Amir's Pov:

The respect I commanded in the company was palpable, a tangible force I had meticulously built. I saw it in the deferential nods of the junior partners and, most importantly, in the grateful eyes of my grandfather. He never failed to express his gratitude for the crucial deals I'd secured, the partnerships I'd forged over lavish dinners and in opulent boardrooms.

But I also saw the worry lurking behind his praise. He knew. He knew that while I was a maestro of social and business strategy, my role as an engineer was a carefully constructed façade.

I dodged meetings with the top engineers like they were the plague. During presentations on new technological updates, I remained a silent, smiling statue. I never volunteered a single technical idea. It was as if I'd learned nothing in my five years of university.

The moment of truth arrived in the stark silence of his office. I was mid-sentence, outlining a brilliant new marketing strategy, when Mr. Sami, the senior manager of the Computer Networks Department, walked in. He was the real deal-a man who spoke in code and circuit diagrams. He proposed a new technological approach and then, with the grim satisfaction of a surgeon finding a tumor, revealed a flaw in our current system and began explaining it.

I arranged my face into a mask of intense interest, but inside, I was drowning. The jargon was a foreign language, the concepts were a dense fog. When he finally finished, my grandfather turned to me. "Amir," he said, his voice calm. "Your opinion?"

I played the only card I had. "I agree with Mr. Sami. It's a solid analysis."

"Elaborate," my grandfather pressed, his gaze unwavering.

I felt the walls closing in. I tried to steer the conversation back to market impact and client perception, but my grandfather was a hawk. He wouldn't be diverted. He finally dismissed Mr. Sami, telling him he'd have an answer in two days.

The moment the door clicked shut, the atmosphere shifted. My grandfather turned to me, his expression grave.

"Explain yourself, Amir," he ordered, his voice low and stern.

"Soon, others will see it as well. It will be a scandal: 'Engineer Amir Ramzi Abo Al_Saeed is a fraud who knows nothing about his major'."

"They will accuse this entire company of corruption. They will question our integrity and the quality of our work!"

I tried to defend the indefensible. "I tried, Grandfather, I truly did. But I hated it," I confessed, the words feeling like a confession of a deep, shameful weakness.

"I hated every complex book in school and university. I absolutely hated math and science. But I am not stupid," I insisted, my voice gaining a desperate edge.

"I am a practical man. I work instead of reading about working. I learn from experience. I know I am not an engineer, but I needed the title to get to this position. Everyone knows how much I've done for this company. You know it too. This little detail can remain our secret."

I laid out my true value. "As a manager, I handle responsibilities others can't fathom. The logistics, the finance, the relations, the... 'dirty work.' That is what I do. Being an engineer? Many can do that. Taking care of the company? That is something only I can do."

He was silent for a long moment, his eyes searching my soul. "I will think about it," he said finally.

Soon after, fate intervened. My grandfather fell gravely ill. I stayed by his bedside for days, the guilt and fear were a constant companion. As he felt his time nearing, he called me close. His voice was a frail whisper, but his will was iron. He told me he would name me CEO, but only if I proved I could do it.

"Secure the deal with the QBG group," he breathed, referring to the partnership we'd been negotiating for years. "if you do that I will rest assured the company is in good hands. The fortune will be yours."

I went home that night feeling utterly trapped. The QBG deal was the big one. To secure it, I would have to lead the final presentation myself. I had never done that before. My role was always the prelude: I'd plan the outings, I'd pick the finest restaurants, the entertainment, I'd be making sure the partners were happy and pliable before the real technical experts took over. But now, as the prospective CEO, the technical burden would fall squarely on my shoulders. I would have to sit with the engineers, understand their updates, make technical decisions, and answer complex, pointed questions.

I was stepping into a danger zone, and I was utterly unarmed. And then, as if summoned by my desperation, a memory surfaced. A face from the past. The only person who had ever been able to translate that incomprehensible world of equations and code into something I could grasp. My one and only savior from college: my nerd friend. Tala.

