WHISPERS BENEATH THE CANVAS

CHAPTER 6 ( Part 2 )

Within moments, several files were placed across the desk.

She opened the first folder and began reading carefully.

The room remained quiet except for the turning of pages.

Every few minutes, she made a small note on a blank sheet of paper.

Mr. Hashmi watched without interrupting.

After nearly fifteen minutes, Aizal closed the final file.

"I think I found the problem."

The manager looked up hopefully.

"What is it?"

"The proposal isn't weak."

She gently tapped one of the pages.

"But this pricing chart is different from the one mentioned in the supporting report."

The manager quickly leaned closer.

His eyes widened.

"Oh..."

Aizal turned another page.

"And this document still contains the first draft instead of the revised version."

He stared at the papers in disbelief.

"I... I didn't notice."

Mr. Hashmi quietly took the file from her.

He compared both pages before looking at the manager.

"No wonder they lost confidence."

The manager looked devastated.

"I'm terribly sorry, Sir."

Aizal offered him a reassuring smile.

"Mistakes happen."

He looked at her uncertainly.

"What matters now is fixing them."

She picked up the office telephone.

"Do you have the contact number for their assistant?"

The manager nodded immediately.

"Yes."

"Please give it to me."

He handed her a small note.

Aizal read the number once before dialling it.

The phone rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Finally...

Someone answered.

"Good morning. This is the office of Al-Hadi Group."

Aizal straightened slightly in her chair.

"Good morning. My name is Aizal Hashmi. I'm calling regarding today's cancelled meeting."

Mr. Hashmi remained silent, watching her.

The conversation had only just begun."...Yes, I understand."

Aizal listened carefully, a pen resting between her fingers as she made a few short notes on the pad beside her.

"I completely understand your concern."

She paused, allowing the person on the other end to finish speaking.

"You're right. The proposal you received contained inconsistencies, and I sincerely apologise for that."

Mr. Hashmi remained silent.

The office manager stood near the door, his hands clasped tightly in front of him.

"I assure you," Aizal continued calmly, "the figures in the report were prepared correctly. Unfortunately, the wrong draft was sent before the final review."

Another pause.

"I understand why your team decided to cancel the meeting."

Her voice remained steady.

She wasn't trying to defend the mistake.

She was acknowledging it.

After nearly a minute of conversation, the expression on her face softened.

"I appreciate you giving me a few minutes to explain."

She glanced at the corrected documents lying open across the desk.

"If we deliver the revised proposal personally this afternoon, would your team be willing to spare us twenty minutes?"

Silence.

Mr. Hashmi watched her without saying a word.

The office manager barely seemed to breathe.

Aizal listened again before a small smile appeared on her face.

"Thank you."

She nodded gently.

"We'll be there at three o'clock."

Another brief pause.

"And thank you for giving us a second opportunity."

She ended the call and slowly placed the receiver back on its cradle.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then she looked towards her father.

"They've agreed to another meeting."

The office manager let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding.

"They did?"

"They're willing to hear the revised presentation this afternoon."

Relief spread across his face.

"I'll prepare everything immediately."

Mr. Hashmi looked at him.

"Double-check every document before it leaves this building."

"I will, Sir."

"No."

His tone remained firm but no longer carried the disappointment from earlier.

"This time, ask someone else to verify them as well."

"Yes, Sir."

The manager gathered the files and hurried out of the office.

As the door closed behind him, silence settled over the room once more.

Mr. Hashmi looked at his daughter for several seconds before shaking his head with a smile.

"I think I owe you an apology."

Aizal looked surprised.

"For what?"

"I told you that you'd probably get bored."

She laughed quietly.

"I haven't decided whether I'm bored yet."

"I should be careful."

"Why?"

"You might take my chair one day."

She smiled.

"I'll let you keep it."

"I appreciate your generosity."

Both of them laughed.

The tension that had filled the office only minutes earlier finally disappeared.

"I'll be in the conference room for a while," Mr. Hashmi said, picking up his notebook. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be back soon."

"I'll stay here."

"I won't be long."

He left the office, closing the door behind him.

The room became unusually quiet.

Aizal stood and walked towards the large window.

The city stretched endlessly below.

Cars moved like tiny dots along the roads.

People hurried from one building to another, each occupied with lives she knew nothing about.

She folded her arms and watched them absentmindedly.

A dull metallic sound echoed somewhere nearby.

Clink.

She turned her head.

The sound had come from somewhere beyond the office wall.

She listened.

Nothing.

Perhaps someone had dropped a file trolley.

She looked back towards the window.

A few seconds later—

Clink.

This time it sounded a little closer.

Aizal frowned.

The office floor was usually busy.

There was nothing unusual about hearing random noises.

Still...

Something about the sound caught her attention.

She walked towards the office door and opened it.

The corridor outside was almost empty.

At the far end, a cleaner pushed a trolley past the elevators before disappearing around the corner.

Aizal smiled to herself.

"So that's all."

She was about to close the door when another sound reached her ears.

A soft thud.

Not from the corridor.

From inside the office.

Her smile slowly faded.

She looked back.

The room appeared exactly as she had left it.

Sunlight poured through the window.

The bookshelves stood perfectly still.

Nothing seemed out of place.

For a moment she simply stood there, listening.

Silence.

Absolute silence.

She quietly stepped back inside and closed the door.

