Unbroken bonds

7: A Request Unspoken

A week had passed since Inaya and Halima moved into the mansion. A week of silence that felt both suffocating and surreal. The house, with its polished floors and grand furniture, was a strange new world for Inaya, one that made her miss the small, cozy home she once shared with Maman Jamila. She had grown used to the warm embrace of her friend's presence, the quiet hum of her voice, the laughter that echoed through their modest home. Now, in this cold, distant mansion, Inaya felt like an outsider, a mere shadow in the grand scheme of things. Her heart ached every time she thought of Maman Jamila. Her absence left a hollow emptiness, a constant tug at her chest.

Inaya sighed deeply, wiping her hands on her apron as she moved through the vast, empty space of the living room. The sunlight streaming through the windows cast soft glows on the gleaming furniture, but it all felt so empty. The luxury was almost too much—too pristine, too perfect. She wasn't used to this, and sometimes, she could almost hear Maman Jamila's voice in her head, asking her why she had chosen this life.

Halima's school was much closer now, which was a relief, but the ever-present worry about her school fees continued to weigh heavily on Inaya's mind. Every time she walked past the bank, the thought of asking for money—especially from Salim—made her stomach tighten. She had worked so hard to ensure Halima would have a better future than she did. But asking Salim, her boss, for money felt like asking for a piece of her dignity. It felt wrong. She wanted asking Usman but The way he looked at her sometimes, the way he treated her as if she were invisible, made her skin crawl. She couldn't bear the thought of him rejecting her.

"God, I hope I don't have to ask him," she muttered softly as she dusted the bookshelves, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

She quickly wiped her hands on her apron, trying to smooth the nervousness from her face. Just as she finished straightening up, she noticed a row of shiny awards placed by the corner of the living room. Intrigued, she stepped closer, running her fingers along the polished frames.

"Salim Tarek Hazem," she whispered under her breath, reading the name on one of the many polished awards lining the walls. The sheer number of them was overwhelming. "Did he really win all these?" she muttered to herself, awe slipping into her voice as she ran her fingers along the smooth frames. They were impressive—each one more prestigious than the last. He must be brilliant, she thought. But then, she frowned. Is this the same man who seems to never smile, who always carries that wall of coldness around him?

A footstep interrupted her thoughts, and her body stiffened. In a panic, she hurriedly stepped away from the display, turning her focus back to cleaning. She bent her head, forcing herself to act casual.

"Good morning, sir," she greeted softly, her voice barely above a whisper, her gaze fixed firmly on the floor.

There was no response, just a heavy silence that stretched between them. Inaya could feel his eyes on her, cold and calculating. Her skin prickled as if a thousand invisible eyes were staring into her soul.

"Did you touch this?" The question came sharp and sudden, breaking the silence like a slap to the face. Salim was standing near the awards, his back slightly turned, his gaze fixed on the trophies.

Inaya's heart raced, and she felt the blood drain from her face. She could barely breathe, let alone speak. Did he notice? She forced herself to look at the floor, trying to mask the nervous tension in her body.

"Huh?" she stammered, her voice a mere squeak as her mind scrambled for something to say.

"You heard me," Salim pressed, his voice low, yet commanding.

Inaya swallowed hard, panic threatening to bubble over. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess of excuses, but nothing seemed to come out. She had touched one of the awards, just out of curiosity. She hadn't meant any harm by it. She had just wanted to feel the smooth frame beneath her fingers.