The Shards of Silence

Chapter 2

“Jabbar, where have you been?” asked the lady on the other end of the line. Her voice was filled with frustration and a hint of concern. “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning, and left millions of messages, but you’re nowhere to be found!”

Jabbar's brow furrowed at the accusation, but he kept his tone even. “I appreciate your concern, but it is my day off. I did send an email to HR last Wednesday.”

“I don’t have a recollection of the email,” Janette, the office secretary, retorted. “But I have been instructed by Mr. Johnson to enquire about your whereabouts and call you in.”

“Janette, it is my day off,” Jabbar repeated, a hint of exasperation creeping into his voice yet trying to maintain his composure. “I have scheduled the next three days for my personal matters.”

“Listen, Jabbar,” Janette interrupted, her irritation palpable. “Mr. Johnson wants you here at all costs. I am just doing my job. If you have any issues with that, take it up with him directly. Or if you want, I can forward your message saying that you will not be joining us today. The choice is in your hands. Let me warn you, this might reflect on your annual performance.”

Taking a deep breath, Jabbar relented. “Fine, I will be there.”

"Good," Janette replied briskly. "Get here soon. Mr. Johnson's been waiting for over an hour."

“Alright,” Jabbar conceded, the line went silent before he could utter the next word.

Jabbar flung his phone on the bed and crossed the room to the window. Leaning against the windowsill, he witnessed a new day as the sky was lit up by the fallen rays of the sun. He had no desire to engage with others over the next few days; consumed by a relentless yearning for solitude. All he wished for was a moment to mourn his loss, a ritual he had been carrying out for years.

Exhaling heavily, he trudged towards the wardrobe and ran his weary fingers through a navy blue cotton suit. This wasn’t just any suit; it was hand-stitched, reserved for a solemn annual offering—a defiant gesture, a manifestation of his scorn towards Death. Standing in front of the mirror, he counted the scars etched into his arms, a total of 5 attempts. Yet, here he was, preparing himself for another day.

A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips, devoid of any emotion, as he mechanically dressed himself. Each movement seemed weighed down by the burden of his inner turmoil, casting a shadow over the room.

“Is Bull-Horn in his cabin?”, Jabbar panted, struggling to catch his breath.

“Are you all right? You seem tired,” Janette replied, her voice tinged with concern.

“I’ll be fine, thank you. Is the Boss there?” Jabbar inquired, craning his neck to peek into the Boss’s cabin.

“He is in the conference room, waiting for you,” Janette answered, offering Jabbar a glass of water.

"Thank you, but I'll go and meet him there," Jabbar replied while declining the water politely.

Jabbar always found Janette's behavior intriguing. Was she genuinely concerned about him or was there something more? He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something that he might be misreading in the situation. Whether those were her hidden feelings for him or was his pain exposed for the world to see, he didn’t have a clue. Whatever it was, it troubled him deeply.

As he reached the meeting room, Jabbar could see Bull-horn pacing around the glass enclosure as a caged predator. Today was not the day for commotion yet, Bull-horn needed a victim and Jabbar felt he was about to become the unwitting prey.

Jabbar hesitantly knocked on the door with fingers crossed in his left pocket. Bull-horn, his nostrils flaring with barely contained rage, gestured for Jabbar to enter with a curt motion of his hand.

“You were looking for me, Boss?”, asked a weary voice filled with exhaustion.

“Where the hell have you been?!”, Bull-horn bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls of the conference room as he struggled to settle into his chair.

Jabbar sighed inwardly, “Boss, it was my day off. I had cleared it with you in advance. Janette called me in, and I rushed as quickly as I could. The car wouldn’t start so I had— “

“I don’t need your excuses!”, Bull-horn cut in sharply. “Here are the account details. I want you to get it done by today!”.

Jabbar was startled as Bull-horn threw the file on the glass conference table, abruptly pulling him back to reality. “But sir, this isn’t my account. It was Jill’s account, and I don’t have any details of the work.”

“I don’t give a damn whose account it was,” snapped Bull-horn between puffs of his Cuban cigar. “Jill has transferred her login access to you. Now get to work!”

Seated in his cramped cubicle, Jabbar felt the flare of injustice gnawing at him. “I asked for a single day off over the entire year, yet Jill gets to dump her tasks on me. Why? Cause she is the boss’s daughter?” grumbled Jabbar as he logged on to the system and started working.

The thought of resigning from the oppressive work environment briefly crossed his mind but he mustered the strength and began entering data. His movements mechanical; his mind elsewhere.

As hours dragged on, Jabbar’s eyelids grew heavy. He started losing his focus as fatigue took over his body. He looked up from the bright screen in front of him and leaned back on his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. As his mind wandered around, his eyes caught the attention of a picture frame perched on his desk. It stored the image of his parents who were his pillars of strength and unwavering support.

A sudden urge for a smoke break seized him, a desperate need for respite from files he had buried himself in. Fortunately, the office balcony provided a secluded refuge for smokers like him. Stepping outside into the cool breeze, he found solace in the peaceful chaos of the city below.

