"This is your work. You know this is a very important project, and you're telling me you don't have any draft ready? On top of that, you lost the bloody papers. Dammit!" I banged my hand on the desk, my frustration boiling over.
"Sir, I’m sorr—"
"You’re fired."
"But—"
"Get lost!" I shouted at him. He left my cabin, looking dejected. I sat back and drank some water, trying to calm myself down. Moments later, my dad gave a knock before entering.
"So, who’s the new one who has been chopped off by my son this time?"
"It’s not like that, Dad. He lost the most important document for this project. You know how critical it is."
"But you didn’t give him any chance to explain, son."
"No one deserves a second chance, Dad."
"We are human, and humans make mistakes. You’re also human. How would you feel if other people treated you like this when you made a mistake? When you don’t have any second chance to explain yourself?"
"But Dad, you know how important this project is."
"You have to control your anger, dear. Think before you act. Otherwise, you will lose precious things or people." He said and left.
I opened my laptop and started typing, trying to shake off the conversation with my dad. But his words brought back a memory from my past that I couldn’t ignore.
"Why are you angry and why did you hit him?" she asked, her eyes wide with concern.
"Because he touched you! How dare he m***—" I stopped myself from finishing the expletive.
"Eww, Abid. Don't swear, at least not in front of me. I don't like it."
"But he deserved it," I retorted angrily. I had been on the third floor waiting for her when I heard people scream. I looked down and saw her in another man's arms. I wasn’t angry with her, I knew how innocent she was, but that man. I wanted to kill him. She stared at me with a serious look.
"What?" I asked, defensive.
We looked into each other's eyes for some time before she spoke again.
"Don't be angry, but you are very short-tempered. This is not good for your health, and you have to think before you act, Abid."
"You mean...what I did was wrong?" I challenged her.
"No, Abid. I am just saying—"
"To hell with your saying! He was touching you, for God's sake. Don't tell me you were enjoying his—"
She cut me off by placing her palm over my mouth.
"Don't you dare say that," she said angrily. Realizing what I had just implied, I felt a wave of regret wash over me. She took a deep breath to calm herself, then removed her hand.
"I am sorry," I said quietly.
She nodded and sat on the bench. I sat beside her, feeling the tension between us, and I hated it.
"Why the hell are we fighting, Beautiful?" I asked, trying to ease the atmosphere. She turned towards me and held my hand in hers.
"You have to understand, Abid. It's not always what we see that is true. Sometimes it must be—"
I didn’t let her finish as I pulled my hand away and stood up. She still thought what I did was wrong.
"I am leaving," I said, but she stood in front of me, blocking my way. I looked at her, and with all her innocence, she smiled. My anger began to melt away.
"I am sorry, sweetheart," I said. Since meeting her, two things had become my weaknesses: her smiling face and her calling me "sweetheart." A smile appeared on my face. Seeing me smile, her smile grew wider, and all my anger disappeared.
"Now, just listen to me, please," she pleaded with her innocent face. I nodded.
"He didn't do anything wrong. It's just—"
"I don't want to hear all that—" I started, but she shushed me, placing a finger on my lips.
"You have to listen. He saved me. My ankle twisted, and I was about to slip on the escalator stairs. But he saved me. He didn’t touch me on purpose; it was just a reaction to prevent an accident. Instead of thanking him for saving your girlfriend, you hit him badly," she said in one breath, then removed her finger from my lips.
"Why didn’t you tell me earlier?" I asked, feeling ashamed.
She gave me a look that said, "How could I tell you?" She had tried to explain, but I hadn't given her a chance. I was too angry to see her in another man's arms.
I should have listened to her first.
"You have to listen when someone is trying to explain something, or else you will lose precious things," she said gently.
I just nodded, feeling guilty for what I had done. I had hit that guy so badly, and now the guilt was consuming me.
"You have to learn to control your anger, Abid. Because I don't want to see my sweetheart in any guilt," she said, smiling at me. I smiled back.
How does she always know what I am thinking or feeling?
"Well, I learned, Beautiful," I said.
"How?" she asked, curious.
"Whenever I get angry, I will see your smiling face, Beautiful. And all my anger will fly away, just like it did now."