Amir's Pov:

I stood on Tala's doorstep, my heart thrumming a rhythm far more complex than any business deal. In my hands was a large, breathtaking bouquet of white orchids and pale pink roses. I had to get this right.

Her parents answered, their expressions a mixture of surprise and curiosity. "Come in my boy," her father said, his voice cautious. I smiled gently and noded my head slightly, the picture of respect.

"Mr. and Mrs. Haddad, thank you for allowing me to visit on such short notice," I said, my voice polished and sincere. I could see the immediate impression it made. Her mother's stern facade softened ever so slightly.

Then Tala appeared, looking pale and shocked, her hair a mess. She'd been unwell, but to me, in that moment, she was the most real thing I'd seen in years. She was speechless, her eyes wide, first at me, then at the flowers.

I didn't waste time. This was the moment. In front of her family, with her looking far from her "best," I wanted to show her that I wanted her, not a perfectly curated image. I got down on one knee on their living room rug, the movement practiced yet suddenly feeling incredibly genuine. I pulled out the velvet box.

"Tala," I began, my voice clear and steady, capturing the room's complete silence. "All these years, the memory of your smile was the one honest thing in my life. You are the smartest, kindest person I have ever known. You were my savior then, and you are my hope now. Will you make me the happiest man alive? Will you marry me?"

She clapped a hand over her mouth, tears instantly welling in her eyes. A choked "Yes!" was all she could manage before she burst into full, happy sobs. Then, in a whirl of mess and emotion, she turned and ran upstairs, crying uncontrollably. Her mother shot me a look I couldn't quite decipher, some mixture of shock and approval-before hurrying after her.

Her father stood for a moment, then stepped forward and took my hand in a firm grip. "Congratulations, son," he said, a genuine smile finally breaking through. "Welcome to the family."

The wedding was a month later. I was meticulous in my planning. I found a cobbler to craft dress shoes with the most significant, yet discreet, lift possible. We rehearsed everything. We practiced our first dance for hours, finding a way to hold each other that felt natural and prevented her from having to stoop or me from being stepped on. We choreographed the photos, with me often standing on a slightly elevated spot or us sitting down, ensuring I didn't look like a dwarf next to her statuesque frame. I was determined that our wedding album would not be a source of mockery.

Throughout it all, Tala's parents were endlessly supportive. "You two look so cute together," her mother would coo. Her father would clap me on the shoulder and say, "There's absolutely nothing wrong with a couple where the woman is taller. It shows a confident man."

The morning of the wedding, I overheard her mother telling Tala, "Your inner beauty, my dear, it always shines on your face. It makes you the most beautiful girl in the world."

I peeked in and saw Tala, looking stunning in her gown, giving a dismissive little shake of her head. "Oh, Mom," she whispered, "that's just something all mothers say."

But as I looked at her, standing there so radiant and strong, I knew it wasn't just something mothers say. In her case, it was actually true, her kindness and pureness made her stand out and it highlighted her natural unique beauty, I've seen many women and met many women in my life, I admit...I would have gone for a different kind of woman if I was searching for looks. And my original plan was to get close to Al Nassir CEO's daughter, but my plan's changed, and now Tala was who I needed and she's the woman I chose.

______

Tala's pov:

I was drowning in a sea of my own misery, wrapped in a stale blanket and convinced my life was a tragic epilogue to a story that never really began. Then, he appeared...

Like a miracle summoned from my deepest daydreams, he was just there. Standing in our living room, holding a bouquet so beautiful it looked like it had been plucked from a celestial garden. My brain short-circuited.

After four years of silence, after I had carved his name on my heart with a blade of regret, he was here. And he was more handsome than even my memory had allowed, his smile a beacon that instantly vaporized the gloom I'd been huddled in.

My parents were there, their eyes wide, but the world had shrunk to just him and me. He was so polite, so charming with them, and I was a speechless, disheveled mess in my pajamas. I wanted to vanish. But then... he did the impossible.

