To Become The CEO I Must Marry The Nerd Girl

Tala's pov:

I was curled up on the couch in my pajamas, tears streaming down my face. The credits of the soap opera were rolling, but the heartbreak was still fresh.

"Stop crying over silly soap operas," my mom said, her voice sharp with irritation. "Get up and do something useful."

"I can't help it, the episode was sad!" I wailed, my voice thick with tears. "The Male lead left the female lead and broke her heart after she did everything for him! How can men do that? Why don't they have a heart or any feelings?"

A fresh wave of sobs shook my body. I couldn't help it.

"Stop this nonsense," Mom snapped. "Get up and do something about your future. You graduated top of your class so that you could end up a failed employee who quits every job after a month or two? You're over twenty-five, and you haven't reached a position at a respectable company, nor have you gotten married..."

Her words stung more than any TV drama. "Shame on you, Mom," I shot back, wiping my face angrily. "You're supposed to be compassionate towards me, not make me more stressed! I can't find a job because the economy these days is terrible... And marriage isn't important because there are no good men, they're all traitors and liars... Except for him."

She looked at me with such disgust it made my stomach clench. "Is it possible you're still thinking about him?" she asked, her tone dripping with disbelief. "It's been four years since you graduated and you still haven't forgotten him?"

"It's impossible to forget him," I whispered, the memory a dull ache in my chest. "He was different. Tender, kind, and had a great sense of humor."

"The same short one you used to talk about, or someone else?"

"Don't call him short!" I defended him instantly. "His height is normal and he has an athletic build. I'm the one who's too tall. I'm 179 cm; I was the tallest girl in school and they called me 'Tala the Giant'."

"You should be proud of our family's genes," she said, switching tactics. "Be grateful. Being different is beautiful."

"I'm not ungrateful, and I have no objection," I sighed, feeling exhausted. "But society doesn't understand this. It's 2025 and people still bully tall girls."

An hour later, she finally forced me to get up, get dressed, and go to a job interview. I went through the motions, my heart not in it. Two hours later, I was back.

"So, what happened?" Mom asked the second I walked in.

I told her the usual story. "They offered the minimum wage, wanted me to work six days a week, and the company was so small it was obvious they'd dump all the accumulated work on me. It was another dead end."

"Just accept it," she said with a dismissive wave. "It's better than you sitting in my face and crying over silly soap operas..."

The words just tumbled out, fueled by a lifetime of not being heard. "If only you could feel for me, even for a moment. If you put yourself in my place..." I trailed off, the fight draining out of me. "Fine, I know no one will ever feel for me. This is my life, always alone and no one understands me."

"Enough, Drama Queen," she said, her final verdict. "Change your clothes and come wash the dishes."

I retreated to my room, the familiar walls my only sanctuary. I changed out of the stiff interview clothes and fell onto my bed, the weight of the day crushing me. My mind drifted back, as it always did, to easier times. To university, to him.

I couldn't help but wonder...My dear Amir, has your life improved after graduation, or are you struggling like me? I hope your life is better. You deserve all the best.

---

Amir's Pov:

The leather seat of the limousine was cool against my suit jacket, but my focus was entirely on the road ahead. This was more than just a meeting; it was a perfectly laid trap, and I was the one setting the spring.

Next to me, My grandpa Azmi Abu Al-Saeed broke the silence, his voice calm but heavy with expectation. "Today, Amir, I am relying on you entirely to lead the meeting. I want you to convince them of our devices by yourself." He turned to look at me, his gaze steady. "I am sure you will not let us down. You will raise the name of the Abu Al-Saeed family."

I gave him a confident, easy smile, the one I'd practiced to perfection. "I'm ready. Don't worry at all, everything is under control." And it was. The real plan, the one he knew nothing about, was ticking along even more smoothly than this surface-level deal.

The deal itself was straightforward: sell our devices to Al-Nassir Corporation at a discounted rate in exchange for their marketing muscle and commercial cooperation. A good deal on paper.

But my reason for choosing them was the real prize. My research uncovered a golden opportunity: Mr. Al-Nassir had no sons, only daughters. My plan was simple, elegant even. Get close to him, build trust, then get close to one of the daughters. A marriage would weave our families together, and from that position of familial trust, it would only be a matter of time before I could guide his company into a merger with our own, effectively absorbing it. This meeting was the first move in that long game.

When we entered the boardroom, I led with my charm. My smile, which I know people find disarming, was in full force, and I made sure my honey-colored eyes held nothing but warm confidence. I started with a light-hearted joke about the traffic, and just as I'd planned, the room erupted in relaxed laughter. Breaking the ice was child's play.

Then I stood to present. I introduced our company, our devices, paying homage to the engineers whose work I was now leveraging. I painted a picture of our recent achievements, making our growth sound both meteoric and inevitable. But the real piece de résistance was the personal touch. I told them a story-a carefully edited one, of course. I spoke of my initial fears upon joining the Abu Al-Saeed company, the crushing weight of the responsibility, and how the legacy of the family and the profound warmth I felt from every single employee, from every department, had inspired me to overcome my doubts.

"I realized we weren't just colleagues," I said, my voice dropping to a more intimate, sincere tone. "We are a family. And that is our greatest strength." The lie tasted like honey. They were captivated, hanging on my every word.

The rest was a formality. The deal was signed, hands were shaken, and the looks of impressed satisfaction on their faces were everything I had hoped for. The hook was set.

Afterwards, My grandpa clapped a hand on my shoulder, his face beaming with pride. "You were magnificent! Tonight, dinner is on me. We must celebrate your success."

As we walked out, I accepted his praise with a humble nod, but inside, my mind was already racing forward. This wasn't a celebration; it was a launch. The first phase was complete. Now, the real work of securing my future, and Abu Al-Saeed empire along with it, could begin.

