Descending, Yusuf went to Kirana's desk, but she wasn't there. He looked around frantically, then asked a nearby editor, who said he'd seen her heading to the storeroom at the end of the hall to fetch supplies. Yusuf thanked him and walked briskly toward the storeroom. đ
He found the door ajar. Inside, Kirana was by a rack of printing paper. He cleared his throat to announce his presence. She turned, startled, and managed a polite, "Good morning, sir." He returned the greeting stiffly.
An awkward silence hung in the air before Yusuf shattered it, his question direct and charged. "Who dropped you off today? Your boyfriend?" đ€
"No, sir! Not at all," she said quickly, her cheeks flushing. "He's the son of a family friend. He was coming this way for some work, so I just got a ride."
"Hmm. I've seen you two together for several days now," Yusuf pressed, his voice strained. "Does he have feelings for you? I don't know. That's why I'm asking." đŁ
"No, sir, I don't think so," she insisted, eager to end the conversation. "Sir, I should go. I have a lot of sections to edit today." She tried to move past him toward the door.
But Yusuf reached out, his hand closing around her arm, stopping her retreat. "Sir, let go of my arm! If someone sees... sir, what are you doing?" she whispered, her eyes darting fearfully toward the open door. đ§
"I don't care who sees!" he said, the words bursting forth, low and intense. "Why can't you understand what I feel? I've liked you for so long. Seeing you with him hurts me. Why are you doing this to me?" The confession, raw and unfiltered, poured out of him.
Kirana stood frozen, stunned into silence. The words echoed in the small room. They were now standing so close she could feel his breath, hear the unsteady rhythm of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. For a long moment, she just stared at him, trying to process if this was real. đ”
Finally, she wrenched her arm free from his grasp. Without a word, she turned and hurried out of the storeroom, leaving him alone.
After she left, Yusuf slumped against a rack, sliding down to sit on the floor. He buried his head in his hands, the adrenaline draining away, replaced by a cold dread. Did I just ruin everything? he thought, the weight of his impulsive confession crashing down on him. The storeroom, once just a place for supplies, now felt like a monument to his own unraveling control. đ„