I stepped off the elevator mid-text, heels clicking a little too fast down the executive hallway.
"Has the prodigal son returned?" I called, eyes still on my screen.
Zeynep, behind the front desk and ready as always, replied without looking up. "Look who remembered she has a brother."
I finally glanced up, smirking, and waved the pastry bag in my hand like a white flag. "Peace offering."
"If it's from Baklava Bar, you might be forgiven."
I didn't bother responding. My eyes flicked across the bullpen. Ayub's desk—already cleared. Files gone. Chair tucked in with precision. Like he'd never existed there at all.
He must have been in earlier than me. Again.
Of course.
My jaw tightened. I turned and made a beeline for Imran's office, knocking once before walking in without waiting.
Imran looked up from his screen with a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Still jet-lagged, still over-caffeinated—but when he saw what I held, he leaned back with mock reverence.
"You come bearing gifts?"
"From your favorite place," I said, setting the bag on his desk with unnecessary ceremony. "I didn't forget you."
"Sure felt like it," he muttered, pulling out the chocolate-filled krofna that was still warm enough to fog the paper. "I texted you six times."
"Three," I corrected. "And one was just a gif of a man crying into his coffee cup."
"A symbolic cry for help."
"I was busy."
"You were avoiding."
"Maybe a little of both."
He took a bite, powdered sugar already clinging to his shirt and stubble. He didn't care. I watched him chew like it was proof of my redemption.
"You're forgiven. Barely," he said with a full mouth.
I leaned back, gaze drifting around the room. The office felt exactly the way it should. Like he never left.
"I missed you," I said softly.
He looked up, startled by the sincerity. "Wow. No sarcasm. Did I die on that last flight and this is heaven?"
"Don't ruin it."
"I missed you too. Even if you pretended I didn't exist for a week."
"You're emotionally high-maintenance. I was giving you space."
"You were giving yourself space. Big difference."
I didn't argue.
We talked through the usual suspects—Caesar, sibblings, and the circus back home—before the inevitable came.
"And Mama?" Imran asked, knowing the answer would be loaded.
I grinned. "Furious with you."
He groaned. "What now?"
"She said—and I quote—'He's twenty-seven, not seventy. How many times do I have to tell him, you cannot marry your job!'"
He blinked. "She actually said that?"
"Right before accusing you of being emotionally married to your desk."
"I mean... fair."
"She said you're turning into Babo. All work, no play, no girl, no grandchildren. She's devastated."
He dragged a hand over his face. "She's being dramatic."
"No, she's being strategic. She made du'a—something about God softening stone hearts and opening stubborn eyes."
"She needs a new hobby."
"She has one. It's matchmaking. With you as the target."
"Ya Rabbi," he muttered.
"She said your ovaries are aging."
He gagged. "My what?"
"I didn't correct her. She was on a roll."
"You're enjoying this."
"Oh, immensely. I said we should start shortlisting girls who know how to make burek and survive our family."
"She's going to start leaving profiles on my pillow again, isn't she?"
"Already did. There's a girl from Zenica with a degree in economics and a documented love of cats."
"Lamija—"
"Don't worry," I said, grabbing his coffee and taking a sip. "I already gave her your resume."
"This is divine punishment."
I grinned. "For what, exactly?"
He sighed, dramatically. "For all the years I teased Ayub about having a crush on you. For all the times I used to corner him in the stables and say, 'You're going to marry my sister one day.'"
I blinked, then burst out laughing. "You did not."
"I absolutely did. I thought it was hilarious. He turned purple every time."
"You're horrible."
"Apparently the Almighty agrees."
I shook my head, still laughing.
"I'm never going to know peace again," he muttered.
"Not until you give Mama a wedding. Or at least a girlfriend. Honestly, she would settle for a rumor at this point. I'm tempted to start one."
He sighed. "You were supposed to protect me."
"No," I said, standing. "I was supposed to warn you. I did."
He didn't miss a beat. "So... what'd you think of the switch?"
And just like that, we were back to business.
I tried to hide the flash of irritation that surged at the question.
"He asked to be reassigned?" I said, too neutral.
"Begged, actually. Looked like he hadn't slept."
I crossed one leg over the other, keeping my tone light. " He didn't even wait for business day to start before attempting to jump ship. Did you approve it?"
"You think I'd let him crawl out of this now? After all these years of dramatic pining?"
I blinked. "You're ridiculous."
"And you're pretending you didn't notice the way he used to vanish when you walked into a room."
I rolled my eyes. "I thought he was just allergic to women."
"No. Just one particular woman."
I shook my head. "Imran..."
"Look," he said, more gently now. "I'm just saying... be gentle."
"I'm always gentle."
"You once made a customs agent cry."
"He called me sweetheart. In front of the board."
"I'm not judging. I'm just saying Ayub isn't Kenan. He's not playing games. He's not angling for your attention. He's been running from it for years."
My jaw flexed, just slightly.
"He fell for you a long time ago," Imran said. "And he's spent every minute since then trying not to show it."
I looked away.
The silence stretched. Familiar. Heavy.
"Fine," I said quietly. "I'll be gentle."
Imran smiled. "That's all I ask."
I stood, brushing invisible crumbs off my dress. As I reached the door, he called after me—way too casually.
"You know, if you marry him, I expect a finder's fee."
"Imran."
"Something small. A vacation villa. With enough rooms for all the children Mama expects me to have."
"Goodbye, Imran."
I shut the door before he could say another word.
But the smile stayed.
Lingering like a truth I wasn't ready to name.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Lamija brought pastry. Imran brought judgment. Mama brought a spreadsheet of eligible bachelorettes. And in the middle of it all, someone suggested a finder's fee if Lamija ends up marrying the man her brother accidentally tortured for a decade.
Sibling love. Corporate betrayal. Emotional blackmail—this chapter really had it all.
- Ash&Olive
12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4lYTYKINbU
and then Add to home screen.