Chapter 9: Dead Man Alive
The next morning, Aslam arrived at the office with a peculiar spring in his step. After the madness of the previous night—the Black Card and the mysterious silhouette on the news—he expected the atmosphere to be electric. He had spent his morning commute practicing a "cool and indifferent" expression, ready for whatever game Heer decided to play today.
But the moment he stepped onto the floor, the "cool" look melted away.
The office was in a state of quiet panic. Usually, by this time, the rhythmic sound of Heer's heels would be echoing from the upper level, keeping everyone on their toes. Today, there was only the frantic clicking of keyboards and the sound of Jack's heavy sighing.
Aslam's eyes drifted upward. Perched above the main floor was the glass-walled cabin that belonged to the Boss. It was the "throne" of the department, usually glowing with light and activity. Now, it was dark. The blinds were half-drawn, and the leather chair sat perfectly still and empty.
"She's not here," Jack muttered, appearing at Aslam's side with a stack of papers that looked like they were about to collapse. "No call, no email, nothing. The HR department is losing their minds because there are three urgent approvals sitting on her desk."
Aslam kept his gaze fixed on the empty glass cabin. "She's never late. Did anyone check the parking lot?"
"First thing we did," Jack replied, sounding genuinely worried. "Her car isn't there. It's like she vanished into thin air after she walked out of that restaurant last night. Ben even tried calling her personal line, but it goes straight to a busy tone."
Aslam leaned back against his desk, staring up at the dark office. Without Heer up there watching them, the building felt strangely hollow. The freedom from her teasing should have felt good, but instead, it felt like a warning. He kept thinking about her face when she saw the news—the way her professional mask had shattered for just a split second.
"Maybe she just took a personal day," Aslam said, though he didn't believe it.
"Heer? A personal day?" Jack let out a dry, nervous laugh. "That woman would show up to work in the middle of a hurricane just to make sure we formatted our spreadsheets correctly. Something is wrong, Aslam. I can feel it."
Aslam nodded slowly, his eyes still locked on the empty cabin. He felt it too. A heavy, nagging silence was settled over the room.
The morning had been strange, but as the clock struck 2:00 PM, the atmosphere shifted from curious to suffocating. Aslam had just finished a tasteless lunch when his phone vibrated in his pocket. It was his younger brother, Asif.
"Assalamu Alaikum, Asif," Aslam said, trying to keep his voice steady. "How are you?"
The only response was a jagged, breaking sob. Aslam's blood turned to ice. "Asif? What... what happened? Is everything all right? Tell me!"
"Bhai..." Asif's voice was barely a whisper through the tears. "Abbu... he's so unwell. Ever since he came home from the factory yesterday, he couldn't breathe. We brought him to the emergency ward."
Aslam stood up so abruptly his chair screeched against the floor. "What? Where are you now?"
"We are at the hospital, Bhai. It's bad."
"Don't worry, stay calm," Aslam urged, though his own hands were shaking. "What did the doctors say?"
Asif's crying intensified, a sound of pure terror. "Asif! Tell me!" Aslam commanded.
"They say he needs urgent surgery... right now," Asif gasped. "They said if we don't start within the hour... he won't survive."
The world seemed to tilt. The office, the desks, the sound of the AC—everything vanished. "What... Asif, listen to me. Tell the doctors to start the surgery immediately. Tell them I am sending the money right now. Do you hear me? Don't let them stop!"
"Okay, Bhai... please hurry," Asif sobbed before the line went dead.
Aslam stood frozen. His mind was a rollercoaster of panic. The ground beneath his feet felt like it had turned to sand. He checked his bank balance—a measly few thousand rupees. The surgery cost was a mountain, and he was standing at the bottom with nothing.
Desperate, he called everyone he knew. Parwaiz, Jameel, Adeel, and Sheraz. His friends didn't hesitate; they emptied their pockets, offering every cent of their savings. But even combined, the amount was a drop in the ocean compared to what the hospital demanded.
Aslam slumped against a wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. What do I do? What do I do?
Suddenly, like a bell ringing in the darkness, a memory flashed in his mind. He saw Heer's face in the dim light of the restaurant, her eyes cold and serious.
"If you change your mind, let me know. I have sent the contract to your private email."
Aslam pulled up the file on his phone. His eyes blurred as he read the terms. It felt like he was looking at a document designed to kill his soul. To sign this was to sell his life, his freedom, and his pride to a woman he barely understood.
I can't do this, he thought. I can't.
But then he saw his father's face. He heard Asif's crying. His inner voice screamed: You have to do this, Aslam! For your family! For your father!
He dialed Heer's number. Busy. He called again. No response.
Panic turning into madness, he rushed to her home address listed in the company's emergency files—a high-end apartment complex in the city center. He arrived breathless and sweating.
"The lady in 4B—Heer," Aslam demanded of the watchman. "Is she upstairs?"
The watchman shook his head. "She hasn't been home since she left for the office yesterday morning, Sir. Her parking spot has been empty all night."
Aslam felt the last thread of hope snap. He stared at the building, a chilling realization hitting him. This was her 'official' address, the one on her HR files, but it was just a front. A woman with an infinite Black Card didn't live in a standard 4B apartment. She had another place—a secret world he couldn't even find on a map.
"Are you sure?" Aslam pressed, shoving a few notes into the man's hand. "Think carefully!"
The man pocketed the money and nodded firmly. "100%. Her car hasn't entered the gate. The apartment is empty."
Aslam searched everywhere—every cafe, every park, every place he thought a woman like her might go. The sun began to set, the sky turning a bruised purple, and the time for the surgery was running out.
Finally, exhausted and broken, Aslam found himself at the edge of the sea. He collapsed onto a bench, the sound of the waves mocking his failure. He buried his face in his hands, hot tears finally escaping. The guilt was eating him alive. My father is going to die because of me. Because I was too proud.
"Why?" he screamed into the wind, his voice cracking. "Aaaaahhh! Why is this happening to me? What did I do wrong?"
He sat there on the soil of the beach, his spirit crushed. He was a dead man breathing.
The scent of expensive perfume cut through the salty sea air. Aslam froze. He slowly looked up, his eyes red and hollow. Standing there, framed by the dying light of the sun, was Heer. She looked tired, but her eyes were as sharp as ever.
She didn't say a word. She just watched him as he sat hunched on the soil, looking up at her with a gaze that had no life left in it.
"I'm ready," he said, his voice a ghost of itself. "I'll marry you. I'll sign the contract. But you have to do something for me too."
Heer's expression didn't change, but a faint, dark glint appeared in her eyes. The trap had finally snapped shut.
[End of Chapter 8]