Mustafa had spent the better part of his morning in the office, furiously working through the bug that Danish had alerted him to. After hours of debugging, running checks, and collaborating with his team, they were finally able to troubleshoot the issue successfully. Mustafa leaned back in his chair as Danish, feeling relieved, gave him an appreciative nod. "Thanks for jumping on this so quickly, Mustafa. Tumne sab sambhaal liya."

Mustafa gave a cold, almost dismissive nod, his mind already elsewhere. Though he knew Danish wasn't to blame for the situation that morning, the call had ruined his plans with Sharjeena. He couldn't help but feel irritated, even if it was irrational.

By noon, as the pressure of work lifted and the worry of staying late disappeared, Mustafa felt a little more in control. He had been dreading the possibility of having to cancel his plans again, but now that the work was under control, he sighed in relief. Without wasting time, he pulled out his phone and texted Sharjeena, "What time should I pick you up this evening?" His thumb hovered over the send button, nerves creeping in. He feared she'd reply with something like "Don't bother" or say she already had plans.

But her response came quickly: 6 pm.

A grin broke out across Mustafa's face, and he couldn't help but stare at the screen, feeling a warmth spread through him. He replayed the moment, the way she had responded so quickly. For a few seconds, he felt lighter than he had in weeks. His grin didn't go unnoticed, though—his colleagues, sitting nearby, glanced at him curiously.

"Kya baat hai, Mustafa. Zara humein bhi toh bataao?" one of his colleagues teased, but Mustafa, feeling suddenly self-conscious, simply glared at him.

"Tum logon ke paas apne kaam nahi hain kya karne ko", he snapped and spun his chair around to face the window.

He couldn't help it. He had felt disconnected from her for so long that this small interaction meant more than it should. "5 baje tak nikal jaaunga" he muttered to himself, checking the clock. That way, he would have enough time to beat the traffic and not keep her waiting. His mind wandered as he scrolled through his phone, and before long, he found himself looking at pictures of Sharjeena. Most of the photos were candid shots he had taken over a month ago—before everything started to feel distant between them.

One picture stood out: Sharjeena sitting on the balcony, reading a book, her hair falling over her face in soft waves. She had been wearing one of his oversized t-shirts, completely absorbed in her own world, and Mustafa had secretly snapped the photo, wanting to capture the moment. Another one showed her gardening, a content smile on her face as she tended to the plants. These little moments were what Mustafa cherished most about her, but they seemed so far away now, like echoes from another time.

His fingers hovered over one particular photo—Sharjeena, standing in front of the mirror, applying makeup. Her kohl-lined eyes, deep and expressive, had always been one of the first things that caught his attention when they'd first met. She was wearing a pair of delicate earrings, her expression thoughtful as she got ready for a dinner. Mustafa's heart ached as he looked at the image. "Duniyaa ki sabse khubsurat larki, meri biwi, meri Sharjeena", he thought, running his thumb over her face on the screen, tracing the outline of her features. How had he gone weeks without taking another picture, without appreciating her the way he used to?

A wave of guilt hit him. He had been so consumed by work, by his obsession with financial security, that he had let these simple, beautiful moments slip through his fingers. He set that picture as his new wallpaper, determined not to let his distractions pull him away again.

As the clock ticked toward 5 pm, Mustafa kept glancing at it, anticipation building. He was ready to leave, ready to make things right, even if it was a small step. He just hoped it wouldn't be too late.

Around 4:30 pm, Mustafa wrapped up the last of his tasks, taking a final walk around his team to check if any issues needed attention. Danish and a few others began talking about weekend plans in between. Danish mentioned something about hitting the gym, while another colleague, Aamir, shared plans about going out of town.

As they laughed and chatted, Mustafa's phone buzzed on his desk. The screen lit up with a notification, revealing the new wallpaper he had set earlier: the picture of Sharjeena in front of a mirror, eyes outlined perfectly in kohl, lost in thought.

Aamir caught a glimpse of the photo and leaned closer, grinning. "Yeh tumhari biwi hai, Mustafa?" he asked, the curiosity in his tone making Mustafa look up.

Mustafa felt an odd mix of pride and possessiveness surge inside him as he nodded. "Haan."

There was something in Aamir's expression—just a fleeting look of admiration, or maybe something more—that made Mustafa's hands clench. It wasn't the first time someone looked at Sharjeena like that, or that Aamir said anything disrespectful, but the way his eyes lingered a little too long on the photo ignited a flicker of possessiveness.

