The Shadows
2192 Words
Friday evenings were faced with much expectation. It was about a week from the proposal and Aila was drowned with non-stop approval meetings and formal team gatherings to prepare for the 6 month long project ahead. That evening she felt free, not necessarily lighter, as she had long learned that responsibility never clock out, but looser, like the city itself exhaled after a week of restraint.
Her cozy apartment, her refuge, shifted in tone as the sun dipped lower, the casement windows reflecting streaks of gold and amber before giving way to neon, and music, and the soft sounds of the tv in the background. For once, Aila let herself be part of it, at least until she heard a familiar jingle and a curse at the front door.
“Hi baby, I'm home!”
Lilian, her best friend of ten years burst through the doorway of her apartment, curly, red hair falling forward into her face as she tossed her shoes in different directions, maybe never to be seen again. She barely stopped herself from stumbling with the amount of stuff in her hands before she puckered her lips, blowing a kiss at Aila.
Aila, in pajamas, hair slightly frizzed, rolled her eyes, tossing a forlorn shoe back to the doorway.
"Give me ten minutes to get dressed" she said, crunching a chip and nodding to a prestine outfit hung gently on the bedroom door.
"I love you, but you can't be wearing that" Her friend remarked as she dropped her burdens and crossed her arms—expression curled firmly in a way that suggested the chosen clothing was found severly wanting.
Aila glanced at her outfit—tailored trousers, a soft blouse, neutral tones. Comfortable. Safe.
“It’s fine.”
“If it's a board meeting,” Lilian said dryly. “And the board served cocktails and played blues.”
Aila tried not to smile.
“I don’t see the problem.”
“The problem,” Lilian stepped inside, already stomping toward the bedroom with her luggage, “is that you’ve been working twelve-hour days and still dressing like you’re about to present a quarterly forecast.”
“I like structure.”
“You like hiding,” Lilian shot back.
Aila paused.
That landed a little too close.
Before she could respond, Lilian disappeared and reappeared holding something decidedly not structured.
“Wear this.”
It was a dress—cream, but softer than anything Aila owned. The fabric moved easily, catching light even in the dim apartment. The neckline was modest, but the cut… wasn’t entirely safe.
Aila raised an eyebrow.
The silence that followed was quieter than before.
Aila looked at the dress again.
Then, groaned—
“Fine.”
——————
The restaurant pulsed with energy.
Music threaded through the space—rhythmic, warm, alive. Conversations overlapped, laughter rising above the hum of the crowd. The scent of grilled food and citrus lingered in the air, blending into something distinctly Friday night.
Aila stepped inside as she adjusted the hem of her silky dress unconsciously. It felt… different—not uncomfortable but unfamiliar. Lilian, who confidently donned a short, backless a-line dress, stalked forward, ignoring the holes that Aila was surely drilling into her head.
“Stop that,” Lilian murmured, grabbing her hand from tugging at the dress.
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re overthinking.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
Aila exhaled exasperated. “Okay. Maybe a little.”
Lilian smiled, eyes sparkling at her friend. “You look amazing.”
Aila rolled her eyes playfully, but something in her shoulders eased.
“Come on,” Lila said, looping her arm through hers. “We’re getting drinks before you try to analyze the lighting or something.”
Aila let herself be pulled forward, chuckling and shaking her head. For the first time in weeks—months, maybe—she wasn’t thinking about timelines or projections or risk mitigation.
She was just… there.
——————
An hour later, she was laughing.
Actually laughing. Not the polite version she used in meetings. Not the restrained one she gave colleagues. This was unfiltered, unexpected, pulled from somewhere she didn’t access often enough. She was grateful she came.
“And then he said,” Lilian continued, barely holding back her own laughter, “that ‘team synergy’ was his love language.”
Aila nearly choked on her drink.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not real.”
“I wish I was joking.”
Aila shook her head, smiling.
“That’s exactly why I don’t date in corporate.”
“Oh please,” Lila teased. “Like you date outside of it.”
Aila opened her mouth to respond—
—and froze. Not completely. Just enough for something to shift.
Lilian noticed immediately. “What?”
Aila didn’t answer. Her gaze had moved past the table—toward the far side of the restaurant. Where he stood.
Osman.
He wasn’t alone. Two men stood with him, both older, both dressed in the kind of understated luxury that didn’t need to announce itself. Investors, most likely. Their posture suggested familiarity, but not equality. Osman held the conversation effortlessly. Relaxed, but controlled, and commanding attention without trying.
Aila felt it before she could stop it—that awareness. Immediate and unwelcome
“Is that—?” Lila followed her gaze, then smirked slightly. “Of course it is.”
Aila looked away.
“It’s nothing.”
“Mm."
“It’s work.” This was true. She'd tried her best to keep her distance, while still assessing her new boss—and if confronted, she maintained utmost professionalism. She'd pat herself on the back, mentally of course.
Her friend snorted and Aila gave her a look.
Lila just lifted her glass innocently, batting her long lashes.
“Don’t start.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Aila exhaled, reaching for her drink again. She could ignore it. She would ignore it. He was here for business.
So was she—technically, since she was always prepared for any on-the-spur business calls and encounters, but still. Separate worlds. Separate spaces.
Except— They weren’t. Not entirely. Because a moment later, she felt it.
That shift. That awareness. And when she looked up, he was already looking at her.
