CHAPTER 6 ( Part 1 )
1304 Words
The wooden box rested exactly where she had left it.
Aizal remained seated on the bed, her eyes fixed on it while the steady rhythm of rain continued beyond the window. Her breathing gradually slowed, and the pounding in her chest began to settle.
"It was only a dream."
She whispered the words into the silence of the room.
Nothing answered her.
The box looked no different than it had a few hours earlier. Its golden paint had faded with time, and the carved flower on the lid seemed as ordinary as any other decorative pattern.
She looked away.
"You've been painting too much," she murmured to herself with a faint smile.
The smile disappeared almost as quickly as it had come.
She reached for the glass of water beside the bed, took a slow sip, then switched off the bedside lamp once again.
The rain became the only sound in the room.
Eventually, sleep returned.
---
The alarm rang at six-thirty.
Aizal stretched lazily before opening her eyes. Soft sunlight filtered through the curtains, replacing the darkness that had filled the room only a few hours earlier.
For a brief moment, she forgot about the dream.
Then her gaze wandered towards the bedside table.
The wooden box.
Still there.
Exactly where she had left it.
She stared at it for several seconds before shaking her head.
"I'm letting my imagination run wild."
She slipped out of bed and opened the curtains.
The rain had washed the world clean. Tiny drops still rested on the leaves outside, glittering beneath the morning sun. A cool breeze drifted through the open window, carrying the fresh scent of wet earth.
She closed her eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply.
The familiar smell calmed her more than she expected.
After offering Fajr prayer, she chose a simple cream-coloured dress with a matching dupatta and quietly made her way downstairs.
The aroma of breakfast filled the house.
Her mother was placing fresh parathas onto the dining table while her father skimmed through several documents beside his cup of tea.
"Assalamu Alaikum," Aizal said.
"Wa Alaikum Assalam," they replied together.
Mrs. Hashmi smiled warmly.
"Good morning."
"Good morning, Mama."
Mr. Hashmi folded one of the documents and looked at his daughter.
"You woke up early."
"I couldn't sleep very well."
"Trouble sleeping?"
"A strange dream, that's all."
Her father gave a small nod without asking any further questions.
Instead, he pushed the bread basket closer to her.
"Eat first. Dreams can wait."
Aizal smiled faintly.
"I suppose they can."
The conversation shifted to lighter topics while they ate together.
Mrs. Hashmi spoke about a neighbour who had invited them for dinner later that week.
Mr. Hashmi mentioned a client meeting scheduled before noon.
Aizal listened quietly, absentmindedly stirring her tea.
After a few moments, she looked at her father.
"Baba?"
"Yes?"
"I don't think I'll go to school today."
Both of her parents looked at her.
She quickly continued before either of them could misunderstand.
"I'm not feeling unwell. I just... need a short break."
Mrs. Hashmi placed another paratha on her plate.
"You hardly ever take leave."
"I know."
Mr. Hashmi watched her carefully.
"What are you planning to do instead?"
Aizal looked at him for a second before smiling.
"If you don't mind..."
She hesitated.
"I'd like to come to the office with you."
A brief silence followed.
Then Mr. Hashmi smiled.
"Really?"
She nodded.
"I haven't spent a full day there in quite a while."
"You'll be bored within an hour."
"I'll take that risk."
A soft laugh escaped him.
"I won't stop you."
Mrs. Hashmi looked at both of them before smiling as well.
"I suppose your father has found himself an assistant."
"I haven't agreed to work yet," Aizal replied.
"Oh?"
"I'll decide after I see how much work there is."
Mr. Hashmi chuckled.
"That sounds like a dangerous negotiation."
"It probably is."
For the first time since waking up, Aizal laughed without forcing herself.
The uneasy feeling she had carried since the previous night hadn't disappeared completely.
But for now...
It felt a little farther away.
About forty minutes later, father and daughter stepped out of the house together.
The morning air was cool, carrying the last traces of the night's rain.
As Mr. Hashmi started the car, Aizal looked out of the window.
The city moved at its usual pace.
School buses passed by.
Shopkeepers arranged goods outside their stores.
Cyclists weaved through traffic.
Everything looked perfectly ordinary.
She hoped the rest of the day would be just as ordinary.
The company building soon appeared ahead, its glass exterior reflecting the bright morning sky.
Mr. Hashmi parked the car and switched off the engine.
He looked at her with a smile.
"Ready?"
Aizal returned the smile and opened the door.
"Let's see if I survive a full day in your office."
Together, they walked through the main entrance.
The reception area was already alive with quiet activity.
Employees moved between departments with files tucked beneath their arms, while the sound of ringing telephones blended with the low murmur of conversations.
The receptionist immediately stood as Mr. Hashmi entered.
"Assalamu Alaikum, Sir."
"Wa Alaikum Assalam."
Her eyes shifted towards Aizal.
"It's good to see you again, Miss Aizal."
"It's good to be back."
As they walked further inside, several employees greeted her with warm smiles.
"Welcome back."
"It's been a while."
"We've missed seeing you here."
She returned every greeting with the same warmth.
Although she wasn't involved in the company's daily operations, everyone knew her. She had spent countless afternoons here during school holidays when she was younger, following her father from one department to another with endless curiosity.
Some habits never really disappeared.
Mr. Hashmi pushed open the door to his office.
"You can sit here for a few minutes. I need to check today's schedule."
Aizal nodded and quietly took a seat across from his desk.
The office looked exactly as she remembered.
Tall bookshelves lined one wall, each shelf neatly filled with files, awards, and framed certificates. A large window overlooked the city, allowing sunlight to pour into the room.
A family photograph rested near the corner of the desk.
She picked it up with a gentle smile.
It had been taken years ago.
She was much younger then, standing between her parents with a bright, carefree smile. Mr. Hashmi looked noticeably younger as well, with fewer lines around his eyes.
She couldn't help smiling.
Time had changed all of them.
A knock interrupted the silence.
The office manager entered, looking unusually tense.
"Sir..."
Mr. Hashmi looked up.
"What happened?"
"The Al-Hadi Group meeting has been cancelled."
Silence filled the room.
"What do you mean cancelled?"
"They called ten minutes ago."
Mr. Hashmi slowly placed his pen on the desk.
"Did they explain why?"
The manager hesitated.
"They said they weren't satisfied with yesterday's proposal."
Mr. Hashmi's expression hardened.
"I specifically asked for every document to be reviewed before it was sent."
"Sir, we—"
"I also asked everyone to verify the financial figures twice."
The manager lowered his head.
"I'm sorry, Sir."
Mr. Hashmi stood.
"This meeting took weeks to arrange."
"I know."
"No."
His voice remained calm, but the disappointment behind it was impossible to miss.
"You clearly don't."
The room fell completely silent.
Aizal quietly placed the photograph back on the desk.
She had rarely seen her father this disappointed.
He wasn't shouting.
That somehow made the atmosphere even heavier.
The manager looked genuinely ashamed.
"I'm very sorry, Sir."
Aizal glanced from one of them to the other before speaking.
"Baba."
Mr. Hashmi looked at her.
She smiled gently.
"May I?"
He understood immediately.
After a brief pause, he nodded.
Aizal turned towards the manager.
"Could you please bring me the proposal file?"
"Of course."
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