Aamir quickly caught on to Mustafa's change in demeanor. His grin faltered, and he put his hands up defensively, realizing he had unintentionally crossed a line. "Bhaai, mera koi aur matlab nahi tha. Main toh bas...you know, she's really pretty. You're a lucky guy."

Mustafa's glare didn't soften. The rational part of him knew Aamir wasn't really out of line, but in that moment, the possessiveness won over. He gave Aamir one last warning look before shrugging on his jacket, gathering his things, and walking out of the office, ignoring the half-hearted attempts Aamir made to smooth things over.

As he stepped outside into the cool air, the anger still simmered. But mixed in with that was a different feeling—pride. Yeah, she's beautiful. And she's mine, he thought to himself. Mustafa pushed the thought away and focused on getting to her on time. It was nearly 5 pm, and the only thing that mattered now was making sure he showed up for her—like he had promised.

Mustafa arrived at Sharjeena's office before 6 pm, his eyes scanning the parking lot. He watched a man struggle with parallel parking, shaking his head at the amateur display. His hand almost instinctively twitched, ready to step in and take control of the situation. But before he could act on that impulse, something else caught his attention.

There she was—Sharjeena, walking out of the office building. His heart should have lightened at the sight of her, but instead, it tightened when he saw Rehan beside her. The two were laughing, Rehan standing too close for Mustafa's liking, and their interaction seemed intimate, an inside joke shared between them. Mustafa's blood boiled as he noticed how free-spirited Sharjeena appeared, her face glowing with laughter—laughter he hadn't heard in a long time.

Even earlier, before things started to go the way they were now, Sharjeena was known to be a serious, no-nonsense person around everyone who used to laugh like that with him, only him. But now? Rehan was the one making her laugh like that.

As soon as Sharjeena spotted Mustafa, her smile faltered. Mustafa's gaze, however, was locked on Rehan, his eyes burning with barely-contained anger. Sharjeena walked toward Mustafa, her steps hesitant, Rehan trailing close behind. Mustafa stood up from his bike, his entire focus shifting to the man walking with his wife.

"Mustafa, yeh Rehan hai, mera colleague," Sharjeena began awkwardly. "Rehan, yeh hai...". Before she could finish, Mustafa cut in, his voice cold and controlled, "Mustafa, Sharjeena ka shohar."

Rehan, a bit taken aback, processed the tension in the air. He quickly extended his hand toward Mustafa, wearing a polite smile. "So nice to finally meet you," Rehan said. Mustafa shook his hand, gripping it a little too firmly, his thoughts darkening for a moment, considering how easily he could crush Rehan's fingers. But he held back, his eyes never leaving Rehan's face.

Rehan, being the naive person that he was, ever oblivious to the tension, continued to speak, trying to ease the awkwardness. "I've heard so much about you, Mustafa. A game developer, right? That's really impressive. I mean, Sharjeena ne toh pehle hi itna impress kar diya tha, apne kaam se, reading habits se, and fir aaj apne cooking se."

The mention of Sharjeena's cooking triggered something primal in Mustafa. Food was sacred in their relationship, an intimate love language between them. Mustafa had always believed that the meals she prepared were made with love just for him. Even though everyone admired Sharjeena's cooking skills all the time and Mustafa would always take pride in it, hearing Rehan speak about it felt like a violation, as though something personal had been stolen from him.

Mustafa's lips curled into a cold, bitter smile as the fire raged in his chest. Rehan, seemingly unaware of the growing tension, added cheerfully, "You're a really lucky guy, Mustafa."

That was it. Mustafa could barely contain the flood of conflicting emotions. He let out a short, humorless laugh, feeling more betrayed by the moment.

"You are absolutely right, Rehan." Mustafa said with a husky voice as he picked Sharjeena's hand intertwining his fingers into hers protectively and pulling her closer to him, making Sharjeena startle a little, "duniyaa ka sabse lucky insaan hoon main. And what's funny is that you are not even the first guy to remind me of this today."

Before things could escalate, Sharjeena jumped in, sensing the simmering anger.

"Humein chalna chahiye, Mustafa. We're getting late," she said, her voice tense as she tried to steer the situation away from an inevitable explosion. She gave Rehan a quick, polite smile. "Bye, Rehan."

Rehan, looking slightly apologetic for no apparent reason, waved goodbye, his cheerful demeanor softening. "Bye, Sharjeena. Bye, Mustafa, nice meeting you again," he said, before walking back toward the office building.

Mustafa's eyes followed him for a second longer, the storm still raging inside. He mounted his bike as Sharjeena climbed on behind him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder, but the warmth of her touch wasn't enough to soothe the turmoil brewing within him.