From contract to ishq - Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Yaram Shah leaned back in his cushioned office chair, hands clasped behind his head, giving his best friend and legal advisor, Zain Gabol, a look that screamed, Pagal ho gaya hai kya? They were in Yaram's sleek office on the top floor of Shah Enterprises, a leading textile corporation in Karachi. The glass windows overlooked the bustling city, but inside, the air was thick with tension.Zain, unfazed, leaned forward, his voice steady. "Tumhein ek biwi ki zarurat hai."Yaram's eyes narrowed, but Zain wasn't done. "Mujhe aise mat dekho jaise mein pagal ho gaya hoon. Socho, bhai. Board of directors tumhein tang kar rahe hain. Tumhein pata hai."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "Yeh sab tumhein ab tak haasil kar lena chahiye tha. Presidency tumhari honi chahiye. Tumhare paas education hai, tajurba hai. Aur, bhai, tumhare paas Shah legacy hai. Tumhara khandaan hi iss corporation ka maalik hai. Yeh bhi toh hai ke tum saalon se akelay yeh business chala rahe ho."
Yaram stayed silent, his jaw tight. Zain was only voicing what he already knew. The board of directors was playing a dirty game, and it stung because it was personal. Shah Enterprises was his family's legacy, built by his grandfather and expanded by his father. Yaram had an MBA from LUMS and years of experience running the show, yet the board-those old uncles with their outdated mindsets-was hesitant. Why? Because he was a Shah. They were pulling a reverse nepotism card, eyeing a younger, less seasoned guy, Asif Khan, for the presidency. Asif was competent, sure, but he lacked the vision and grit to take the company global. In the textile industry, timing was everything-expand too slowly, you're done; too fast, you're bankrupt. Asif didn't have the nerve for it.
The board's reluctance wasn't just about business. It was about Yaram's lifestyle. Single, charming, and often in the gossip columns for his high-profile dinners, he was a "risk" in their eyes. His frustration simmered. They weren't just messing with his career; they were threatening his inheritance, his family's name, and the empire he'd poured his soul into.He fixed his gaze on Zain, who was sprawled in the chair across his desk.
"Ek biwi se mujhe kya faida hoga?" he asked, his tone sharp but curious.Zain grinned, crossing one leg over the other, his shalwar kameez slightly wrinkled from the long day.
"Yeh simple hai, bhai. Woh log tumhein threat samajhte hain kyunki tum settled nahin ho. Unn buddhe logon ke liye tum ek playboy ho. Woh afwaahon par kaan dete hain. Tumhari harkatein das guna barh kar un tak pohanchti hain. Aur woh banda, Asif, stable hai. Uski biwi hai, do-bachay-wala ghar hai. Ek kutta bhi. Tumhein yeh sab karna hoga, Yaram. Tumhein jaldi se ek biwi dhoondni hogi."
Yaram raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-annoyed. "Aur mein usse kahan se dhoondoon? Shaadi se?"Zain's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Tumhare paas toh auraton ki kbhi Kami nai hui. Bas ek chun lo."
Yaram scowled.
"Mein tumhein itna paise deta hoon ke tum mere liye hamesha available raho. Aur yeh hai tumhara sab se behtar idea?"Zain leaned back, unfazed.
"Haan. Tum mujhe bohat paisa dete ho taake mein tumhari peeth thokoon. Mein tumhein bata raha hoon ke iss larai ko jeetne ke liye tumhein kya karna hai. Mein do din mein nikaah-nama tayyar kar doonga. Ek larki chun lo, bhai."
Yaram shook his head, but the idea lingered. A wife? Could it really sway the board? He wasn't convinced, but Zain's logic wasn't entirely baseless. Stability was currency in their world, and Yaram's bachelor status was a liability.
Across the building, in the open-plan accounting department, Minahil Raheem sat at her cluttered desk, rummaging through her bottom drawer. It was past lunch, her stomach growled, and her wallet was predictably empty. She usually stashed instant noodles or a pack of biscuits for days like this, but the drawer was bare.
"Yeh kya museebat hai," she muttered to herself, frustration bubbling up.Minahil was smart-she knew it-but life hadn't been kind. Meri zindagi hamesha se mushkil rahi hai, she thought.
When she was 15, her father died in a car accident, leaving her world shattered. Her mother remarried soon after, but Minahil couldn't accept it. Mama se rishta kabhi bhi theek nahi hua unki shadi ke baad, she admitted bitterly. The distance grew, and she moved to a hostel, seeking escape from the pain. She'd fallen into the trap everyone warned against: student loans.
