Bookworms | ✔

seventy-one

"Your what?" bellowed his father so loud that Nicholas could have sworn the noise thundered against his contained, isolated office. 

Nicholas responded calmly, not cowering from fear or doubts. "This is my resignation, Mr. Muller."

"Who said you could resign? I didn't approve of this."

A glacier froze the horizons beyond Nicholas's eyes as he coldly regarded his father, tone as frigid as his gaze, snipping harshly at the specks of pride he still had left. "I don't need your permission to resign," he said. "This is my choice, and I've worked the bare minimum of my contract to you. If I want, I'm allowed to resign. I only need to give you a two weeks notice."

The elder Muller was at a loss for words, stumbling over his tongue and tripping on his own feet. Nicholas saw the shock that tormented his eyes like an unbreakable chain, threatening to strangle him at any rash movement. In a way, their father-son relationship was a prison. 

They were chained to each other without love to harness the pain and heartaches, without fatherly affection embracing the two. Instead, Nicholas felt suffocated by his father's overbearing presence, felt encased by the barriers of his parent's expectations. 

Many children grew up with parents expecting too much from them. Many of his school friends constantly complained about their parents comparing them to others or pressuring them into fields they were unsure of.

Yet at the end of the day, their parents were there to heal their bruises, their parents were there to hold them close after the aftermath of war, their parents were there for them. 

Nicholas's parents were not.

And that was why he had to leave.

"I apologize for the inconvenience, however-" started Nicholas.

His father rigorously shook his head, electric, blue eyes wild with anger. "I don't want to hear your excuses," he cut off, pacing in front of his desk as Nicholas stood idly. "Over and over again, you let your mother and I into your mind just to shut us out. Do you have any idea how much we sacrificed for you? Do you realize how lucky you are to carry the name of Muller?"

Nicholas felt sharp words stabbing behind his lips, though silence proved to be less problematic. 

Mr. Muller took a threatening step forward. "Do you have any idea," he seethed, lips curled in a furious scowl, "the suffering we had to endure for raising you among the elites of our world, where we shielded you from the negativity and insecurity of those with rankings below us? We protected you, Nicholas. We kept you safe from a world that would do anything to tear you apart."

He met his father's gaze with the same ferocity, but his words were gentle, soft, and delicate like the quiet whistling of winds brushing through cherry blossoms. His voice reflected the tranquil serenity that came from witnessing the beauty of Allah's creations, Allah's blessings. There was no animosity. There was only sadness and sanguine growth.

Nicholas was no longer the scared boy afraid of his own shadow. He was a man now, a man with a loving wife, a man with an ambition, a man of his own destiny. 

"Dad," he croaked. "You pushed me away for the sake of protection. I was alone for all those years. You can't tell me that the world didn't tear me apart."

"And why can't I? You have no idea what you're speaking of. You have no idea what it's like to be a parent until you have a child of your own."

"You were a child once too," Nicholas smiled sadly. "Don't you remember how much you'd clamor for your own father's attention, for his approval? To a child, their parents are their world. My parents, my world, they tore me apart piece by piece, left me to my darkness, and then they sent me away. Is that not a type of betrayal?"

His father's eyes widened. 

"I'm resigning because I can't do this anymore, Dad. I can't keep pretending that everything Mom and you did was okay," he admitted truthfully. "Maybe you're right. I don't know what it's like to be a parent since I don't have a child, but I do know that family sticks together. We don't abandon each other because one of us has an imperfection. We're not perfect."

"Nicholas, you can't do this. This is our family's company."

"But it isn't for me. I don't want this business."

"Then what do you want?" he asked, exasperated. 

"I want my freedom."

"Nicholas, that's enough of this nonsense," insisted Mr. Muller. "You have a responsibility to this company."

He shook his head, placing the resignation papers on his father's desk. "You're wrong. My only responsibility is to Allah and myself. This company is not a part of me anymore."

"Wait-"

"There's nothing that will change my mind," he said, beginning to walk away. "Sorry, Dad."

Nicholas saw unspoken words in his father's eyes, saw the hurt that flashed through them. However, no matter how much his chest ached or how many times guilt prickled his skin, his father didn't have the courage to admit his faults. 

Unspoken words withered like dust, and actions clamored with each passing tick of time. 

----

I'm back! Chapter was kinda short, but like who wants to listen to business all day? Not me. 

Low-key, I'm sleep deprived and kinda crazy with quantum numbers in my mind. Not to mention the calculus straining my brain cells. Writing this book is honestly such a relaxing way to unwind from such stressful classes.

Do you think Nicholas's father might reflect over Nicholas's words? Is there even hope for his parents anymore?

Don't forget to vote, comment, and follow!