—
Osman didn’t move right away. Didn’t break conversation. But something in his focus changed subtly. The investor beside him was speaking—something about regional scalability, market entry points—but Osman’s attention had split. Because Aila stood out. Not because she was trying to but because she wasn’t.
The dress—it caught the light in a way that made it impossible not to notice. Soft, effortless, completely different from the controlled precision she wore in the office. Her hair wasn’t pulled back as tightly. Her posture wasn’t as guarded. She looked—
different. And that difference was… distracting.
“…Osman?”
He blinked, refocusing. “Yes?”
The investor smiled slightly. “You were saying?”
“Phased expansion reduces exposure,” Osman replied smoothly, picking up the thread without hesitation. “But only if execution remains consistent.”
His tone was steady, but his gaze flicked back—just once. Aila was laughing again. And something about that, the ease of it, the absence of pressure, stayed with him longer than it should have.
—
“Okay,” Lilian said quietly, leaning in. “He’s definitely looking.”
“Lilian," Aila muttered. She didnt turn, but decided to focus intently on the capers scattered across her plate from a dish that she hated but learned to consume by default from countless team dinners. One of the green atrocities looked a little less gross than the others so she focused on that.
“I’m just saying.” Her friend continued suggestingly, smirking, "He is hot—you're hotter..." She caressed her cheek jokingly.
“It doesn’t matter.” She swatted her hand quickly.
“Then why are you not looking at him?”
Aila hesitated. Just for a second.
“Because I don’t need to.”
“Sure, sure.” Lila smiled victoriously, as though she got the reaction she had hoped for.
When she wasnt looking, Aila finally glanced back. Briefly. And that was enough
Osman was no longer fully engaged in his conversation, not distracted, but aware.
Of her.
Their eyes met again.
This time, neither looked away immediately.
He arched a brow ever so slightly, a flash of something she couldn't recognize until later danced across his dark eyes.
The space between them—across the room, through conversation, through expectation—tightened.
Then one of the investors said something, drawing Osman’s attention back.
The moment broke.
But not completely.
—
She didn’t expect him to walk over, especially as she was methodically dissecting the last of her capers. Which is why, when his voice cut through the space beside her— “Ms. Taylor,” She turned too quickly—then steadied herself as she practiced all week.
“Mr. Byden.”
Lilian coughed lightly into her drink, but then settled into a teasing smile.
Aila ignored her.
Osman’s gaze moved over her—brief, assessing—again, presence casting shadows that danced across her senses.
"I've almost finished the analysis report, sir. You will have it by... Monday." She quipped, not missing a beat, accurately estimating the time she would need to perfect what little was left to do. She was determined to stay professional, though her eyes twitched in pain as Lilian kicked her under the table.
Nothing missed his attention. Slight amusement flash through his face before settling into it's usual coolness.
“You’re off the clock,” he said, eyes passing briefly from the neatly chopped capers to Lillian, raising a perfectly groomed brow—to which Lilian took as an excuse to get more drinks and trotted to the bar, ignoring Alia's widened, pleading eyes.
“I am.” Aila responded to his statement, outwardly composed, but inwardly, slowly wilting under his scrutiny.
“Tomorrow”
"What?"
"The report—I would like to see it tomorrow" He said a little stronger, amusement flashing again.
It felt like he was toying with her, trying to discover what made her lose resolve, and that was new, as this whole week she tried to appear as mechanical and neutral as possible and now it appeared he had caught her off guard, moreso now as they were alone again. She made a sharp intake. "OK. Sure, tomorrow" She would need to do an all nighter. Nothing she hadn't done before.
A beat.
Then—Osman reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small, clean card.
“There’s a company event next week,” he said, searching her face again. “Investor-facing." "Formal,” he added.
Aila stiffened slightly.
“That sounds like something you and Mr. Hart can attend.” She looked up at him from her seated position, dying to ask why he would tell her this information.
“It is. As well as our project lead” He looked her sternly in the eyes, a look she was learning meant a decision was made and a commanding, deep voice that left no room for discussion. Always his way, she thought.
But before she could come up with one of the clever little excuses she stored away for such times..
"We will pick you up for 7. My secretary will send the details," He announced with finality.
She knew then she couldn't decline so she agreed.
He nodded curtly as Lillian was coming back to their table, and she found herself comically trying to replicate the same acknowledgement, feeling silly as she nodded back.
Face slightly flushed, Aila watched him go— sauntering off at his usual gait, unhurried yet purposefully.
Then she looked down at the card in her hand, just for a second. As the weight of what was to come filled the space where his mysterious aura lingered.
The lights and gentle music of the bar return, shadows lifting, as Lillian began grilling her about what happened, teasing her about giving her a little niece or nephew soon.
Aila pinched her cheeks to shut her up as Lillian yelped trying to get away.
The rest of the night went in a blur. They never saw when Osman left but Aila noticed a familiar, sleek black vehicle outside as they tumbled into a taxi.
When the night settled upon their return to her apartment, Aila reflected on the encounter again.
Something was … shifting.
She knew she wanted to keep her mask, stay guarded. Yet curiosity about Osman kept infiltrating the parts of her mind she had dedicated to 'serious thoughts', creating cracks that made her want to imagine... again, delicious imaginations... No! She wouldn't. She can't.
She steadily worked into the early hours to the quiet snores of her wasted friend, falling asleep sometime later—unbeknownst to herself— dreaming of a 'dark and mysterious' brow.
- Writer