She giggled.
"And if I am not there, then?"
As someone knocked on the door, I called for them to come in. It was my assistant, delivering news of my upcoming meeting with the Dubai Sheikh at 2 o'clock at Hotel Paradise. This meeting was crucial for launching a new project in Dubai and potentially opening a new company there.
We arrived at Hotel Paradise, and after half an hour or so, the Sheikh arrived. We discussed our requirements, and finally, he agreed to the collaboration.
"It's time to celebrate. Don't you think, Habibi?" the Sheikh suggested.
"Oh, yes, of course," I agreed.
"There's a bar downstairs. Let's go and celebrate our collaboration," he suggested further.
I nodded, but I didn't want to drink. So, I excused myself and headed to the washroom. My plan was to leave the place, but as I made my way, a girl accidentally bumped into me, spilling her drink on my suit.
"I'm really sorry," she apologized in an angelic voice. I looked at her. She wore a red dress that accentuated her curves perfectly. With her curly brown hair and blue eyes, she truly looked like an angel. I nodded, intending to leave, but she held onto my arm.
"I'm extremely sorry. Please come to the washroom with me, I'll clean it for you," she pleaded, her grip tightening.
"No, it's okay," I insisted, attempting to remove her hand, but she held on more tightly.
"Please," she urged, pulling me towards the washroom. Once inside, she began cleaning my suit, but I could feel her hands wandering. She then wrapped her arms around my neck.
"You're really tough to crack, huh??" She commented, her face inches from mine. Her scent mixed with alcohol began to cloud my senses, causing me to lower my guard. I reciprocated by encircling my arms around her waist and pushing her against the side wall. She loosened my tie, her blue eyes filled with need and lust.
As I leaned in to kiss her, an image of plush pink lips flashed in my mind, causing me to hesitate. I shook my head, trying to refocus on her red lips. But once again, her smiling face intruded into my thoughts, disrupting my desire.
"What's wrong with me?" I muttered to myself.
"Is it your first time??" She asked, annoyance evident in her expression. Ignoring her question, I tightened on her waist, demanding, "Kiss me." She responded with a cocky expression before her lips met mine. They felt soft, and I struggled to immerse myself in desire. Despite my efforts, the image of light brown eyes filled with tears haunted me, suffocating every breath.
Abruptly I removed my hands and left her standing there, stunned.
"What the hell?" she shouted after me, bewildered by my sudden departure.
It was almost night when I reached home. The house was unusually quiet, filled only with the soft hum of evening sounds. Dad was waiting for me in the living room, a contemplative look on his face. He told me he would be leaving for India tomorrow. I was taken aback by the urgency and asked why he had to leave so suddenly, especially since there was no business deal on the horizon. He simply said he had some important matters to attend to.
We had dinner together, the silence between us filled with unspoken words. After a while, Dad retired to his room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I wandered into my room and lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The weight of the past four years pressed down on me.
Four years. It feels like both a lifetime and a mere moment. I don't want any cliché love relationship because I never believed in love. For me, love has always been a dirty trick played on us to ensure the continuation of the species. Deceiving others, that's what the world calls romance. But with her, everything I believed about love was proven wrong.
I still remember everything like it happened yesterday. Her laughter, the way her eyes lit up when she was happy, the warmth of her presence that filled the void I never knew existed. With her, love wasn't a trap or a deception. It was real, tangible, something that transformed the very fabric of my existence.
I remember the countless times we sat together, her hand in mine, the world around us fading into insignificance. Her smile was my refuge, her voice a melody that soothed my restless soul. She saw through the anger, the facade, and reached the vulnerable part of me I had long buried.
But as quickly as it began, it ended. The pain of losing her was a wound that never fully healed. I built walls around my heart, vowing never to let anyone in again. Love, I told myself, was not worth the heartache. Yet, every night, as I lay in bed, memories of her would flood my mind, a bittersweet reminder of what I once had and lost.
I closed my eyes, willing sleep to take me away from the torment of my thoughts. But even in the darkness, her face was there, a ghost of the past, haunting my every moment. It was a cruel irony that the very thing I tried to escape was the one thing that never left me.
