Epiphany

23:

- Hadia -

I woke up to a steady warmth at my back, the kind that made you forget for a second where you were. My eyelids fluttered open, sunlight filtering through the curtains. It wasn't until I shifted slightly that I realized I wasn't alone. My breath hitched, and I froze.

Mustafa's arm was draped around me, his face barely inches from mine. His dark lashes rested against his cheeks, his expression peaceful, and for a moment, the sight of him like this stole my breath.

I tried to ease out of his hold, but as I moved, his arm tightened around me reflexively. "Don't," he murmured, his voice raspy from sleep. My heart skipped a beat.

His eyes opened slowly, hazy with sleep but fixed directly on me. The air between us felt heavy, charged with something I couldn't name.

"I—uh, I should go," I stammered, trying to sit up."Hadia," Mustafa said, his voice firmer now. His hand brushed against mine as I moved, grounding me in a way that made my chest tighten.  "Wait."

I turned to look at him, my heart beating in my chest, like I just ran a maraton. His gaze was steady now, the sleepiness gone, replaced by something raw and vulnerable.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about something," he said, sitting up fully but not letting go of my hand. His thumb traced an absent pattern against my skin, sending shivers up my spine. "About what?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.

He exhaled deeply, running a hand through his already messy hair. "Us," he said simply. "Us?" My stomach did a somersault. He nodded, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made it hard to look away. "I want to give this a try," he said softly. "But only if you're okay with it."

My throat tightened, the words lodging there. "Mustafa, I—" "Hear me out," he interrupted gently. "I know you've been through a lot, and I don't want to rush you or make you feel pressured. But I care about you, Hadia. More than I probably should. And I think... no, I know this could be something good. But only if you're ready."

His honesty left me stunned. I stared at him, my emotions swirling in a chaotic mess I couldn't quite untangle. Was I ready? Could I let myself be vulnerable like that again? "I..." I started, hesitating.

Mustafa leaned closer, his voice soft but unwavering. "You don't have to decide now. Take your time. Just know that I'm here, waiting for you."

Something about the way he said it, the patience in his tone, made me feel safe. Like maybe, just maybe, this wasn't as terrifying as it seemed. Finally, I nodded, my voice barely above a whisper. "Okay." His smile was small but genuine, and it lit up his entire face. "Okay."

- 

The walk to the office feels bizarre. I kept replaying Mustafa's words from this morning, his gentle yet steady tone when he told me he wanted to give us a chance. It's a dangerous train of thought, one I force myself to derail as soon as I step into the building.

The busy routine of the office quickly consumes me. I greet Sofia at her desk, her knowing smirk already in place. "What's that look for?" I ask. "Nothing," she singsongs, swiveling her chair back to her screen.

I shake my head, forcing myself to focus. Professionalism is key today.

When the meeting is called, I seat into my normal spot, pulling out my notebook. Mustafa enters a moment later. He nods at a few team members and begins the agenda, his voice calm and authoritative.

I keep my eyes trained on the pages in front of me, diligently taking notes. But then, I feel it—that prickling feeling of being watched. I glance up discreetly, and sure enough, Mustafa's gaze is on me. It's subtle, just a flicker, but enough to send a jolt through my system.

I quickly look away, hoping no one else noticed. Sofia, however, shifts beside me, her curiosity visible. As the meeting progresses, I catch him looking again, this time mid-sentence as he answers a question about client. My pulse races, and I grip my pen tighter. What is he doing?

By the time the meeting wraps up, I'm practically bolting out of the conference room. Sofia catches up with me, her smirk now a full-blown grin.

"Okay, spill," she demands, crossing her arms. "Spill what?" I ask, feigning confusion as I organize some papers on my desk. "Don't play dumb, Hadia. I saw the way Mustafa kept looking at you during that meeting. And don't even try to tell me I imagined it."

I shake my head, laughing nervously. "You're reading into things. He probably wasn't even looking at me." "Sure," she says, dragging out the word. "But if you ever decide to spill, I'm all ears."

She finally walks away, leaving me alone to gather my thoughts.

-

The rest of the day, I avoid him.

At lunch, I make a point of eating at my desk, my eyes glued to my monitor even when I feel the familiar warmth of his presence nearby. Once, he stops by my desk with a file, his fingers brushing mine as he hands it over.

"You good?" he asks, his tone casual but his eyes searching. "Yeah," I reply quickly, not daring to look at him too long. "Just swamped with work." He nods but doesn't move right away, his gaze lingering for a moment before he finally walks off.

By the time 5 p.m. rolls around, I'm exhausted—not from work, but from the constant effort to maintain distance. I hang my bag over my shoulder and head for the elevator, mumbling an excuse to Sofia about needing to run an errand. The last thing I need is for anyone to suspect anything.

As I step outside, the cool evening air feels like a relief. I'm halfway down the street when I hear the low hum of a car engine slowing beside me.

"Hadia," Mustafa's voice calls out, smooth and steady. I glance over to see his car idling at the curb, the passenger window rolled down. "Get in," he says, his tone leaving little room for argument.

I hesitate for a moment, glancing around the street before opening the door and sliding in. The silence between us is thick as he starts driving. I glance at him from the corner of my eye, noticing the slight tension in his jaw.

"Where are we going?" I finally ask, breaking the silence. "My place," he says simply. I close my eyes, leaning back into the seat with a sigh.

-

When we arrive, I follow him inside, my nerves fraying with each step. The familiarity of his apartment doesn't soothe me this time. Instead, it amplifies the tension building up between us.

I set my bag down and cross my arms, trying to steady myself. "We need to talk about work," I say, cutting straight to the point. He raises an eyebrow, leaning against the counter. "Work?"

"Yes," I say firmly. "Whatever this is—" I gesture vaguely between us "—we can't let it spill into the office. People will notice, and I don't want that." Mustafa sighs, running a hand through his hair. "So, what? You want me to pretend you don't exist when we're at work?"

I bristle at his tone. "I'm asking you to be professional. and keep your distance. Is really that hard?" He groans softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's really hard." he mutters under his breath.

"Huh?" I ask, narrowing my eyes. "Nothing," he says quickly, but the faint flush on his cheeks betrays him.