Fickle

The night was so dark that even the stars hesitated to emerge, fearful they might anger a certain mortal. The faint moonlight spilled over the landscape, offering a reluctant glow to the empty streets and quiet paths. On the balcony of a tall building, a solitary figure leaned against the cold rail, his gaze fixed blankly into the distance. The moon, observing the scene, paused in its silent journey. There was something haunting about this man—a heavy weight pressed on his shoulders, visible even from the heavens.

A gentle breeze swept through, playful at first, brushing against the man's face to tease a reaction. Yet, he didn't flinch. Intrigued, the wind ventured deeper, wrapping itself around his form, trying to uncover the turmoil within. But as it slipped into his core, it found something unsettling—a heart encased in ice. Not just cold, but utterly frozen, as though it had been locked in frost for decades. The breeze recoiled, momentarily stunned.

It had seen sorrow before, but nothing like this. It tried to reach out, imagining itself warm and comforting, but how could something so cold thaw another? Frustrated and defeated, the wind retreated, leaving the man to his solitude.

The moon, observing from above, chuckled softly at the breeze's futile efforts. A frozen heart like his? It would take more than a breeze to thaw that. The man tilted his head upward, his piercing eyes meeting the dim light of the moon, as if hearing its silent mockery. A shiver passed through the celestial orb as it quickly turned its attention elsewhere.

Finally, the man straightened and stepped back into his room. The warm, inviting fragrance of lavender greeted him, but he barely noticed. He sank into the bed, his body weary yet his mind restless. As sleep claimed him, a single thought lingered: Tomorrow will be another long day.

***

"Sir, you have a guest waiting in your office," the assistant said cautiously, following the man's long strides to the private elevator.

"Who is it?" the man asked, his tone sharp and clipped, his fingers adjusting the cuffs of his custom-made suit.

"A gentleman named Khalid," the assistant replied.

The man froze mid-step. His eyes narrowed dangerously as he turned to his assistant, who swallowed hard under the weight of that glare.

"Khalid, you said?"

"Yes, sir," the assistant confirmed, his voice faltering.

Without another word, the man stepped into the elevator. "Cancel all my meetings for the day," he instructed coldly. The assistant opened his mouth to respond but was met with the sound of the elevator doors closing in his face.

Inside his office, the man paused briefly before pushing open the door. The tension in the air was palpable as he entered, his expression a blend of curiosity and wariness. Khalid rose from his seat, a small, knowing smile on his face.

---

Hours later, rumors of the mysterious visitor had spread like wildfire through the company. Employees speculated endlessly, their imaginations running wild. The man's personal staff could still recall the striking figure who had walked out of the president's private elevator—a man whose elegance and confidence left a lasting impression.

"He looked at me first," one assistant declared dreamily, her cheeks flushed.

"Liar!" another countered. "It was me. He smiled at me—he's obviously mine."

"You're both delusional," a third chimed in, rolling her eyes. "And don't you have a crush on our boss anyway?"

The second assistant crossed her arms, her face reddening. "That's none of your business. Besides, who doesn't have a crush on him?"

As the playful arguments continued, the subject of their conversation remained in his office, immersed in work. The day dragged on as he buried himself in files and strategies, a routine that had become second nature over the past six years. By the time he finally left the office, it was long past midnight.

"Welcome back, Your Highness. Your dinner is ready," Sam, the butler, greeted him as he entered the expansive mansion.

"Thank you, Sam, but bring it to my room later. I need to rest for now," he replied, his voice tinged with exhaustion.

"As you wish, sir," the elderly man said, bowing slightly before retreating.

In his room, the man took a hot shower, hoping to ease the tension from his muscles. As he lay on his bed, the peace was short-lived—his phone vibrated insistently on the nightstand.

"Hello?" he answered, his voice laced with irritation.

"I've found a lead, Your Highness," the voice on the other end said, breathless with urgency.

The man sat upright, the exhaustion melting away in an instant. "What did you say?"

"I believe I've found her. The one you've been searching for."

His heart, frozen for years, gave an almost imperceptible thud. For the first time in a long while, something stirred within him.

"Where?" he demanded, his voice barely a whisper.

"I'll send you the details. But Your Highness... this changes everything."

The man's grip tightened on the phone. His mind raced with possibilities, fears, and hopes. Could it really be her? After all this time?