During the lunch break, Haari found himself on the rooftop, enjoying the open sky and fresh air. As he bit into his sandwich, a thought nagged at him. "That's strange... the break's almost over, and Nicawa-san hasn't come up here to eat."
Later, Haari wandered to the cafeteria, scanning the room. "She's not here either..." he murmured to himself.
When he returned to the office, his eyes landed on Ashi's desk. It was buried under a mountain of files, more than he'd ever seen there before. "Huh... those are quite the stacks," he muttered, a knot of worry forming in his chest.
The next day, as sunlight poured through the large glass windows, Rafta and Haari stood by the window, their faces illuminated by the golden glow.
"Really? I don't know why, but Nicawa-san's been acting strange lately," Haari said, his voice tinged with concern.
Rafta leaned against the wall, twirling a pen in his fingers. "Strange? Nah, she's just her usual hardworking self. Maybe you're imagining things."
"I don't think so," Haari said, his gaze distant. "She's been taking on too much work, skipping breaks, and barely talking to anyone. Something's bothering her."
Rafta shrugged, his expression casual. "If you're that worried, just ask her directly."
"Tch, like she'd tell me," Haari muttered, crossing his arms.
Rafta smirked, tossing his pen onto his desk. "Then stop wasting time worrying. If you care so much, find a way to help her without making it obvious. Actions speak louder than words, right?"
That evening, as the office emptied, Haari approached Ashi's desk. The usual buzz of the workplace had faded, leaving only the faint hum of the cooling system.
"Nicawa-san," Haari said softly, standing a few steps away.
"Hm?" Ashi looked up from her desk, her expression guarded.
"Would you like to grab a drink with me? I want to talk about something," Haari said, trying to keep his tone casual.
Ashi hesitated, glancing at the pile of files on her desk. "I'm still busy. I need to finish this work."
"The day's over, Nicawa-san," Haari said gently. "Everyone's heading home. It won't take long."
Ashi sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "Alright. Just give me a second."
Later that evening, the two sat in a cozy bar. The warm glow of pendant lights reflected off polished wooden tables, and the gentle hum of conversation filled the air. Haari sipped his whiskey while Ashi stirred her drink absentmindedly.
"So, what did you want to talk about, Kichiro-san?" Ashi asked, her voice cautious.
"Let's have a drink first," Haari said, flashing her a small smile, hoping to lighten the mood.
They sat in silence for a while, the tension gradually easing as the alcohol warmed them.
"Nicawa-san," Haari began, his voice gentle but firm, "is something troubling you?"
Ashi looked up sharply, her expression unreadable. "No. I'm fine, as always, why do you ask."
"I'm sorry, but I don't think that's true," Haari said, leaning forward slightly. "You've been overworking yourself, avoiding breaks, and distancing yourself from everyone. If there's something wrong, you can tell me. I'll help however I can."
Ashi's lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, she said nothing. Her eyes, however, betrayed a flicker of vulnerability.
"Kichiro-san..." she began but stopped herself. Her gaze drifted to her drink. "Thank you, but it's really nothing."
Haari's shoulders slumped, but he didn't push further. "Alright. I just wanted you to know that you're not alone, Nicawa-san."
Ashi stood abruptly, her expression guarded once more. "It's getting late. We should go."
Haari nodded, following her lead.
As they stepped out into the cool night air, the city lights shimmered against the dark sky. They walked side by side in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.
Haari glanced at Ashi, her face lit faintly by the glow of the streetlights. Whatever was troubling her, he silently resolved to find a way to ease her burden.
The door to Ashi's apartment clicked shut behind her, the sound sharp against the stillness of the night. She kicked off her heels, letting them clatter carelessly against the floor, and shuffled toward her bedroom. The dress she'd worn all day—fitted and flawless—felt heavy now, like it was clinging to a version of herself she couldn't sustain. She didn't bother turning on the lights; the faint glow of Chandigarh's skyline seeped through her window, casting long shadows across the room.
Ashi collapsed onto her bed, the soft sheets crumpling beneath her petite frame. She lay on her side, curling into herself, her lustrous raven-black hair spilling across the pillow like ink. For a moment, she stared blankly at the wall, her amber eyes dull and unfocused. Then, slowly, a single tear slipped from the corner of her eye, tracing a silent path down her porcelain cheek. It hovered at her jaw before dropping onto the bed, a tiny, glistening mark of her unraveling.
"Grandma…" she whispered, her voice trembling as it broke the silence. She buried her face into the sheets, her shoulders shaking as more tears followed, soaking the fabric beneath her.
Her mind drifted, pulling her back to a memory she'd tucked away—an evening years ago when the world felt simpler, safer. She could almost smell the warm spices of her grandmother's kitchen, hear the soft clatter of pots as the old woman cooked. That evening, Ashi had sat alone in her childhood room, her eyes red from crying, her small hands clutching a crumpled lunchbox. She'd called out softly, "Grandma."
Her grandmother had rushed to her side, her weathered face etched with concern. She'd knelt beside Ashi, her sari brushing the floor, and cupped her granddaughter's tear-streaked cheeks. "What's wrong, my dear? Did something happen at school? Did someone hurt you? Tell me his name, and Grandma will make sure he regrets making you cry."
"Why does everyone hate my cooking?" Ashi had sobbed, her voice cracking with the weight of rejection. "I try so hard every day, but none of my classmates want to share their lunch with me. Why?"
Her grandmother pulled her into a gentle hug, her arms warm and steady. "Oh, sweet girl, they don't hate your cooking. They're just jealous of you."
