Rain ticked gently against Zoya’s window. Bokaro’s weather had changed lately, as if echoing her heart—sunny for moments, cloudy the next. But tonight, she wasn’t looking at the rain. She was watching the little progress bar on her screen.

Akif’s live presentation.

He had invited her to watch the first investor pitch for the startup he had spent nearly two years silently building. His dream. His baby. His future.

Her future too.

---

In Mumbai, Akif stood in a crisp black shirt, hair combed back, voice steady and deep. Behind him on the screen were sleek slides filled with vision, innovation, and ambition.

But Zoya saw something else.

His nervous smile.

His searching eyes that scanned the camera more than the room—like maybe, just maybe, he could find her in the pixels.

---

That night, they called each other.

Both silent for long seconds.

Then Akif whispered, “We got them. Investors agreed. We start operations in three months.”

Zoya blinked away tears. “I’m so proud of you.”

He exhaled shakily. “I wanted to hug you so bad after that meeting. But you were the first thing I thought of when I stepped off that stage.”

“Akif... you’re doing it. You’re becoming the CEO you always dreamt of.”

His voice was quiet. “Our dream, remember? You believed in it before I did.”

Zoya smiled. “We’re counting down now, aren’t we?”

Akif nodded. “This is the beginning of the end of this distance. I’m building something strong enough to bring you back—forever.”

She whispered, “And I’ll wait. One more day. One more week. As long as it takes.”

---

Days turned into weeks.

Zoya watched Akif’s name appear in articles, college newsletters, LinkedIn posts. She would screenshot every one and save them in a folder called “My CEO.”

Aarfa teased, “You’re already acting like a CEO’s wife.”

Zoya grinned. “Manifesting.”

Meanwhile, Akif worked like a storm. Meetings. Designs. Recruitment. Branding. His world became faster, bigger.

But never too fast to text her.

> Akif: “Today was hectic. But you should’ve seen me in that boardroom. I kept hearing your voice in my head—‘Don’t stammer, Mister Boss Boy.’”

> Zoya: “Bet you looked hot.”

> Akif: “Are you flirting with your future husband?”

> Zoya: “I’m dating a CEO, I have standards.”

> Akif: “Then I better become one fast. For us.”

---

One night, after a long call, she asked softly, “Do you ever feel… tired of holding on?”

There was a pause.

Then his voice, firm and warm, came through.

“Every day. But the thought of you in my arms at the finish line—makes all of it worth it.”

She broke into tears.

Because for the first time, this didn’t feel like a fantasy anymore.

It felt like a slow, breathtaking promise.

---