7:15 AM ARYAN'S PENTHOUSE
Sunlight, the kind that only exists in Dubai, cut through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting gold rectangles on the marble floor. Aryan woke not to the familiar emptiness, but to a quiet fullness. The silence had changed texture overnight no longer hollow, just peaceful.
On his bedside table, next to a half-empty glass of water, sat the wedding group photo from last night. Six faces under fairy lights, smiling with the ease of old wounds finally healed. He touched the glass over Meera's face, then Rohan's, then his own. His reflection in the photo's glass looked… lighter.
In the kitchen, the coffee machine hissed its morning song. As he waited, his eyes caught the roll of blueprints on the counter, held together by a simple rubber band. He hadn't noticed them last night.
He unrolled them carefully.
They were designs for his office expansion the one he'd vaguely discussed with a new architectural firm two weeks ago. But these weren't just plans; they were visions. Vertical gardens breathing life into steel, sunlight channels cutting through conference rooms, a rooftop terrace that seemed to hover over the city. In the margins, elegant handwriting noted sustainable materials, energy calculations, even employee wellbeing ratios.
A small notecard fluttered out:
*For your new office concept.
Coffee to discuss?
N.*
He traced the 'N' with his thumb. Smiled. Genuinely. For the first time in years, a morning held possibility instead of memory.
9:30 AM SETH & MALHOTRA CONSULTANCY
The office hummed with Monday morning energy. Aryan's good mood lasted exactly ninety minutes.
Rishi burst through his door without knocking, face pale, tie askew. "They're gone. All three projects."
Aryan looked up from the blueprints he'd been studying. "Who?"
"Al Jazeera Holdings. They pulled out an hour ago. Emailed, didn't even call." Rishi dropped a tablet on the desk. "Desert Falcon Capital underbid us by exactly fifteen percent. They knew our numbers, Ary. Knew our margins, our client notes, our presentation timelines."
The warmth from the morning evaporated. "Show me."
The evidence was damning. Desert Falcon's proposal mirrored theirs with surgical precision same project phasing, same risk assessments, even the same unique sustainability metrics Aryan had developed. But with a fifteen percent cost reduction that was mathematically impossible unless…
"They have our supplier contracts," Aryan said quietly. "They know what we pay for materials."
Rishi scrolled to another document. "Security logs show data accessed from our server at 3 AM, four days ago. User code: RM-7."
Aryan froze. "That's your code."
"I was at the wedding venue until 4 AM that night. You saw me. We were all together."
"Who else has your access?"
"No one. But…" Rishi hesitated. "Vikram's design firm did Desert Falcon's rebrand last month. He was in the office two weeks ago for the security upgrade meeting. He could've…"
"Don't." Aryan stood, walking to the window. The Burj Khalifa stood tall and indifferent. "Schedule an emergency meeting. Everyone. Now."
"Even Vikram?"
"Especially Vikram."
11:15 AM SANDS & BEANS COFFEE SHOP
The coffee shop was his sanctuary glass walls, quiet jazz, the distant dance of the Dubai Fountain. Today, it felt like a trap.
He ordered his usual black coffee, turned, and saw her.
Nura.
She sat at the corner window table, blueprints spread before her like an architect's confession. Today she wore sleek black, hair pulled back, sharp glasses that she removed as their eyes met. Recognition flashed between them unplanned, inconvenient.
She gestured to the empty chair.
He approached slowly, the blueprint on her table identical to the one from his kitchen.
"I was hoping you'd come here," she said without looking up. "Your assistant said it's your 11 AM ritual when the world feels heavy."
He sat. "The vertical garden concept is brilliant. But this isn't a good time for design consultations."
She finally met his gaze. "I know. The Al Jazeera Holdings fallout." She closed her portfolio. "My firm consulted with Desert Falcon Capital last month. Rebranding their corporate identity."
Silence stretched between them. The coffee machine hissed.
"Convenient timing," Aryan said, his voice cool.
Nura leaned forward. "I didn't share your data. But I reviewed their new proposal designs yesterday." She pulled out a tablet, showed him schematics. "See these margin calculations in the footer? These are your proprietary formulas."
Aryan stared at the evidence his own work, stolen and repackaged. "Who at your firm handled this account?"
"I did. And I reported the ethical breach to my partners this morning." Her gaze stayed steady. "They're not pleased. I'm risking my firm's biggest client to tell you this."
"Why?"
She hesitated, then opened a different file on her tablet. "I reviewed your company's philanthropy portfolio last night. The women's coding initiative in Ras Al Khaimah. The clean water projects in three African countries." She looked up, her eyes softening. "Most billionaires in this city commission pretty buildings. You build hope. Don't let thieves steal that too."
Aryan studied her face the earnest intensity, the professional calm masking what seemed like genuine outrage. "What do you want in return?"
"To design your new office. Properly. Ethically." She slid a business card across the table. "There's a networking event tonight at the Museum of the Future. Desert Falcon's CEO will be there. So will your team."
On the back of her card, handwritten: Trust is the hardest blueprint to draft.
"And you?" he asked.
"I'll be there. Officially for Desert Falcon. Unofficially…" She stood, gathering her things. "Watch everyone tonight. Especially the people you're not watching."
At the door, she paused. "One more thing. Your security codes were changed last week. Who suggested the upgrade?"
She left.
Aryan sat frozen, the card warm in his hand.
Rishi had suggested the security upgrade.
Rishi whose code was used in the breach.
Rishi who was at the wedding all night.
Rishi who had loved Anaya silently.
Rishi who had access to everything.
He pulled out his phone, texted: Emergency meeting. My office. Now.
Then he looked at Nura's card again. At her elegant handwriting. At the warning she'd given without being asked.
For eight years, he'd lived with the ghost of an "almost."
Now, in a coffee shop smelling of roasted beans and possible betrayal, he wondered if some ghosts weren't memories at all.
Maybe they were warnings wearing familiar faces.