Owned by Billionaire

A whole week passed since that strange visit to the middle-class neighborhood—since her. Mujtaba hadn't spoken about it to anyone, not even Zayan, who had noticed something unusual in his boss's silence lately.

On a crisp Thursday afternoon, the buzz of the luxury hotel lobby in Lahore grew slightly louder as a sharply dressed man entered. He had deep brown eyes, a confident stride, and a charming smile on his face. His name was Adnan Akbar, and he was back from the UK after two long years.

A waiter immediately approached him."Sir, Mr. Khan is expecting you. Please, this way."

Mujtaba was already seated in the private lounge of his own five-star hotel, the one that bore his name in golden letters. He was skimming through a few documents, dressed in all black as usual—his watch expensive, his presence commanding.

As Adnan walked in, Mujtaba stood up with a rare smile.

"Finally," Mujtaba said, pulling him into a brief hug. "Look who decided to leave the Queen behind."

Adnan laughed. "And look who still acts like a mafia boss every damn time I see him."

Mujtaba smirked and gestured for him to sit. "How's married life?"

Adnan dropped onto the velvet seat and groaned. "Beautiful, chaotic, and very loud. Her chappals fly faster than bullets, bro."

Mujtaba let out a small chuckle.

Their drinks were served—black coffee for Mujtaba, and green tea for Adnan.

"I missed this," Adnan said, looking around. "The view, Islamabad's madness… and you. Your face still looks like someone owes you money."

Mujtaba raised an eyebrow.

Adnan leaned forward, suddenly serious. "You okay though? You seem a little… off."

Mujtaba paused for a moment, swirling his coffee.

"A week ago, I went to one of the donation drop-offs myself. Didn't send anyone. I just... felt like it."

Adnan raised a brow. "That's unusual."

"There was a girl," Mujtaba said, his voice low. "Modest. Hijab. Black shalwar kameez. Fair, with hazel eyes. High cheekbones."

Adnan leaned back slowly, surprised. "You remember that many details? Damn."

"She looked straight into my eyes," Mujtaba murmured. "And asked my name."

Adnan blinked. "Okay. So?"

"No one asks my name, Adnan. No one dares."

A long silence hung in the air.

"Did it bother you?" Adnan asked, curiously.

"It didn't bother me. It just... hasn't left my mind," Mujtaba admitted. "She wasn't scared. Not really. She was cautious. Brave in her own way."

Adnan gave a knowing grin. "So... intrigued?"

"No," Mujtaba denied quickly, his jaw tight. "Just... surprised."

Adnan smirked. "Right. Surprised. That's exactly how all love stories start, isn't it?"

Mujtaba rolled his eyes.

Mujtaba leaned back in the leather armchair, fingers loosely curled around the untouched coffee mug. Across from him, Adnan settled in with a half-smirk tugging at his lips.

"You know," Adnan said, breaking the silence, "London feels too polished sometimes. No one talks straight. Everyone's either too sensitive or too fake. I missed this… just talking without filters."

Mujtaba raised an eyebrow. "So you missed my charming insults?"

Adnan grinned. "Exactly. You still drink your coffee like a psychopath though—no sugar, no milk. I'm convinced you're punishing your taste buds for existing."

Mujtaba chuckled under his breath. "Bitterness suits me."

"Yeah well," Adnan said, sipping his own cappuccino, "I'd prefer you bitter than buried."

That made Mujtaba look up, eyes narrowing just a little. "I'm not dying, Adnan."

"You're not living either," Adnan replied, no smile this time. "You walk around like a ghost. The Mujtaba I knew—he used to laugh so hard it echoed across the campus."

Silence.

"You really think I'm still the same?" Mujtaba asked, voice quieter now.

"No," Adnan said honestly. "You're colder. Sharper. But somewhere deep inside, the old you's still alive. Just… buried under too much silence."

There it was — a small, almost invisible nod from Mujtaba.

"You're a terrible therapist," Mujtaba muttered.

"Ouch" Adnan replied.

Mujtaba chuckled.

The food arrived — sizzling platters of grilled meat, garlic naan, creamy handi, and a side of chilled mint lemonade.

Adnan picked up a piece of seekh kebab, took a bite, and let out a low whistle.

"Damn," he muttered with a grin. "Didn't know your hotel served actual food and not just overpriced decoration."

Mujtaba smirked as he sliced into his grilled chicken. "You still eat like you haven't seen a meal in ten years."

"I was married," Adnan replied dramatically, wiping his hands. "For six months, I lived on quinoa and grilled sadness. This—" he pointed at the food, "—this is home."

Mujtaba chuckled. "So that's why you came back from London?"

"No, but your hotel's not bad. Honestly," Adnan replied.

Mujtaba raised an eyebrow, a corner of his lip twitching. "Was that a compliment or a veiled insult?"

"Both," Adnan grinned.

There was a pause as they both focused on eating for a few minutes. Comfortable silence, not forced.

Adnan leaned back finally, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "But seriously, man. I'm proud of you. You didn't just survive... you built something from scratch. Respect."

Mujtaba didn't respond immediately. He picked up his glass, took a slow sip of water, then looked out the tall glass windows of the restaurant that overlooked the quiet city street below.

"Building is easy," he said finally. "Trusting people not to burn it all down... that's the hard part."

Adnan's gaze softened. "You talking about business? Or something... someone?"

Mujtaba didn't answer.

"Don't tell me you're in love with some one" Adnan teased.

"Love isn't for me" Mujtaba replied looking at Adnan.

"Nah, someday you'll find some one like I did" Adnan said playfully.

Mujtaba smiled slightly "You're still the same"

"Of course I am"

Scene: Outside the Hotel 

The sky was a shade of bruised purple, and the streets were thinning out. Mujtaba's black Mercedes glided out of the underground parking, the city lights reflecting off its polished frame.

Adnan was in the passenger seat, lazily scrolling through his phone.

"You really don't listen to music in your car?" he asked, annoyed by the silence.

Mujtaba barely glanced at him. "Noise distracts me."

But before Adnan could roast him, a sudden thud hit the front side of the car. Mujtaba slammed the brakes.

A girl had stumbled right into their path arms full of books and grocery bags, now scattered across the road.

"What the-" Adnan snapped upright.

Both doors flung open. Mujtaba and Adnan stepped out quickly. A few cars honked and swerved past.

The girl stood up, brushing off her abaya. A long, flowy black kamasha (niqab) covered her completely — only her eyes visible. There she was-Noor ul Huda.

Adnan crouched down, already picking up her things 

"Miss, are you alright?" Mujtaba's voice was calm but alert.

Noor looked up. Her eyes widened. She recognized him instantly.

Mujtaba's brows narrowed as realization hit him too.

"You," he said, voice low.

She didn't respond.

He stepped forward. "You should be careful," he added.

Adnan, holding the grocery bag, looked between the two. "You two know each other?"

Noor quickly shook her head. "I'm fine. Thank you."

And just like that she gathered her things and walked off.

Adnan leaned closer to Mujtaba as she disappeared into the street.

"That wasn't random," he murmured. "Who was she?"

"She is the girl I told you about" Mujtaba looked at the spot where she had vanished and added "Let's go"

"To her?" Adnan asked playfully.

Mujtaba rolled eyes and chuckled. "I mean let's go back"