The cab ride home felt like a blur as Nadra replayed the elevator encounter with Kamal in her mind. The way his deep, smooth voice had wrapped around her name, the steady, commanding aura that seemed to fill the small space—all of it left a lingering warmth in her chest that she couldn't quite shake. She had never been drawn to older men, yet Kamal's presence was magnetic, his confidence intoxicating.
As soon as she got back to her studio, she tried to refocus. She had an unfinished piece waiting for her, a project she'd been pouring herself into for weeks. She picked up her brushes, ready to dive back into the calm of her painting fog. But her mind kept drifting back to Kamal—the way he'd looked at her with that subtle, knowing gaze that made her pulse quicken.
After a few frustrated minutes, she sighed and grabbed her phone. Before she could second-guess herself, she typed "Kamal Rayan" into Google. Instantly, her screen filled with articles and images, each headline echoing his name. She tapped on one, skimming through details about his career—how he'd turned Rayan Corps into a global leader in just over a decade, his strategic acquisitions, and the bold moves that had made him a legend in his field. She scrolled down and found more about his personal life: he was forty, a fact that confirmed her earlier suspicion, and had once been married to the actress Xuby. Their high-profile divorce four years ago had made waves in the tabloids, but there hadn't been any scandal, no drawn-out legal battles. He was an enigma, composed and private even in the spotlight.
She scrolled through pictures, lingering on one where he was standing in a tuxedo, his gaze sharp, his posture effortless yet intense. Another photo showed him in a casual suit, smiling faintly, and she felt a pang in her chest. There was something about him—something she couldn't explain, yet desperately wanted to.
Realizing she was getting lost in the digital image of him, she finally dropped her phone, chiding herself. "He's just a man," she murmured, but her heart didn't seem to listen.
With a deep breath, she turned back to her canvas, determined to shake off her distraction. She mixed bright hues, allowing her hands to work without thought, letting the colors flow and the image reveal itself. For the next few hours, she poured herself into her work, each stroke a release, a way to empty her mind of Kamal's image.
When she finally stepped back, the daylight had begun to fade, casting a soft glow over the room. She looked at her canvas, her breath catching. She hadn't planned any specific form, and yet, there it was: a bold, striking silhouette. Her pulse quickened as she took in the features—broad shoulders, a faint suggestion of a suit jacket, and the subtle hint of a profile that mirrored his sharp, defined jawline. She had painted him.
Nadra's cheeks heated as she studied the figure, trying to brush it off as coincidence. But deep down, she knew it was anything but.
—
Nadra was stirring the pot, watching the noodles and vegetables simmer as she added a splash of soy sauce, when she heard the familiar sound of her mom's heels clacking on the hallway tiles. Moments later, Zara appeared in the doorway, sighing dramatically as she toed off her heels, her face weary but softened by a small smile.
"Something smells good," Zara said, peering over Nadra's shoulder at the pot. "Is that my favorite stir-fry?"
Nadra gave her a gentle nudge. "Mom, go sit down. I'm almost done."
Zara smiled gratefully and sank into a chair at the small dining table. Nadra plated their dinner, adding noodles, stir-fried veggies, and a sprinkling of sesame seeds before grabbing a pair of chopsticks and handing them to her mom. Zara took them with a tired smile, and together they dug in.
"So, how was work?" Nadra asked between bites, keeping her tone casual.
Zara shrugged, swirling her chopsticks around her noodles. "Same old, same old. A few investors came in today, but nothing I haven't handled before." Her expression seemed relaxed, but Nadra noticed the slightest flicker of tension in her mom's eyes.
Gathering her courage, Nadra took a deep breath, then tried to sound as nonchalant as possible. "I… I didn't know you worked for the Kamal Rayan."
The chopsticks paused mid-air. Zara's gaze sharpened, her brow lifting in suspicion. "Why do you sound so interested?" She shook her head, as if catching on. "Nadra, I hope you aren't getting any… ideas."
Nadra stammered, a faint blush creeping over her cheeks. "What? No, I'm just—curious, that's all. I had no idea you worked for someone like him."
Zara set her chopsticks down, her gaze steady. "Listen, Nadra. Kamal's not the kind of man you should be curious about. He's… complicated. Too old for you, for one. And he's constantly surrounded by women hoping to win his attention. Trust me, it's better not to get involved."
Nadra bit her lip, trying to play it off. "Mom, I just said I was curious. Nothing happened."
Her mom's expression softened, but her eyes remained skeptical. "Really?" Zara's tone was pointed. "Are you sure you're not trying to hide anything?"
Nadra squirmed, deciding it was best to be honest—at least, mostly. "We… we just talked. Nothing special, I swear. It was a civil conversation. That's it."
Zara gave her a skeptical hum, watching her daughter with a knowing look. "All right," she said slowly, though she didn't sound entirely convinced. "But I'm serious, Nadra. Kamal isn't just some charming stranger. He's a powerful man who has seen the world—and likely been through more than you can imagine."
Nadra forced a nod, her mind already drifting back to the strange, intense chemistry she'd felt in the elevator. "I get it. I do." Still her mind remained on Kamal Rayan.