Anna smiled, struck by his directness and the way he seemed to actually care about the answer, rather than just the price tag.
— “Good afternoon,” she replied. “We have several pieces that might fit. Are you looking for something abstract, or something more grounded?”
Zaid paused, considering his words carefully.
— “I am not looking for inspiration,” he said after a moment. “I am looking for peace. My life is fast and often chaotic. I want something that forces the world to slow down, if only for a minute.”
Anna walked him through the gallery, and their conversation quickly shifted from brushstrokes to personal philosophies. He spoke of his travels; she spoke of her passion for history. It felt less like a sales pitch and more like a genuine connection.
Zaid returned the next day. He asked more questions about the art, but within minutes, they were talking about life again. This time, his questions were more personal.
— “Why art?” he asked, watching her closely.
Anna thought for a second before answering.
— “I think it’s because art allows us to see the world through someone else’s eyes. It’s a way to find common ground. Why do you collect?”
Zaid gave a small, almost self-deprecating smile.
— “I collect for my soul,” he said. “My world is full of power and noise. I need the silence that a good painting provides.”
By the third day, the pretense of looking at art was gone. They spoke like old friends. Anna realized Zaid wasn’t like the other billionaires she’d met; there was a groundedness to him. Before he left that day, he finally took a chance.
— “Anna,” he said, his voice steady but slightly hesitant. “I would very much like to take you to dinner. I know a quiet place where we can actually hear each other talk.”
Anna was surprised, but looking into his eyes, she felt a pull she couldn’t ignore.
— “I’d like that,” she said. “That sounds lovely.”
The restaurant Zaid chose was elegant and understated, tucked away from the city noise. As they sat down, Anna noticed how attentive he was, catching every detail of her expression.
— “I’m glad you came,” he said sincerely. “I don’t usually mix business with my personal life.”
Anna appreciated his honesty.
— “Thank you for the invitation. This is a beautiful spot,” she said, glancing around. “Do you come here often?”
— “Whenever I need to think,” he replied with a faint smile. “It’s one of the few places where I feel like a regular person.”
Intrigued, Anna asked the question that had been on her mind:
— “Zaid, tell me about your background. How does a man who runs a global empire end up so invested in the arts? Where did your story start?”
Zaid went quiet for a moment, then began to speak. His voice softened as he reached back into his memories.
— “I wasn’t born into luxury,” he started. “My father was a self-made man, very strict. He believed life required a thick skin. He wanted me to be strong, and perhaps because of that, I became a bit too guarded.”
Anna listened intently, seeing the man behind the headlines.
— “And your mother?” she asked softly.
— “She was the heart of the family. She taught me to stay true to myself,” he said, his gaze drifting as if seeing her face. “She taught me to find beauty in the small things—nature, a well-read book, a painting. I think my love for art comes from her. She used to say that true wealth is what you carry inside you.”
Anna saw a vulnerability in him that he clearly didn’t show the world.
— “And now? What drives you?” she asked.
Zaid sighed, his expression turning serious.
— “My life is meetings and spreadsheets. Sometimes I feel like I’ve lost that connection my mother spoke of. Everything has become mechanical.”
He looked at her directly.
— “But when I saw you in that gallery, and heard you talk about your work… it reminded me of what I’d pushed aside. You see the world through a lens that isn’t about profit margins or obligations.”
Anna felt a warm flush of connection and replied:
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