Epiphany

28:

- Hadia - 

Returning to work after the business trip felt like stepping back into reality, but something had shifted. It wasn't anything obvious, nothing I could put into words, but there was a change in the air between me and Mustafa.

The first few days had been normal—or at least, as normal as life had become with him. We slipped back into our routines easily. Waking up together, having breakfast while he scrolled through his emails, driving to the office in comfortable silence. Work was the same, too. I managed his schedules, handled his calls, and typed out reports while he remained his usual commanding, confident self in meetings. If anything, things between us felt more... settled.

But then, I started seeing him everywhere. Faraz.

At first, I thought it was a coincidence. A passing glimpse near the office building, his familiar figure standing outside a café as I walked to grab coffee. But then, it happened again. And again. Every time, I ignored him. Kept my head down, pretended not to notice.

I didn't want to acknowledge him, and I certainly didn't want to give him a reason to think I would. But he didn't stop.

One morning, as I was walking into the office, he was there. Leaning against the entrance, hands in his pockets, as if he had been waiting. I tried to walk past him, but he stepped into my path.

"Hadia," he said, voice smooth, like this was just a casual meeting. I sighed, gripping my bag tighter. "Faraz, I have nothing to say to you."

He smiled, lazy, arrogant. "You don't have to say anything. I just wanted to see how you're doing." "I'm fine," I said flatly. "Now move."

He chuckled. "Mustafa treating you well?" I didn't respond, pushing past him and walking straight into the building.

I should have told Mustafa. Maybe I would have if I had thought Faraz would actually cause any trouble. But I didn't want to make a big deal out of something that would go away if I just ignored it.

But I choose not to say anything. These couple of days, I feel like he's slowly changing.

Little things at first. There was a slight hesitation in his touch. The way his answers became shorter, like he wasn't really paying attention.

One evening, I reached for his hand as we walked out of the office, something I had started doing without thinking. He let me, but after a few moments, he pulled his hand away under the excuse of fixing his watch.

It stung, but I told myself I was imagining it. But then there were other things.

At home, he was quieter. Kept to himself more. Some nights, he would come home late without explanation. And when I asked, he would just say, "Work," before disappearing into the bedroom or taking calls on the balcony.

At first, I tried not to let it get to me. Maybe he was just stressed. Maybe he was tired.

But then, one night, it finally hit me. We were in bed, side by side. I turned to him, resting my head against his shoulder, waiting for him to pull me closer like he always did. But he didn't. He barely even reacted.

Something inside me sank. "...Mustafa?" "Hm?" He didn't look at me, just kept his eyes on his phone.

I hesitated. "Are you okay?" "Yeah." That was it. No explanation. No warmth. Just a short, clipped answer. And that was when I knew.

Something was wrong. I just didn't know what.

- A few days later - 

Last nig, t I found out Mustafa had left for the airport straight after work. Even though I was his secretary, I wasn't aware of it. I only found out after he got to the airpo , and sent me a short text saying he would be gone for a day or two.