"Jealous?" Ashi asked, her tears pausing as she blinked up in confusion, her amber eyes wide and searching.
"Yes," her grandmother said, brushing a strand of Ashi's dark hair behind her ear. "They're jealous because they can't cook like you do. They don't even know how to hold a knife properly, but you do."
"But I can teach them if they ask," Ashi said, her voice thick with sadness. "But they don't come near me. They hate my cooking. How am I supposed to teach them if they don't come near me?"
"You don't have to," her grandmother replied softly, her tone like a balm.
"Huh?" Ashi sniffled, her pout trembling.
Her grandmother's words warmed her heart, gentle but firm. "You've tried so hard, Ashi. But remember, not everyone will appreciate your gift right away."
"But why not?" Ashi protested, her small fists clenching. "I just want to share something I love."
Her grandmother stroked her hair soothingly, her touch a quiet anchor. "Sometimes, it takes a while for people to see the value in what's special to you. Don't give up. If they don't appreciate your cooking, find others who will. There are people out there who will value your talent and your friendship."
Back in the present, Ashi's breath hitched as the memory faded, leaving her alone with the ache in her chest. "Grandma…" she murmured again, her voice muffled as she pressed her face deeper into the sheets. The tears came harder now, a flood she couldn't stop, each one carrying the weight of her loneliness. She clutched the pillow, her flawless hourglass figure trembling with silent sobs.
"I've tried, Grandma," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I've tried so hard… but it's still the same. No one sees me. Not really." Her amber eyes, usually so vivid and confident, were clouded with grief as she stared into the dark. "I don't know how to find them… the ones who'll value me."
The city lights flickered outside, indifferent to her pain. Ashi curled tighter, her tears soaking the bed, her heart aching for the warmth of her grandmother's embrace—a warmth she hadn't felt in years. In that moment, she wasn't the poised, captivating woman who turned heads; she was just a girl, lost and longing for someone to see her worth.
Haari strode purposefully toward Rafta's desk, a stack of documents balanced in his arms. Rafta, as usual, was leaning back in his chair, his feet casually propped up on the desk. His phone occupied his full attention, and the faint smirk on his face suggested he was either winning a game or scrolling through something that amused him.
"Here," Haari said, dropping half the stack onto Rafta's desk with a satisfying thud.
Rafta raised an eyebrow, barely glancing at the files. "What are these? And why are you dumping them on me?"
"Those are files Nicawa-san has been working on," Haari replied, his tone firm. "She can't handle everything alone, and since you're clearly not doing anything productive, I figured you could pitch in."
Rafta sat up, flipping open one of the files lazily. "Wait a second. Aren't these the reports she's been stressing over for the past week? Why are you giving them to me?"
"Because it's called teamwork," Haari said, his expression darkening. "She's overburdened, and if you don't help her, I'll have no choice but to inform Habi-san that you're slacking off. Again."
Rafta's smirk faded, his expression mirroring Haari's intensity. The air between them grew heavy as they locked eyes, the silent challenge palpable. "Are you threatening me?" Rafta asked, his voice low.
"Yes," Haari replied without hesitation, his tone as sharp as a blade.
Rafta leaned forward, his grin returning but tinged with annoyance. "You think I'm scared of Oki?"
"I don't think. I know, I'm sure of it," Haari shot back.
The tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife, but before things could escalate further, Oki walked by. Her brisk steps slowed as she glanced at the two men glaring at each other. "What are you two discussing so intensely?"
Haari Glare at Rafta and speak with eyes saying, do it or I.
Rafta, without missing a beat, leaned back and said, "Oh, nothing much. Haari's swamped with work, so I generously offered to help him out."
Oki froze mid-step, her expression a mix of shock and disbelief. Her gaze darted between Rafta and the files on his desk. "Rafta," she said cautiously, stepping closer.
"What?" Rafta asked, looking up from his screen.
Oki leaned in and pressed the back of her hand against his forehead. "Are you feeling okay? Did you hit your head on something?"
Rafta jerked back, swatting her hand away. "Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing? Get off me!"
"I'm just checking! You volunteering to work is completely out of character," Oki said, crossing her arms.
"Back off," Rafta muttered, clearly irritated.
Oki scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Fine. But for the record, you're still a slacker."
Rafta's eyebrow twitched. "What did you just call me?"
"You heard me," Oki said with a smirk, turning on her heel to head back to her desk.
Haari chimed in, his tone mocking. "We agree, Rafta. You're the office sloth."
"Whatever," Rafta grumbled, spinning his chair away. "Now go away, both of you. Some of us have work to do." He stood abruptly and walked over to the vending machine, muttering under his breath.
A few moments later, Rafta was back at his desk, casually flipping through the files. Haari approached him again, his brows knit with concern.
"Hey."
" What now."
"Do you know why Nicawa-san hasn't arrived yet?" Haari asked.
Rafta didn't even look up. "She pobably have some personal business to attend and ow should I know, why are you asking me that ."
Their conversation caught Oki's attention as she passed by. "I'm not sure. I tried calling her earlier, but she didn't pick up," she said, her worry evident.
"But she didn't tell us she'd be absent," Haari added, his concern growing. "It's not like her."
"Maybe slacker's right," Oki said thoughtfully. "She might be caught up in something. Either way, we should focus on our tasks. slacker, stay on top of those files. If I catch you slacking, there will be consequences."
Rafta rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah, yeah. Don't get your wires crossed first thing in the morning, and stop calling me slacker."
Oki shot him a warning glare before heading back to her desk.