The Unspoken Bond
867 Words
The following morning, the city moved in its usual rhythm honking traffic, sunburnt vendors, and the distant melody of Bongo Flava leaking from street radios. But inside the towering glass walls of ZeniTech, tension brewed.
Zuwena sat silently at her desk, eyes fixed on the blinking cursor of her laptop. The events of last night played in her mind like a scene she couldn't pause — Rehema Khalid's icy words, the photograph of her father, the lingering way Ayaan had looked at her when he thought no one was watching.
She had questions. Dangerous ones.
But asking them could cost her everything.
Her fingers drummed nervously against the desk as Ayaan walked in — ten minutes early, as always. No smile, no greeting, just a nod. That was the routine.
Except today, he paused by her desk.
"You okay?" he asked.
Zuwena blinked, surprised. "Yes... I think so."
He studied her. “Rehema can be… difficult.”
Zuwena held his gaze. “She knows who I am, doesn’t she?”
Ayaan's jaw tightened. “It’s not what you think.”
“Then what is it?”
Silence.
He exhaled slowly. “Come to the boardroom. There’s something I need to show you.”
Inside the Vault
The boardroom wasn’t like the rest of the building. Its design was older, less digital, with wood-paneled walls and a long glass table that reflected every worried glance.
Ayaan placed a thick envelope on the table.
“This,” he said, “is from 2004. The year your father left ZeniTech.”
Zuwena reached for the envelope, hesitating only a second. Inside were documents — old memos, witness statements, and an unsigned confession.
Her father’s name was on every page.
“He was accused of leaking proprietary data,” Ayaan said. “But he never confessed. There was no hard evidence. The board forced his resignation quietly.”
Zuwena's heart pounded. “Why would someone frame him?”
Ayaan hesitated. “Because at the time, Rehema was protecting something or someone. And Nassor was asking the wrong questions.”
“Like I am now?” she asked bitterly.
“No.” Ayaan’s voice was softer. “Like someone brave.”
For a moment, the boardroom went silent the air thick with the weight of untold history.
Then, Zuwena asked, “Why are you showing me this?”
Ayaan looked away. “Because you deserve to know the truth. And because hiding it… would make me no better than those who did.”
Shifting Sands
The rest of the day passed like a storm behind glass. Meetings, emails, small talk. But beneath the surface, everything had shifted.
At lunch, Ayaan called her into his office again. Not for tasks but to talk.
“I was twelve,” he began. “When that happened to your father. I didn’t understand much. Just that one day, he was gone, and my mother seemed… relieved.”
Zuwena listened quietly.
“I didn’t question it,” he continued. “Until now.”
She folded her arms. “So you’re saying your mother destroyed my father’s career, and you just stood by?”
He winced. “I was a boy. But I’m not anymore.”
There was a long silence.
“I want to clear his name,” Ayaan said.
Zuwena looked at him, skeptical. “Why? Out of guilt?”
He shook his head. “Out of respect. For him. For you.”
Her voice lowered. “You can’t fix the past, Ayaan.”
“No,” he agreed. “But maybe I can stop it from poisoning the future.”
Moments Between Walls
That evening, long after most staff had left, Zuwena found herself alone in the break room, cradling a cup of strong coffee. The lights were dimmed, the office quiet.
Footsteps echoed.
She didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
“I thought you’d gone home,” she said.
“I could ask you the same,” Ayaan replied.
He stood beside her, silent for a moment. Then he asked, “Do you ever feel like you’re living someone else’s story?”
Zuwena chuckled faintly. “Every single day.”
Their eyes met. And in that silence, something shifted — not in words, but in breath, in heartbeats.
“I didn’t expect you to be this strong,” he said.
“And I didn’t expect you to be this… human.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
“You scare me, Zuwena.”
She blinked. “Why?”
“Because you make me feel things I’ve spent years trying to bury.”
The air thickened.
And just like that, he stepped away. “Goodnight.”
She stood there, cup trembling slightly in her hand, pulse louder than the quiet.
Back at Home
That night, Zuwena sat by the window, the city’s lights winking below. She pulled the old photo from her bag again.
Her father had once said: "The truth always has a price."
Now she was beginning to understand what he meant.
But even as fear clawed at her chest, something else had begun to grow something she didn’t expect.
Hope.
And something dangerously close to love.
- Writer