He got down on one knee.

My heart stopped. The air vanished from my lungs. Time folded, and it was just us, back under that college tree, but now he was here, in my present, making every foolish hope I'd ever clung to real.

"Tala," he said, his voice the most beautiful symphony I'd ever heard. "All these years, the memory of your smile was the one honest thing in my life."

He remembered my smile. He'd been thinking of me! All this time!

He called me the smartest, kindest person he'd ever known. He said I was his savior then and his hope now. Every word was a balm, a spell, a key unlocking a happily-ever-after I'd thought was reserved for silly soap operas.

When he asked, "Will you marry me?" my "Yes!" was a sob torn from the very core of my being. The joy was so violent, so overwhelming, it was a physical pressure behind my eyes and in my chest. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. The sheer force of my happiness was terrifying. So I did the only thing my overloaded heart would allow-I turned and ran, crying uncontrollably, fleeing up the stairs as if I could escape the intensity of the bliss that was chasing me.

The following month was a blur of rose-colored delirium. My Amir, my prince, was so wonderfully attentive to every detail.

He was obsessed with finding the perfect shoes for the wedding. It wasn't about his height, of course not! It was so poetic! He wanted to be just tall enough to look directly into my eyes without me having to look down. He wanted to see my soul more clearly. He told me my eyes were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and he wanted to see them more clearly on the day of our wedding.

And the photo rehearsals! Oh, we must have tried a hundred different poses. He was so determined to get everything perfect. I knew why. He wasn't worried about being made fun of; he was an artist crafting our masterpiece! He wanted every picture to be a flawless testament to our epic love story, a symphony of angles and light that would capture the fairy tale we were living.

He'd hold my hand and say, "Just a little more to the left, my love," and I'd melt, knowing he was ensuring our album would be as perfect as our union.

When my mother would say, "There's nothing wrong with the woman being taller," I'd just smile indulgently. She didn't understand. This wasn't about "right or wrong." This was about Amir wanting to create a perfect, harmonious picture, a visual sonnet for the world to see.

On the morning of the wedding, my mother told me my inner beauty made me the most beautiful girl in the world. I brushed it off as a mother's duty, but a part of me wondered if maybe, just maybe, that was what Amir saw too.

Maybe he saw past everything, my height, my awkwardness, my tears, maybe he saw a beauty that only his love could truly illuminate. He saw the storybook heroine, and he had finally come to claim his queen.

Amir's Pov:

The morning of my wedding, a nervous energy I hadn't felt since my first major business pitch hummed under my skin. I was standing before a full-length mirror, adjusting the cufflinks on my expensive tuxedo, when a soft knock preceded my father's entrance.

"Well, look at you," he said, a warm, familiar grin spreading across his face. He leaned against the doorframe, looking more animated than I'd seen him in years. My father was a man who prized his naps and his peace above all else, a connoisseur of the path of least resistance. But today, for me, he was fully present.

"The suit fits perfectly, Dad. You were right about the tailor," I said, turning slightly. We had spent an entire afternoon choosing the fabric and the cut. He had insisted on a classic, timeless style, arguing that trends fade, but elegance is eternal.

"A father is occasionally right about something other than the remote control," he chuckled, stepping forward to smooth a non-existent wrinkle on my shoulder.

"I even prepared a speech. Don't worry, I'll keep it short. Don't want to bore people before the cake is cut."

His eyes twinkled, and then he delivered the expected, good-natured jab. "Just remember to stand up straight on the podium, son. We don't want the photographer to think the groom is hiding behind the bouquet."

I laughed, a genuine, unrestrained sound. "Noted. I'll make sure to stand on my tiptoes."

This easy camaraderie, however, was the calm before the storm. The storm, as always, was my mother. Her disapproval was a cold draft in the otherwise warm room. She entered without a knock, a vision of meticulously maintained beauty. At fifty-eight, she was a stunning woman, her figure a strict, self-policed 55 kilograms, a number she guarded with a strict fervor that defied her doctor's warnings. To her, her personal image wasn't everything; it was the only thing.

