The leaves on the trees had begun to turn, many shifting from green to shades of amber and gold. Thanks to Anisa's relentless effort, her studio was now steadily profitable, with a consistent flow of orders surpassing earlier days. đ
On a relatively quiet office afternoon, she sat in her cabin, gazing out the window at the transforming world outside. Her mind drifted, unanchored, into the past.
She remembered a day from about two years ago. She and Zayan had been at a shopping mall. A young couple was there with their small child. The toddler had looked at them and offered a gummy, innocent smile. Charmed, Zayan had gently scooped the child up, held him for a few joyful moments, making the baby laugh, before carefully returning him to his parents. Zayan's face that day had been alight with a pure, unguarded happiness she had loved to see. đ
On their way home, he had turned to her, his voice playful yet tender. "Anisa, would you prefer a daughter or a son?"
"Hmm...why are you asking that now?" she had retorted, a smile playing on her own lips.
"Just wondering...wouldn't it be nice if a little one of our own came into this world?" he had asked, his tone teasing but his eyes sincere. đ
She recalled her own frivolous,naive response from back then,a giggling protest about not being ready, a silly worry about her figure changing, deflecting the conversation with youthful vanity.
That memory, once a sweet fragment of a shared moment, now cut with a new, profound sharpness. It wasn't just a recollection of Zayan's desire for a family; it was a mirror held up to her own past self, to the casual dismissal of a future that would now never be. The ghost of that conversation, the child he had held with such natural affection, the family they had lightly imagined and then dismissed,all of it coalesced into a heavy, aching regret that settled deep in her chest. The autumn outside mirrored an inner season of loss, not just for the man, but for all the potential lives and love stories that had died with him, leaving behind only the bittersweet echo of "what if." đ