Epiphany

26:

- Hadia - 

The day had been boring and busy, filled with the usual office work. I had spent most of the morning immersed in a pile of reports that needed Mustafa's signature by the end of the day. The  rhythm of typing, calculating, and proofreading echoed around me as the hours slipped by.

By mid-afternoon, I finally had everything ready and stacked neatly in a folder. Stretching in my chair, I let out a sigh of relief. It had been a long day already, but the thought of walking into Mustafa's office made my heart beat a little faster.

Grabbing the folders needed, I straightened my blazer and made my way to his office. His door was slightly open, and just as I was about to knock, raised voices stopped me in my tracks.

"What is the meaning of this, Mustafa?" a sharp, angry voice demanded. "Backing out of an engagement—our engagement—just a week away?" I froze, my hand hovering in mid-air. It was Naya, his fiancée.

"I never wanted to get married," Mustafa replied, his tone steady but firm. "And I still don't. You deserve someone who does, Naya. Someone who's excited to build a life with you. That person isn't me." He explained to her.

There was a pause, followed by the sharp intake of a breath. "Is this about someone else?" Naya demanded, her voice trembling with fury. "There is, isn't there?" she scoffed. "Do you have feelings for someone else? Is that what this is?"

Silence filled the room for a moment before Mustafa spoke again, his voice softer this time. "Yes," he admitted. "I love someone else. I've loved her long before this engagement was ever arranged." He clamly answers.

My breath hitched, and I clutched the folder tighter. A swirl of emotions surged within me, shock, disbelief, and a flicker of something that felt dangerously close to hope.

Naya's voice rose again, cutting through the tense quiet. "You love someone else? Who? Who is she?" Mustafa didn't respond immediately, but his silence was answer enough.

"Oh, I see now," Naya laughed bitterly, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Of course. It's her, isn't it? That little secretary of yours. How cliché."

I barely had time to step back before the door was flung open, and Naya stormed out. Her eyes landed on me immediately, and her face twisted in rage. "You!" she spat, pointing an accusing finger at me. "I knew it! You've been after him all along, haven't you?!"

Startled by her sudden action, I opened my mouth to respond, but the words wouldn't come out. A few employees appeared in the corridor, their heads turning toward the commotion.

"Naya, stop," Mustafa's voice cut through the tension like a knife. He emerged from his office, his expression calm and controlled. He walked over to stand beside me, placing himself between Naya and me.

"Hadia wasn't the one pursuing me," he said, his voice steady and loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. "I was the one who went after her. I'm the one who asked her to marry me."

Naya's face turned red with anger and humiliation. She opened her mouth to retort but snapped it shut when Mustafa gave her a pointed look. Without another word, she turned on her heel and stomped out of the office, slamming the door to the main corridor behind her.

The office buzzed with murmurs and whispers as people returned to their desks, pretending to be busy. I could feel their eyes on me, their curiosity heavy in the air. My cheeks burned with embarrassment.

Mustafa turned to me, his expression softening. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low enough for only me to hear. I nodded mutely, unable to meet his gaze.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. Word of the confrontation spread like wildfire, and by the time the clock showed five, it felt like the entire company knew about us.

Around half past five, Mustafa stepped out of his office. His sleeves were rolled up, and his tie hung loosely around his neck. He walked over to my desk, his expression unreadable. "You should head home early," he said.

I hesitated, but the weight of the day was catching up to me, and I didn't have the energy to argue. "Okay," I replied quietly, gathering my things.

As I walked out of the office building, the cool evening air brushed against my face, offering a small sense of relief. Our apartment wasn't far from the office, and the walk usually gave me time to clear my head. But today, my thoughts were a jumbled mess.

Mustafa's words replayed in my mind over and over. "I love someone else. I've loved her long before this engagement was ever arranged."

I was halfway home when I heard someone call my name. "Hadia!" I turned to see Faraz running up towards me.

"Hi, Faraz," I said, forcing a polite smile. "Do you have a minute?" he asked, slightly out of breath. I hesitated. Something in his tone made me uneasy, but I nodded reluctantly. "Sure."

He gestured to a nearby café, and we took a seat at one of the outdoor tables. "I've been meaning to talk to you," he began, his hands fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. "I've been thinking about this for a while, and I just have to say it."

I waited, unsure where this was going. "I like you, Hadia," he blurted out. "I have feelings for you." My heart sank, and I stared at him, unsure of how to respond.

"Faraz..." I began, choosing my words carefully. "I'm married now. You know that." He leaned forward, his expression earnest. "I know, but I can't stop thinking about you, and that guy doesn't deserve you, Hadia. You'd be happier with me."

I stiffened, my hands clenching into fists under the table. "That's not for you to decide," I said, keeping my voice steady. "I love my husband, Faraz. Whatever you're feeling... it needs to stop."

He shook his head, desperation flickering in his eyes. "You don't understand, Hadia. I can give you everything he can't." 

Before I could respond, he reached across the table, grabbing my hand. "Faraz—"

He dropped to one knee, right there in the middle of the café. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the small crowd as people turned to watch.

"Marry me, Hadia," he said, his voice trembling. "I'll treat you better than he ever could." My face burned with embarrassment and anger. I pulled my hand away, standing abruptly. "No," I said firmly. "I don't love you, Faraz, and I never will. Don't ever do this again."

I turned and hurried away, my heart pounding as tears stung my eyes.

When I finally reached the apartment, I paused outside the door, taking a deep breath to steady myself. Mustafa was already home; I could hear the faint sound of the television through the door.

Pushing the door open, I stepped inside, forcing a smile. "You're late," Mustafa said, glancing up from the couch. "Everything okay?" "Yeah," I said quickly, setting my bag down. "I stopped by the café for a bit."

He nodded, his gaze lingering on me for a moment before he turned back to the TV. I escaped to the bedroom, leaning against the door once it was shut. The weight of the day pressed down on me, but one thought rose above the rest—Mustafa's words from earlier.

"I love someone else. I've loved her long before this engagement was ever arranged." He had said it so plainly, so confidently.

And the realization hit me like a warm, steady light.

He meant me.