Her eyes swept over me, and for a fleeting second, I saw a flicker of maternal pride, quickly extinguished by her overarching agenda. "You look... perfect, as always Amir, wish I could say the same about her." she stated, her voice crisp. She didn't mention Tala's name. She never would if she could help it.

"Your speech will be respectful, I trust?" she said, turning her gaze to my father, who simply shrugged amiably.

"It's a wedding, my dear, not a shareholder's meeting. It's supposed to be about love."

My mother's lips tightened into a thin line. "Love is a foundation, not the entire architecture. That girl..." She finally let the pronoun hang in the air, dripping with disdain. "She is... unpolished. She has no sense of style, no grace. Do you know what she wore to the engagement party? A dress that did nothing to conceal her... frame. A woman's silhouette should be a work of art, not... not a statement of indifference."

This was her core objection. In my mother's world, a woman's waist should not be much wider than her neck. Tala, with her strong, tall build, her refusal to starve herself into a delicate figurine, was an affront to my mother's entire belief system.

She wasn't just marrying her son; she was, in my mother's eyes, preparing to drag the family name through the mud of mediocrity.

"She is of no use to our family's standing, Amir," she concluded, her voice low and intense. "She will be the end of our image."

The charade was over. I had hoped her love for me would eventually override her vanity, but it was clear it wouldn't. I took a deep breath and crossed the room, closing the door firmly.

"Mother," I began, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone I used for boardroom coups. "We need to talk about what Tala really brings to this family."

Her eyes narrowed, intrigued despite herself.

"Do you know who helped me graduate? It was her, Tala." I let the name hang there.

"Despite what you think of her, she's actually very smart, she graduated the top of our class, and thanks to her I go to graduate third, I had the best grades because she used to do all the work for me, I get to call myself an engineer thanks to her."

I spun the web carefully, blending truth with strategic fiction. "Tala loves me very much. She's been hopelessly in love with me since the first time we met...I know because she's very bad at hiding it. One time she almost got caught taking my test paper to solve the questions for me before time runs out. She almost threw her future away for me."

"So you're marrying her out of pity?" My mother said sarcasticly.

"No, this isn't about pity...and it's not just a romance. It's a business deal. The most important one I will ever secure."

My mother raised and eyebrow so I carried on "You see, grandpa and I made a deal. If I close the deal with the QBG group that we've been negotiating over for years he'll make me the CEO."

My mom still didn't connect the dots, she asked "what does this have to do with Tala?"

I smirked and explained further "As you know Grandpa doesn't have much time left, the doctors say he'll live a few months at best, which means I don't have much time to secure the deal, to accelerate the process I need Tala's help; no one is as talented as her when it comes to technology, or when it comes to helping me sound like a real tech engineer. She'll do all the work for me in the background while I do what I do best, cast my spells and charm everyone in the room."

I watched the calculation happen in her eyes. Her disgust for Tala's "frame" warred with her lust for power and prestige. The latter, as I knew it would, won.

She looked at me, a new, cold respect in her gaze. She swallowed, a visible effort, as if forcing her pride down her throat. "I see," she said, her voice clipped. "You should have told me sooner. It's...  a good strategy"

"It is," I confirmed.

She straightened her already impeccable posture. "Very well. For the sake of your... career... and the family's future, I will... tolerate her." The word 'tolerate' was a bitter pill, but she swallowed it. "I will be the picture of a gracious mother-in-law today. But you, Amir, you must ensure this... alliance... is worth it."

With that, she turned and left the room, leaving behind a cloud of expensive perfume and a sealed pact. My father let out a low whistle. "Son, you play a dangerous game."

I turned back to the mirror, adjusting my tie. The nervous energy was gone, replaced by the cold, focused calm of a man who had just neutralized a threat. The wedding could proceed. The deal was on track.