The celebratory dinner with my grandpa had been a success, a perfect capstone to my performance. I returned home, the high of the day still thrumming in my veins. I found my mother in the living room, phone pressed to her ear. I greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

After she hung up, I asked, "What were you doing, Mom?"

"I was talking to the beauty salon," she said, a gleam in her eye. "I want to book a skincare session, and I'm thinking of a new haircut with blonde highlights."

I smiled, the dutiful son. "You are beautiful in any case, you know."

She waved a dismissive hand, though she looked pleased. "Amir, my dear, beauty is like anything else in life. We have to polish it and take care of it for it to last."

Then she turned her scrutinizing gaze fully at me. "Did you eat?"

"I had dinner with grandpa," I told her, and I recounted the day's triumph, the meeting I had led, the deal I had secured, the impression I had made. I painted the picture with broad, confident strokes.

Her face lit up with a profound pride. "I am so proud of you," she said, her voice warm. "Of all my children, you are the one who resembles me the most. You are ambitious, handsome, successful, and most importantly, you have that stubborn determination. That willpower. You never stop until you reach your goal."

Her words were a balm and a fuel. I accepted the praise with a modest nod before retreating to the sanctuary of my room. I changed out of my suit and finally checked my personal phone.

Among the notifications was a message from an old "friend." I looked at the profile picture, and a face from university, hazy and unwelcome, snapped into focus.

She was one of the annoying ones, the kind who used to orbit my social circle. I wouldn't have remembered her name if she hadn't been a friend of Tala's, or at least, she had claimed to be Tala's friend.

It was a transparent ploy to get closer to me. Poor Tala never saw it; her kindness made her blind to such manipulations. But for someone like me, it was as clear as day. I remembered how that girl never truly listened when Tala spoke, always finding a way to interrupt.

She seized every opportunity to make a subtle, cutting remark about Tala's clothes, her appearance, or her height. The memory was distasteful. How pathetically obvious she had been.

My thoughts inevitably drifted to Tala herself. Tala the nerd... The ungraceful one who graduated top of our class...The innocent clumsy poor girl.

I had met her in our first year. I could still picture the first time I saw her, sitting under a tree, completely absorbed in a Detective comic. A smile touched my lips at the memory. I loved comics too, so I walked over and talked to her that day. We discovered we had a lot in common-a love for comics, classic novels, and documentary films. The only difference was in the specifics; she devoured scientific documentaries about natural life and endangered animals, while I was always drawn to the biographies of great and successful people, studying the blueprints of their lives.

With a sigh, I acted on impulse. I carefully navigated to the annoying girl's contact and blocked her number. There was no room for such distractions in the life I was building.

I closed my eyes, letting the fatigue of the day wash over me, and fell into a deep and sudden sleep. And for some strange reason, the last conscious thought that flickered through my mind was of Tala. The memory of our first meeting, her shy smile when I approached, the way she had hurried away, her face flushed a brilliant red after a simple conversation with me.

____

Tala's Perspective:

When I woke up this morning, I was in the worst state. The gloom from the previous night hadn't left me. I decided that today I wouldn't leave my bed; I would watch all the episodes of my favorite series all day long, and I wouldn't care no matter how much my mother scolded or insulted me. I wouldn't leave my room no matter what.

My mother tried many times to bother me. Once she said, "Come help me prepare breakfast." Another time, "Come wash the dishes." Then, "My heart hurts, take me to the hospital!" Eventually, she gave up and left me alone.

At lunchtime, she and my father called me and told me they had bought some shawarma from my favorite restaurant. That was a good reason to get me to move from the bed. After I ate, I remembered I hadn't fed my cat since the morning, so I fed her and played with her a little.

My mother threw some sarcastic remarks about my appearance, saying my cat was more elegant than me. We argued again until my father intervened and stopped us. As a punishment for her, I returned to my room and swore I wouldn't speak to her for the rest of the day.

When I sat alone in my room, I went back to my series and closed the door after allowing my cat, Mr. Kharkhor, to enter. Mr. Kharkhor is the only one who understands me. His name is beautiful because Amir is the one who named him. We found him in the college garden, and Amir gave him that name because he purrs a lot. I decided to take him to my home because Amir didn't have time to raise cats.

"Oh Mr Kharkhor, do you remember Amir and miss him like I do? I miss Amir so much, but my Amir has probably forgotten me and I'll never see him again." and here comes the waterworks. I fell asleep crying, and I probably started snoring.

Later, I was awakened by the sound of my mother calling my name loudly and saying, "Quickly, open the door! A very important guest has come for you!"

I opened my eyes with difficulty and said, "I don't want to see anyone."

My mother replied, "Wake up, you silly girl! It's a very important person for you."

I opened one eye and asked her, "Who is it? James Bond?" My mother sarcastically answered, "No, it's Amir..."

I froze in place, and suddenly the sleepiness flew away. I asked her in a low tone, "Which Amir?" She finally told me, "Amir, your friend from university."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I jumped out of bed, opened the door, passed by my mother, and found myself in front of the guest room.

And there he was... My handsome Amir. He was wearing a shiny black suit, his hair was longer and blonder, and his smile was just the same. I couldn't believe my eyes. I asked in a low voice if I was dreaming.

Amir approached and answered that it wasn't a dream. "The time has finally come for us to meet again," he said. "I had just asked your father for your hand."

I couldn't process his words. Amir looked at me, his eyes full of tenderness and love, and told me he was sorry for making me wait, but he wasn't ready for love back then. "Now we can finally be together," he said. Then he repeated his request.

"Would you Marry me Tala?"

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.