Jabbar fished a cigarette from his pocket and ignited it with practiced ease. As the smoke curled upwards, he reached for his phone, dialing his mom's number. As the phone rang, Jabbar took a long drag, and the sweet and warm voice called out, “Jabbar?”.

“Hi, Anne,” Jabbar replied as he frantically cleared his lungs, “How are you?”.

“Jabbar, when will you learn to convey Salam properly?” his mother chided gently.

“Am sorry. Assalam u Alaikum, Anne,” Jabbar corrected himself, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips.

“I am good, kid. How are you, Jibi?”, Jabbar’s mom replied, her tone laced with concern.

"I'm good. What are you up to?" Jabbar continued the conversation, attempting to mask his depression. He knew she could always sense when something was wrong, a bond he both cherished and struggled to comprehend.

“I was just about to sit down for tea with your Baba,” Jabbar’s Mom responded, her words filled with love. “Jibi, are you smoking again?” suddenly exclaimed Jabbar’s mom.

"Anne, I've quit smoking," Jabbar's voice cracked under the weight of deception as he attempted to extinguish the cigarette on the balcony's railing. "I did promise you I'd never smoke again, didn't I? It was just a phase, and I feel much better now," Jabbar reassured her, masking his lie with practiced ease.

“Jibi, you are speaking the truth, right? Wallah Jibi, hayatınızı mahvetmeyin. Kara bulutlar yok oldu oğlum,” his mother pleaded in Turkish. Her worry was palpable even through the phone.

"I swear, Anne, everything's fine now. I'm not ruining my life, I promise. I really need to get back to work. Just give my Salams to Baba," Jabbar spoke in a sly tone as he moved towards the balcony door.

“Take care, Jibi. Just remember son, we love you. If you ever want to come home and start fresh, we are here for you,” his mother said softly before bidding him goodbye.

“I know, Anne. Love you too. I have to go now. Hoşça kal,” Jabbar ended the call and moved back to his cubicle. With all the pain he had that day, now, he had to carry the guilt of lying to his mom, a woman who had always been there and supported him throughout his life.

It was nearing midnight, the deserted office echoing with the faint hum of the night cleaning crew's equipment. Jabbar glanced up from his work, startled by the presence of the janitor, a silent reminder of the lateness of the hour. With a sense of urgency, he hastily gathered his belongings, slipping into his coat as he prepared to depart.

Stepping out into the streets, Jabbar was met with the gentle patter of rain, casting a shimmering veil over the city. It was a perfect night to walk in the shadows of loneliness and spend time with the past memories that somehow lingered in his mind.

As Jabbar walked, he traversed the iconic New York bridge, its steel structure standing sentinel against the city skyline. Pausing mid-stride, he cast a solemn glance over the flowing expanse of water beneath, the city's heartbeat pulsing in tandem with the currents below. A decade back, he made the biggest life decision at the very point he stood tonight. The only difference between then and today was that he had the company of the most beautiful girl he had ever laid his eyes on. She might not have been the diamond every jeweler seeks but for Jabbar, she was the embodiment of all that was beautiful and pure in the world—the very reason he found purpose in each passing day.

They hadn’t dated for a long time, in fact, they never truly dated. It was an unspoken bond that tied them together. On the fateful night of May 23rd, 2001, two friends, deeply intertwined in each other’s lives, found themselves wandering the streets of New York. Yet, there was an undeniable air of significance to that particular evening.

As the sky blessed the souls with a gentle shower, Jabbar and his companion found themselves stranded on the Brooklyn bridge, at nearly 1 a.m. It was then that Jabbar decided to alter their future forever. Breaking from his casual stroll, he strode ahead and turned around fumbling through his pockets. She was puzzled by the abrupt change of behavior and before she could utter a word, Jabbar took out their house keys and separated the keyring from the jangling cluster. With a deliberate motion, he took a knee channeling every cliché romantic movie actor.

“Amara, will you be mine in this life and the next?” he asked, his voice trembling with emotion.

Lost in his memory, Jabbar was jolted back to the present by the insistent buzzing of his phone. “Yeah?”, he answered, with a broken voice.

“Where are you? I’ve been waiting for you at our spot for ages,” came Mark’s impatient voice from the other end. “You promised you’d be here.”

“Sorry, I was caught up at work. I don’t think I can make it tonight,” Jabbar lied, unwilling to be pulled away from his thoughts.

“Jibi, I am here waiting for you. You can’t bail on me again! This is the fourth time in a row,” Mark’s tone grew harsher.

“I told you, I can’t make it tonight. I am tired. Need to head back home and rest,” Jabbar replied tersely, ending the call and slipping the phone back into his coat pocket.

As he made his way home, thoughts of the past consumed him. He felt the absence of his lost love and dreaded the solitude of his existence. Perhaps, he mused, things might have been different if she were still by his side, and life hadn’t derailed from its intended course.