The city was still blinking awake, but he moved like a man already at war—with himself, with the world, with time.

No guards greeted him. No assistants followed. He moved in silence, his polished shoes echoing off the marble floors.

He didn't go to his office.

He turned left—toward the surveillance wing.

With a few keystrokes, the security terminal lit up. Camera feeds buzzed to life: grainy footage of past weeks, stored files labeled by date and time. He ignored most.

He typed in her name.

Andaleeb Shah.

Instantly, clips appeared.

The elevator malfunction.

The kitchen microwave shorting out.

The lights flickering when she walked through the hallway.

The meeting room blackout.

He clicked through each one, eyes sharp, breathing steady but shallow.

There she was—lifting her hand.

The faint blue glow.

Her expression filled the screen: wide eyes, fear, confusion.

He watched her tremble. Then watched her pretend nothing had happened. Again. And again.

Zayan leaned forward, staring at her frozen image on the monitor.

No one else had noticed what he had.

Not like he had.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then, methodically, he began deleting everything.

Every file.

Every duplicate.

Every cloud backup.

He emptied the recycle bin. Deleted from the secure archive.

He even unplugged the cloud router himself.

When he finally leaned back, the room felt colder.

He whispered, more to himself than anyone, "They can't see what I saw. They can't know."

Andaleeb's Breaking Point

It was mid-morning by the time Andaleeb arrived at the office.

Rain had caught her halfway from the café. Her sleeves were damp, curls wild with frizz, and her scarf clung to her neck. She slipped into her seat quietly, hoping no one noticed.

Of course, someone did.

Aryan, ever the comic relief, teased a nearby colleague, "Bet five bucks the power glitches again now that the storm's back."

A few people chuckled.

But one voice cut deeper. A soft, careless murmur.

"Another glitch? Must be her."

It wasn't meant to be cruel. But it was.

She didn't even look up. Just stood—too fast.

Her elbow knocked over her coffee cup. The brown liquid spilled across her desk, cascading down to the carpet. Her files soaked within seconds.

She froze.

Then bolted.

Not a word. Just the sound of hurried steps echoing toward the restroom.

Zayan watched her run.

The instinct was immediate. He stood, ignoring the murmurs, and followed her down the hallway. He didn't go inside the restroom, only stood near the door, waiting, listening.

Inside, Andaleeb leaned over the sink, gripping the porcelain basin. Her knuckles were white. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps.

She turned on the tap and splashed cold water over her face. But her hands still glowed faintly beneath the droplets.

She was losing control.

She always did when emotions got too big.

She pressed her palm against the mirror, willing the glow to stop. Willing herself to stop feeling.

Then a voice—steady, quiet—cut through the storm.

"You don't have to pretend with me."

She froze.

Slowly, cautiously, she opened the door.

Zayan was standing there.

Not pushing. Not prying.

Just waiting.

Her face was wet—rain, tears, or both, she didn't know anymore. The pendant on her chest flickered softly.

He didn't ask questions.

He didn't say a word.

He simply reached out and took her hand.

She didn't pull away.

Aleena's Boardroom Power Play

By noon, Aleena Hashmi had summoned the board to a closed-door emergency session. The long conference table gleamed beneath warm lights, and every executive seat was filled.

She stood confidently at the head, tapping her manicured nails against a folder of printed reports.

"There have been repeated malfunctions over the past month," she began, voice crisp. "Elevator breakdowns. Power fluctuations. Security breaches. Digital inconsistencies. All connected to one consistent presence—your intern."

Murmurs rippled through the room.

Zayan walked in late.

He said nothing. Just took his seat.

Aleena continued, "I propose a temporary suspension until we can properly investigate the pattern."

A few board members nodded. Another scribbled something in a leather notebook.

Zayan finally spoke. "This isn't how we handle internal assessments."

"It's not personal," she replied smoothly. "It's protocol."

He stood. "No one touches her. No investigations. No suspension. Not unless I sign off on it personally."

Aleena arched a brow. "Are you willing to stake your entire leadership credibility on a girl you barely know?"

He looked her dead in the eyes. "Yes."

The room went silent.

Aleena's voice dropped an octave. "You can't protect her forever."

Zayan's expression didn't change. "Watch me."

Aftermath – Confrontation in the Hall

After the meeting, Aleena followed Zayan out into the hallway.

She caught up to him near the glass stairwell, her heels sharp against the floor.

"You're being reckless," she hissed. "She's become your blind spot. You've changed."

Zayan didn't stop walking.

Aleena stepped in front of him, blocking his path. "You used to be careful. Strategic. Now you're deleting files, lying to the board, risking everything for a girl who doesn't even belong here—"

"She's not a threat," he snapped.

"She's a storm," Aleena said. "You're trying to shelter under something that could destroy you."

Zayan's voice was low and deadly. "Maybe. But I'll take the storm over cold calculation any day."

Aleena's eyes flickered. She flinched—just for a heartbeat.

"You'll regret this," she whispered.

He leaned in, his voice a razor's edge. "Only if I lose her."

Late Night at Zareen's Café

That evening, the café was quiet. Rain tapped gently on the windows. Soft jazz played through an old radio in the corner.

Eman and Haroon sat at the far table, bent over a projection tablet that displayed glowing alien schematics and breach levels.

Haroon frowned. "Someone accessed the satellite logs again. They used a dynamic trace-blocker this time."

"Human tech?"

He shook his head. "No. Black market crossover—government or maybe Sector Nine."

Eman's stomach twisted. "They're narrowing in."

Haroon nodded grimly. "If this continues, we'll have to prepare for an emergency jump."

Eman's eyes drifted toward the kitchen where Andaleeb was wiping down the counter.

She looked smaller somehow.

As if carrying something heavier than the sky itself.

"We might have to leave without warning," Eman whispered.

Haroon stared at the screen.

"Even if it means no goodbye."

Night Walk

The city breathed in silence.

Andaleeb walked down a quiet sidewalk, her coat pulled tight around her shoulders. The streetlights reflected off the wet pavement, casting golden halos around her steps.

The pendant against her chest pulsed gently—warm, steady.

She didn't flinch when Zayan's car pulled up beside her.

He rolled down the window. "Get in."

She did.

They didn't speak as he drove.

Not even when they passed the last set of city lights and the car slowed beside the lake on the outskirts—where silence lived between the ripples of water and stars above.

Zayan killed the engine.

The world was quiet.

Only the lake, the wind, and their heartbeats.

"I'm not made for this world," she said quietly, staring at the still water. "I don't belong here."

Zayan didn't hesitate. "But you made mine better."

She turned to him, eyes brimming.

"You don't understand the danger I bring."

"Then explain it," he said. "Trust me enough to tell me."

She shook her head, the tears spilling. "I'd rather shatter alone than see you break because of me."

Zayan reached for her, gently cupping her face.

His thumb brushed a tear away.

"I'm already broken, Andaleeb," he said. "But you make the cracks feel like they mean something."

Then he kissed her.

Not with urgency.

Not with fire.

But with something much more dangerous.

Hope.

When he pulled back, she was crying.

And he didn't let go.

Not this time.

Not ever.

End of Chapter 25