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6. LATE MORNING

The first light of dawn gently filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Taliya's penthouse, casting a warm glow over the modern, sleek furnishings. She stretched lazily in her bed, savoring the few moments of calm before her day began. With a deep breath, she rose and padded across the plush white rug to the en suite bathroom.

Taliya's morning routine was a ritual she seldom deviated from. After a refreshing shower, she dressed in her usual chic yet comfortable attire—a simple black blouse paired with tailored trousers. Her hair fell naturally into place as she applied minimal makeup, accentuating her sharp features, making a messy man.

In the kitchen, she brewed a cup of her favorite herbal tea and prepared a light breakfast of fresh fruit and yogurt. As she ate, she checked her emails and went over her schedule for the day on her tablet, her mind already buzzing with ideas for the kids' school function she was working on.

Just as she finished her tea, the intercom buzzed. Taliya walked over and pressed the button, her expression neutral.

“Haroon’s here,” the doorman announced.

“Send him up,” Taliya replied.

A few moments later, the elevator doors opened, and Haroon stepped into the penthouse. He was dressed impeccably as always, his demeanor relaxed yet purposeful. He greeted Taliya with a warm smile, but she barely glanced up from her tablet.

“Good morning, Taliya,” Haroon said, his tone cheerful.

“Morning,” she replied curtly, her eyes still glued to the screen.

Haroon approached the kitchen island where Taliya was standing, trying to catch her eye. “How was your night? Did you manage to get some rest?”

“Mm-hmm,” Taliya muttered noncommittally, scrolling through the designs she had sketched the previous night.

Undeterred, Haroon continued, “I was thinking we could discuss the upcoming event on the way to the office. There are a few details I think we should—”

“I’ve got it covered,” Taliya interrupted, her fingers deftly tapping on the tablet. “I’m finalizing the designs for the kids’ dresses. We can talk later.”

Haroon sighed softly, recognizing the familiar pattern. Taliya had a knack for dodging questions and steering conversations away from personal matters. He respected her dedication, but he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of frustration at her evasiveness.

“Okay, but just so you know, we’re running a bit late,” he said, trying to keep his tone light.

Taliya finally looked up, her expression unreadable. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

She gathered her things—tablet, sketchbook, and a sleek black handbag—and headed towards the elevator, Haroon following close behind. As they descended to the lobby, he stole glances at her, wondering what it would take to break through her walls.

In the car, Haroon tried once more to engage her in conversation. “You know, the kids are really excited about the function. Your designs are going to make their day unforgettable.”

Taliya nodded absently, her focus still on the tablet screen. “Thanks,” she replied, her tone distant.

Haroon sighed inwardly, resigning himself to the silence. He admired Taliya’s talent and dedication, but he wished she would open up more, share her thoughts and feelings. As he drove through the bustling streets of New Downtown, he glanced at her once more, hoping that someday she might let him in.

Taliya, oblivious to Haroon’s internal struggle, continued working on her designs. She was determined to make the school function a success, and nothing else mattered in that moment. As they arrived at the office, she finally put her tablet away and turned to Haroon.

“Thank you for the ride,” she said, her tone softening slightly. “I appreciate it.”

Haroon smiled, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “Anytime, Taliya. Anytime.”

With that, they stepped out of the car and into the office building, ready to face another busy day. Taliya felt a sense of satisfaction, knowing she was one step closer to achieving her goals. And though she appreciated Haroon’s efforts, she remained focused on the task at hand, determined to succeed on her own terms.

~☆~

Murad was in the depths of a restless sleep, the remnants of his disturbed thoughts swirling in the darkness of his dreams. The faint light of early morning seeped through the curtains, casting a pale glow over his room. Suddenly, he felt a hand gently shaking his shoulder.

“Murad, wake up,” a familiar voice called out softly but urgently.

Murad’s eyes snapped open, heart racing as he instinctively sat up, startled. It took a moment for him to recognize his uncle standing by the bed, his expression a mix of concern and urgency.

“Uncle Hashim?” Murad mouthed, still disoriented. He glanced around, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep.

Hashim nodded, his eyes scanning Murad’s face. “Yes, it’s me. You overslept. What time do you think it is?”

Murad blinked, his mind struggling to catch up. He raised a hand and gestured in a questioning manner, asking for the time.

Hassan sighed and replied, “It’s already 8:30. Your board meeting starts in thirty minutes.”

Murad’s eyes widened in alarm. He stumbled out of bed, his heart pounding as he processed the gravity of the situation. “8:30? I’m late!” he exclaimed in his mind with panic and disbelief.

He rushed to his dresser, pulling out clothes at random, his movements frantic. “Why didn’t my alarm go off?” he thought to himself, though he knew it was his own fault for not setting it properly the night before.

Hashim stepped back, giving Murad space to move. “You need to hurry. I’ll get the car ready,” he said, his voice calm but firm.

Murad nodded, barely hearing his uncle as he dashed to the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face, the shock helping to clear his mind. As he brushed his teeth and hastily combed his hair, his thoughts raced. He couldn’t afford to be late for this meeting. The board was already skeptical of him, and showing up late would only add fuel to their doubts. Yesterday's meeting was enough to make him believe who liked him and who not.

He pulled on a crisp white shirt and a dark suit, barely taking the time to button everything properly. Grabbing his tie, he fumbled with the knot, his fingers shaking from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Finally, he managed to make it look presentable and slipped on his shoes.

Running back into the bedroom, he grabbed his briefcase and checked to make sure he had all his documents. With one last glance in the mirror, he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. The face staring back at him looked composed, but his eyes betrayed the underlying anxiety.

Hashim appeared at the door, keys in hand. “The car’s ready. Let’s go,” he said.

Murad nodded, following his uncle out of the apartment. They hurried to the elevator, the tension in the air palpable. As they descended, Murad’s mind raced through the presentation he had prepared, mentally rehearsing the key points and underlining them on the notes for Hashim

Once they reached the lobby, they moved quickly through the doors and into the waiting car. Hashim started the engine and drove swiftly but smoothly through the morning traffic. Murad glanced at his watch, his pulse quickening with every passing minute.

“Don’t worry, we’ll make it,” Hashim said, his voice reassuring.

Murad nodded, though he couldn’t shake the lingering dread. He leaned back in his seat, taking deep breaths to calm himself. He had to focus. The board meeting was crucial, and he couldn’t let a late start derail everything.

As they pulled up to the office building, Murad straightened his tie and took one last deep breath. “Thank you, Uncle Hashim,” he signed his mind steady now.

“Go get them, Murad,” Hashim replied with a supportive smile.

Murad stepped out of the car, his mind sharp and determined. He hurried into the building, ready to face whatever awaited him in the boardroom. As Hashim followed him behind with quite steps revising the notes made by Hashim. There was no point to do this meeting but an old man thought to test how far can Murad go to secure his position even after losing his memory.

One thing they forgot was Murad forgot his memories not his discipline.

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