I remember it like it happened yesterday. The way she pushed me against the wall and crushed her lips on mine, I could feel every emotion pouring out of her, her love, her nervousness, and mostly, her pain. My body seemed to regain every sense, and I felt an overwhelming wave of relaxation wash over me. I had never experienced anything like this before.
I instinctively held her waist, savoring the moment. But then, it was as if she suddenly regained her composure and broke the kiss, looking deeply into my eyes. My lips already missed her touch, her warmth. This was the first time we had kissed in our relationship, and now I understood what I had been missing, what I had been searching for. I wanted to kiss her again. I wanted her. I wanted to fill the empty place in my heart that I had ignored for so long.
I saw the pain in her eyes, and a lone tear traced its way down her cheek. I wanted to wipe it away, to erase all her pain and sadness. Seeing her like this, my heart ached as if it were being continuously stabbed with a knife.
She took two steps back and said something I never wanted to hear,
"Allah hafiz, Mr. Abdullah."
It was the first time she had addressed me so formally, and then she left. I wanted to stop her, to tell her how stupid I had been, that I had just realized how much I loved her. I had never known the feeling of love before meeting her, but she had changed me. She had redefined love in my life. I ran to stop her, but someone hit me hard on the head from behind.
As my vision blurred and darkness took over, I managed to shout,
"Areena!"
But it was of no use. After that, I remembered nothing.
When I regained consciousness, I was already in my room. I found out that John, my best friend, had found me unconscious and brought me back. He was the only person who knew where I was.
I didn't know who had hit me or what they wanted, but because of that, I hadn't been able to stop my beautiful Areena. I tried calling her more than a hundred times, but her phone was unreachable. She had even deactivated her Chat Book account.
For a whole year, I did everything I could to find her. I searched tirelessly, but it was all in vain. She had vanished from my life, leaving a void that nothing else could fill.
After almost seven months, I saw her at the airport. It was the last time I saw her. She looked incredibly beautiful, radiating a glow that was unmistakable. I wanted to talk to her, to explain everything, but she walked past me as if she never knew me. My heart ached, filled with an unknown fear.
She's angry with you. She has every right to behave like this. After all, you are the one who hurt her.
My inner voice tried to calm me, but I couldn't let her go without trying. I turned to stop her, but I regretted it immediately.
She was hugging another guy, and she looked genuinely happy. The guy kissed her on the forehead, and then they left together. I was rooted to the spot. My legs refused to move, and my heart ached with a profound sense of loss. The only thought running through my mind was that she had forgotten me so easily.
I knew what I did was wrong, but I had hoped she would wait for me. After all, she loved me... or did she not? A week later, I found out that the guy she was hugging was a business partner of my rival company. In that moment, a realization struck me like a dagger to the heart: she never loved me. She was just like the others, interested only in my money and fame.
I tried to console myself with this bitter thought, but deep down, it felt hollow. It felt wrong. Despite everything, a part of me still believed in her, in the love we shared. But I buried those feelings, convincing myself that I had been deceived, that she was never truly mine.
It was easier to think she had moved on for selfish reasons than to face the possibility that I had driven her away. That my own actions, my own failings, had cost me the one person who had ever made me feel truly alive.
After that, I moved to Dubai to handle my company and help my father. But now, I hate girls. My mother abandoned me and Dad, and then there was Areena, whom I truly loved.
Oscar Wilde wisely said, "A kiss may ruin a human life." I think he wrote it for me. Her first and last kiss ruined me. With that kiss, she bound me to her forever. I still remember everything about her: her smile, her big brown eyes, her plump lips, her voice, her angry face, and her long hair.
And every night, despite telling myself that I hate her, I think only about her. Her memory haunts me, filling the void she left behind. It's a constant battle between my anger and my longing, a war waged in the quiet moments when I'm alone with my thoughts.
The truth is, despite everything, I can't let go. Her memory is a part of me, intertwined with my soul. She was my first love, the one who taught me what it felt like to be truly seen, truly cared for. And even though I tell myself I hate her, the pain of losing her reminds me that deep down, I still love her.