Epiphany

21:

- Mustafa - 

I wasn't sure why I stopped by Hadia's apartment that day. Maybe it was curiosity. Or maybe it was something I didn't have the courage to name yet. Whatever the reason, I had never intended for it to become a habit.

But over the following weeks, things shifted. The office, once a space of strict professionalism, now carried a strange undercurrent. A glance held too long. A shared laugh over something trivial. It was subtle but undeniable, and I hated that it occupied more of my thoughts than it should.

Even now, as I sat at my desk, I found myself replaying moments from the past few days. The way Hadia had smiled when she thought no one was watching. The softness in her voice when she addressed me, dropping the "Mr." more often than not. It was dangerous, this growing comfort between us.

I had just finished a long day of meetings when I noticed the door to my office creak open. I didn't expect anyone, and when I glanced up, I froze. A man I didn't recognize stood there, his expression rigid, his posture formal.

"Mr. Mustafa?" the man said, his voice authoritative. His eyes assessed me in the way someone does when they're sizing you up. There was something about the way he looked at me that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

"Yes?" I asked, my voice cautious. "Can I help you?" He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. His presence filled the room, the tension between us palpable.

"I'm Atif," he introduced himself, though the way he said it made it clear he expected me to know who he was. "I'm Hadia's father."

The words struck me hard. I wasn't expecting him to show up here, especially not without any warning. I stood up from my chair, instinctively straightening my posture. "Mr. Atif," I said, nodding, trying to remain polite. "What can I do for you?"

Hassan's eyes narrowed slightly, and he looked me over before speaking again. "I need to speak to you about my daughter." I raised an eyebrow, unsure of where this was going. "Of course. What about her?"

"About this... marriage of yours," Hassan said, his voice lowering as if he was about to speak something too sensitive for the public. "I don't understand why you married her. She's... not what you think she is."

His words caught me off guard. "What do you mean? How do you know of this?" I asked, not masking the confusion in my voice. He didn't hesitate, his words sharp. "She's impulsive, irresponsible, and she'll only bring you trouble. I don't understand why you'd tie yourself to someone like her. She's not capable of keeping it together. I've seen it for years."

I felt my jaw tighten, but I forced myself to stay calm. This wasn't about me, but about Hadia. "I made this decision on my own, Mr. Atif," I said, my voice firm. "And I don't need anyone's approval."

But he was relentless, stepping closer, his voice cold. "You think you know her? You think you understand what you're getting into? She's a mess, and she always has been. You're just going to end up disappointed like everyone else."

His words were venomous, and I could feel the anger rising in my chest. I had heard things like this before, and people underestimating someone they didn't understand. But this was different. This was Hadia's father, and I wasn't going to let him tear her down in front of me.

"I think you're wrong," I said, my voice quieter now, but still holding firm. "Hadia is none of the things you say she is. And I'm not going to stand here and listen to you talk about her like she's some burden."

His eyes flashed with something like contempt, but before he could respond, the door to my office opened again, and Hadia walked in, her eyes flicking from me to her father. She froze in place as soon as she saw him, her body stiffening, and any expression in her eyes disappeared.