Back in high school, no one taught her how to manage money. Bas yeh kaha ke loans le lo, achi university jao, phir achi job se sab chukta kar dena. Right. She'd gone to a private university in Lahore, chasing a fine arts degree, thinking it'd open doors. Instead, it left her with over 5 million rupees in debt and no job prospects.
The recession hit hard, and after months of rejections, she'd dumbed down her CV to land this data entry job at Shah Enterprises in karachi. No one here knew about her degree; they thought she was just another clerk. And honestly? She was grateful. A girl had to eat.The accounting floor was a maze of desks, surrounded by cubicles for mid-level managers and the glossy "Executive suite" where the executives sat.
Minahil had been here six months, never once speaking to the big shots. She recognized their faces, though-Yaram Shah, especially. The girls in accounting swooned over him, calling him Karachi's most eligible bachelor, but Minahil wasn't impressed. Something about him unsettled her.
His sharp eyes seemed to linger on her whenever he passed by, like he was sizing her up. It made her skin prickle.Her stomach rumbled again. No food, but maybe coffee would help. She headed to the break room, poured the last of the bitter office coffee into a cup, and dumped in three sugar sachets. The creamer was empty, so she knelt to grab a new box from the cabinet.
The door swung shut behind her, and she heard footsteps followed by an irritated voice. "Allah ka wasta, chhor do yeh baat. Mein kya karoon, biwi ke liye job opening post karoon?"Minahil froze, amusement bubbling up. Advertise for a wife? "Yeh kya mazaak hai," she thought, stifling a laugh. She stood, turning to face the men who hadn't noticed her. Her eyes landed on Zain Gabol, a tall, fair man with an easy smile, someone she vaguely recognized from mahogany row. Before she could stop herself, words tumbled out. "Kya mein H.R. mein apply karoon?" She flashed a teasing smile, but it faltered when her gaze shifted to the man beside him-Yaram Shah.
Her breath caught. She'd seen him from afar, but up close, his presence was overwhelming. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a face like a hawk-sharp and unyielding. His eyes, cold and piercing, locked onto her, and she felt exposed. The accounting girls might melt over him, but to Minahil, he was intimidating. She'd caught him watching her before, his gaze lingering too long, and it always left her uneasy. Men either ignored her or stared like she was a prize-her curves, her dark eyes, her presence. Yaram was the latter, and it made her stomach twist. Realization hit: he was the one who'd snapped about needing a wife. She'd just teased the CEO.
Her hands shook as she grabbed her coffee, now creamer-less, and moved to leave. The room was suffocating, and she needed to say something to diffuse the tension. She looked at Zain, the safer option. "Sorry ke mein ne apko disturb kiya. Mein wapas seat pe jati hoon."Zain's smile was warm, playful. "Koi masla nahin. Isko hi biwi ki zarurat hai."Her eyes flicked to Yaram, and her heart sank.
His stare was feral, territorial, like she'd crossed a line and would pay for it. It was too intense for a simple joke. She shifted, nerves tightening. Clearing her throat, she mumbled, "Ok-----good luck!." Balancing her coffee, Minahil sidestepped them, twisted the door handle, and slipped out, her pulse racing like she'd escaped a lion's den.Back in the break room, silence hung heavy until Yaram spoke, his voice low and edged with irritation. "Zain, mera Dil kr raha Hai kr mein tera mun tor dun." Zain laughed, strolling to the fridge and grabbing a chilled Rooh Afza. Yaram ran a hand through his hair, his mind replaying the encounter. That girl-she was from accounting.
He'd noticed her before, her quiet focus at her desk, the way she carried herself. Something about her pulled at him, and now, seeing her up close, that pull was stronger."Woh accounting mein kaam karti hai. Tumhein uske baare mein kya pata hai?" he asked, his tone clipped.Zain popped the bottle open, leaning against the counter. "Kuch nahin. Mujhe koi idea nahin. Lekin tum ne usse dara diya."Yaram stiffened, shooting Zain a glare. "Hum. Hum ne usse dara diya."Zain smirked, taking a sip. "Mujhe nahin lagta. Woh toh mujh se hans hans ke baat kar rahi thi jab tak uski nazar tum par nahin padi."Yaram's jaw clenched. Zain's smugness was grating, but he couldn't shake the image of her-those wide eyes, the way she'd frozen under his gaze. "Uska pata lagao. I want her file by noon ." Zain raised an eyebrow, catching the shift in Yaram's tone. "Kya tum wahi soch rahe ho jo mein soch raha hoon?"Yaram's expression hardened, but his mind was racing. "Shayad. Mujhe nahin pata, i just want information about her." Zain grinned, clearly enjoying this. "Tum ne usse dekh to liya Aur kya jaanna hai?" Yaram's eyes narrowed, his voice a low growl. "Bas mujhe woh file do."