A week passed.

Days blended into each other—schedules filled, calendars overflowed, and the lines between responsibility and emotion began to blur.

Arsalan was no longer dealing with missing pets and jealous neighbors. Word had spread quietly in the detective world. People didn’t know his real identity, but they knew one thing: he got things done.

That morning, he stood in a quiet, dimly lit art gallery, staring at a shattered display case.

“This isn’t just theft,” he murmured, crouching near the broken glass. “This was staged.”

The gallery owner, a panicked woman in her forties, wrung her hands. “It was one of the oldest paintings in the collection—vanished overnight. No sign of break-in.”

Arsalan looked around. “Then it wasn’t stolen last night. It was stolen days ago… and replaced.”

He walked away, scribbling in his notebook, completely in his element.

---

Meanwhile, Tahir sat stiffly in a boardroom filled with older men and women who never smiled unless money was involved.

“We don’t trust the numbers this quarter,” said Mr. Qureshi, an investor with too much power. “You’re young, Tahir. Talented, no doubt—but green. Your father wouldn’t have allowed this.”

Tahir kept his expression calm. “My father trusted me. And the numbers are where they need to be—long-term. Not short-term gambling.”

The room went quiet. Even the finance manager looked up in surprise.

Tahir leaned forward slightly. “I’m not here to please quarterly guesses. I’m here to build something that will outlive us all. Like my father did.”

The silence stretched—but Qureshi finally nodded, gruffly. “Let’s see if you’re right.”

As the room cleared, Alina stepped up beside him. “They’re testing you.”

“I know.”

She hesitated, then handed him a small paper note. “By the way… the girl from the blind date—Naima—dropped this at the front desk. I think she knew you’d forget to text.”

Tahir looked at the note. In simple handwriting:

“Hope your meetings didn’t eat your soul. Don’t forget to eat too. - N”

For the first time that day, he smiled.

---

That evening, Arsalan sat on the rooftop again, typing up his case notes. His mind raced through clues, motives, access points, and security gaps—but it all paused the moment a message lit up on his phone.

Emily:

“Your smile in that café still makes no sense. You looked like a man who just stole a moon.”

He blinked. Then grinned.

Arsalan:

“I was thinking of how to steal a smile from you. Easier than stealing art.”

No reply for a minute.

Then:

Emily:

“I’ll allow one more smile. Only if you meet me at the bookstore tomorrow. I need someone to carry heavy photography books.”

He stared at the message for a long moment, thinking.

The same day, the gallery owner had asked for help again. The stolen painting had connections to a wealthy family—possibly even black-market ties.

But… he typed:

Arsalan:

“Books before black markets. See you at noon.”

He could chase shadows later.

---

The next day, Tahir made his way to a crowded public clinic where Naima worked. He wasn’t the type to visit anyone at their job—but today was different. The board had been brutal again. His head hurt.

As he stepped inside, he saw Naima speaking softly to a child with a scraped knee. Her voice was patient. Kind.

She looked up and saw him standing awkwardly at the door.

“Tahir?”

“I was… nearby.”

“You were never nearby. This is a 40-minute drive from your office.”

He smiled sheepishly. “Thought I’d make it 20. If I drive recklessly.”

Naima laughed. “Let me finish this up. You can wait.”

Tahir nodded and sat in a corner. For once, it felt good not being the one in control. He just watched her work.

And for the first time in days, the noise in his head quieted.

---

Later that night, both brothers sat in silence under the stars again.

Tahir had a cup of tea in hand. Arsalan was reading messages on his phone with a big grin.

“Someone’s smiling like a fool,” Tahir commented.

Arsalan leaned back dramatically. “Her sarcasm is sharp, but her eyes are softer than any of her words.”

Tahir raised a brow. “So you like her?”

“I think I’m in trouble,” Arsalan said. “Real trouble.”

Tahir sipped his tea. “Naima called me out today. Said I carry the whole world on my shoulders. I didn’t deny it.”

“You shouldn’t. She sees you.”

“Yeah.”

They were both quiet for a while.

Then Arsalan asked, “What if one day… all this pretending catches up with us?”

Tahir didn’t answer right away.

Then, softly: “Then we’ll stop pretending.”