Anything For You

|You're Just My Assistant|

Fariz pulled out a chair and sank into it with a sigh, his face taut with tension. The grand dining room of the Malik mansion gleamed under soft chandeliers that cast a warm, golden glow over the space. The high ceilings were adorned with intricate patterns, the walls lined with expensive art pieces and framed family portraits. The table itself, long and imposing, was made of dark mahogany with gold accents, reflecting the extension of the family's authority—beautiful yet subtly commanding.

Sitting across from his son, Hashim narrowed his eyes, noticing the shift in his demeanor. "What happened? Your mood doesn't seem right," he inquired, his voice steady but curious.

Fariz's fingers drummed on the edge of the table before he responded. "I was right about that girl, Papa. We should never have trusted her," he said, his voice carrying frustration.

Hashim straightened slightly; his interest piqued. "What has she done?"

"I caught her taking photos of the files I assigned to her. As if that wasn't enough, she spilled coffee on the papers, pretending it was an accident to fool me—claiming she was trying to save the information from getting ruined. Can you believe it?"

"She wasn't lying, Bhai," Adnan's voice cut through the air before Hashim could react.

Fariz turned sharply, glaring at his younger cousin. "You stay out of this, Adnan. You don't understand how these people operate."

Adnan didn't flinch. "I'm interrupting because it was my fault, Bhai. I knocked the coffee cup over by mistake."

Fariz's expression hardened, his brow furrowing. "Stop it, Adnan. Now you're just taking the blame to save some random assistant."

Adnan shook his head, his voice sincere. "Why would I take the blame for someone I barely know? She was doing her job sincerely. The coffee spill—that was on me, I swear."

"Adnan, are you telling the truth?" Hashim asked, shifting his gaze between the two boys.

"Yes, Bade Papa," he replied earnestly. ('Bade papa' is used to refer to father's elder brother.)

"When will you people stop discussing office on the dinner table?" The soft clinking of bangles announced another presence in the room. Shama Malik entered gracefully, holding a pot of food. She was a vision of elegance in a flowing silk chiffon suit, its soft lavender color complemented by the silver embroidery glinting subtly in the light. Her dupatta was draped delicately over her shoulders, framing her serene face.

Fariz's gaze softened immediately as he watched her, the tension slipping from his features. There was no one in the world he respected more than his mother. For her, he would do anything, no matter how difficult or unreasonable. In her eyes he sought approval, and in her happiness, he found his greatest contentment. She was his anchor, the one person he would always go out of his way to protect and please.

"Inka toh hamesha ka hai, Bhabhi," Naaz chimed in as she entered behind, followed by a househelp carrying more dishes. She was Adnan's mother. (This is their daily habit, sister-in-law.)

"You know, Bhabhi, I'm telling you—start finding a good match for Fariz now. Only a wife can pull him away from his work. He never listens to us."

Rolling his eyes, Fariz leaned back in his chair. "Alright, fine. No more work talk. But please, Chachi, let's not start on marriage."

Adnan grinned mischievously. "Why? Do you already have someone in mind? Mark my words, one day he'll surprise us all by bringing home a girl he's secretly been in love with."

Fariz shot Adnan a warning glare as he burst into laughter, thoroughly enjoying himself.

Shama paused as she placed the pot on the table, her face betraying a hint of concern. "Seriously, do you love someone?" she asked, her voice soft but tense.