Her eyes slowly moved across the room.

The desk.

The chairs.

The bookshelves.

Everything looked normal.

Then she noticed a folder lying on the carpet beside the bookshelf.

She was certain it hadn't been there a moment ago.

Curious, she walked over and picked it up.

The folder wasn't open.

Nothing had spilled out.

She looked up at the shelf.

One empty space between the files caught her attention.

A faint smile crossed her face.

"It must have slipped."

She placed the folder back where it belonged and lightly pressed the row of files into place.

"There."

Satisfied with her explanation, she dusted off her hands and turned back towards the desk.

Outside, the clouds slowly drifted across the afternoon sky.A soft knock broke the silence.

"Come in," Aizal called.

The office manager stepped inside, carrying a neatly arranged folder.

"I've checked every document twice," he said. "The finance department has verified them as well."

Aizal accepted the folder and smiled.

"Thank you."

He hesitated for a moment.

"And..."

She looked up.

"I'm sorry about earlier."

"There is nothing to apologise to me for."

"I made a careless mistake."

"You admitted it."

He nodded quietly.

"And you're fixing it."

Aizal closed the folder.

"That matters more."

The manager gave a grateful smile before leaving the office.

A few minutes later, Mr. Hashmi returned.

"Everything ready?"

"Yes."

She handed him the revised proposal.

He carefully reviewed a few pages before closing the file.

"Good."

He looked at his watch.

"We should leave."

---

The afternoon meeting lasted a little over an hour.

When father and daughter finally walked out of the client's office, both wore relieved smiles.

Mr. Hashmi unlocked the car.

"I think today's assistant deserves some credit."

Aizal laughed as she fastened her seat belt.

"I only made a phone call."

"You did much more than that."

She looked out of the window as the car pulled onto the road.

"I suppose today wasn't such a bad idea after all."

"It certainly wasn't."

---

By the time they reached home, the evening sky had begun turning shades of orange and violet.

Mrs. Hashmi welcomed them with a smile.

"How was your day?"

Mr. Hashmi answered before Aizal had the chance.

"I may have found someone who's after my job."

Mrs. Hashmi raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"A very determined young lady."

Aizal looked at him in disbelief.

"I helped with one meeting."

"Exactly."

Her father placed a hand dramatically over his heart.

"That's how it begins."

She laughed.

"Mama, don't believe him."

"I already do."

The three of them shared a warm laugh as they walked into the dining room.

Dinner passed comfortably.

Mr. Hashmi entertained the table with an exaggerated version of the day's events, making himself sound far more dramatic than he had actually been.

"I wasn't that angry," he insisted.

Aizal nearly laughed into her glass of water.

"Baba..."

"What?"

"You scared half the office."

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

Mrs. Hashmi smiled.

"I wish I had seen that."

"You wouldn't have enjoyed it," Mr. Hashmi replied.

"Oh, I think I would have."

The conversation drifted from one topic to another until dinner came to an end.

---

Later that night, Aizal climbed the stairs to her room.

She changed into comfortable clothes before walking towards the window.

The city had grown quiet.

Only a cool breeze slipped through the slightly open glass.

Her eyes wandered towards the bedside table.

The wooden box remained exactly where it always was.

She looked at it for a moment before opening the lid.

The paintbrush rested inside.

Carefully, she picked it up.

"I could use a little painting tonight."

She carried it to the small room she used as her studio.

Canvases leaned neatly against one wall.

Shelves held tubes of paint arranged by colour, while brushes of different sizes rested inside ceramic jars.

The familiar smell of paint immediately relaxed her.

She placed a fresh canvas onto the easel.

"I'll paint something simple."

She squeezed warm shades onto her palette.

Soft gold.

Burnt orange.

A little brown.

She had intended to paint a quiet desert beneath an evening sky.

The first brushstroke landed on the blank canvas.

Then another.

Minutes slipped by unnoticed.

The room fell completely silent except for the gentle sound of the brush gliding across the canvas.

Without realising it, she stopped looking at the reference photograph lying beside her.

Her hand continued moving on its own rhythm.

One colour blended into another.

Another brushstroke followed.

Then another.

Nearly an hour later...

She finally lowered the brush.

A satisfied breath escaped her lips.

"Done."

She stepped back.

The faint smile on her face slowly disappeared.

Her eyes remained fixed on the canvas.

It wasn't a desert.

Not even close.

The brush slipped from her fingers onto the wooden floor with a soft tap.

In front of her...

The canvas showed a dimly lit room.

Rain rested against a single window.

And hanging on the far wall...

Was a painting she couldn't quite make out.

Aizal stared at it without blinking.

Her heartbeat quickened.

She hadn't painted this on purpose.

She was certain of it.

Without taking her eyes off the canvas, she whispered almost to herself,

"...How did I paint this?"

She stood there for a long time before finally reaching for her phone.

She took a photograph of the painting.

After staring at the screen for a few seconds, she uploaded it to her art page with a simple caption.

Evening Practice.

Nothing more.

She placed the phone on the bedside table beside the wooden box and switched off the light.

Within minutes, exhaustion pulled her into sleep.

Darkness slowly surrounded her.

Then...

The sound of rain.

A cool breeze brushed against her face.

The scent of wet earth filled the air.

Aizal opened her eyes.

She was standing before a tall iron gate.

Beyond it, everything disappeared into silence.