The house had fallen silent again after Arman left. The echo of the front door closing seemed to linger, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.
Samara sat on the edge of the bed, her hands trembling slightly as she held a framed photograph. The glass was smudged, the edges worn, as though it had been held too many times before. Peter sat beside her, quiet, his face heavy with worry.
Neither of them spoke for a while. The only sound was the faint ticking of the clock on the dresser.
Finally, Samara exhaled and traced a finger along the photo's edge. It was a picture from years ago—back when everything still felt whole. Peter, her, and a small girl with the same soft curls and bright eyes that haunted her dreams every night.
"I feel like it's happening all over again," she whispered, her voice breaking. "That day fifteen years ago when I lost Aliana."
Peter glanced at her, his expression tightening. "Samara," he said gently, "why are you bringing that up now? You don't even like talking about that day."
Tears welled in her eyes. "Because I don't want to lose her again, Peter. That day it was because of Arman… and now—now it's because of him again. It feels like I'm losing her the same way."
Peter reached out and placed his hand on hers. His tone softened, though a hint of sadness slipped through. "Don't say that. It wasn't his fault, and you know it. You know how much Arman cherished Aliana. He would never have hurt her willingly."
He paused, glancing at the photo. "It was an accident. No one could have stopped it. And we have our Aliana now. There's no point in bringing back the past."
Outside the slightly ajar door, a shadow lingered in the hallway.
Aliana stood frozen, her travel bag hanging loosely at her side. She had come to say goodbye—to tell them she was leaving—but the moment she saw her mother clutching that picture, her steps faltered.
From where she stood, she could see the small, smiling girl in the photo. The girl had softer features than hers, but the same name.
Her chest tightened.
Her thoughts twisted into panic as she listened. What do they mean by that?
Her throat went dry. It hit her like cold water. So Arman cherished the real Aliana, that is why when he knew she wasn't the real Aliana, he broke off the engagement. Because he couldn't stand another woman living in her place.
A wave of shame and confusion flooded her. She stepped back quietly. Her hands clenching on the bags she had packed on on her shoulder and one getting pulled behind her.
Inside the room, Samara leaned against Peter's shoulder, whispering something about praying they'd make things right.
Outside, Aliana blinked through her tears. She wanted to walk in, to tell them she was leaving, but the sight of them holding that picture...mourning the girl she could never be, stopped her.
--
The morning passed in a blur of quiet movement. Aliana walked into Julia's office, clutching a folded paper in her slightly trembling hand. Her resignation.
Julia looked up from her computer, adjusting her glasses. "What's this?"
"My resignation," Aliana said, keeping her tone as calm as she could. "I won't be coming to work from tomorrow."
Julia's brows arched. "What happened?" she asked immediately, leaning back in her chair. Her expression was a mix of concern.
Aliana forced a small smile. "I've been thinking of finding something that suits me better. You know I'm not exactly skilled in this kind of office work."
Julia gave a short laugh, shaking her head. "That's nonsense. You've been improving so much lately. You should give it more time."
Aliana hesitated. Her fingers tightened on the edge of her file. "I don't think it's worth forcing it any further," she said quietly. "It's clear that the boss doesn't like having me around. He's… not exactly pleased with my work, and I can tell."
Julia frowned. "You mean Mr. Arman?"
Aliana looked down and nodded.
Julia sighed. "And have you found a better job to replace this one?"
"Not yet," Aliana admitted. "I've sent out my CV to a few companies. Hopefully, I'll get a call soon."
Julia gave her a long look but didn't push further. "Alright," she said finally. "If that's what you've decided."
Aliana thanked her softly and walked out, heading toward her desk. She sat down and began packing her things into a cardboard box, her pens, notebooks, the small plant Julia had given her, a framed photo she'd once kept near her screen. Her hands moved mechanically, but her mind was elsewhere, replaying every moment that led her here.
As she reached for the last folder, her eyes flicked toward the hallway. Through the glass divider, she saw him Arman walking past.
Her breath hitched. For a moment, it felt like time stopped.
He was dressed sharply as always, his expression unreadable. She quickly looked down, pretending to be busy, her fingers fumbling with the edges of a file. But she could feel his gaze on her just for a second long enough to make her skin prickle. His eyebrows furrowed slightly as if puzzled by her sudden coldness, then he kept walking.
Only when he disappeared down the hall did she let out the breath she'd been holding.
A few minutes later, the box was full. She lifted it carefully and started toward the elevator.
"Aliana!"
She turned to see Julia standing at her office door.
"The boss wants to see you," Julia said.
Aliana's stomach dropped. "Why?"
Julia shrugged. "He found out about the resignation. He asked me to send you in."
Her mouth went dry. "Do I have to?"
Julia gave her a sympathetic look. "You know how he is. It's better if you go."
Aliana exhaled sharply, setting the box down beside the wall. Then straightened up and made her way to Arman's office. When she reached the door, she hesitated before knocking softly.
"Come in," came his voice from inside.
She opened the door slowly, her head slightly bowed. The room was quiet, the blinds half drawn, the air faintly cool.
But the desk was empty.
She frowned, stepping inside. The chair was pushed back, the surface clear except for a few files. "Mr. Arman?" she called softly.
No answer.
Then, the door behind her clicked shut.
Aliana froze when the door clicked shut. She turned quickly, her breath catching when she saw Arman standing by the door. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on her with a heavy silence that made her heart twist in her chest. His expression was unreadable—cold, almost severe—and for a moment she thought she had walked straight into her own execution.
Her voice came out small. "Why did you call me here? If there's something you need to say, then…"She trailed off, because he wasn't responding. He didn't even blink. His eyes followed every nervous twitch she made, every shallow breath she took, and it made her stomach churn with unease.
"Arman?" she tried again, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. "If this is about the resignation, I've already talked to Julia. I just thought it was better this way. You seemed—well, you didn't seem happy with my work and..."Still nothing. His silence pressed on her until her chest felt tight. The air in the room grew heavy, warm, suffocating. She shifted her weight, trying to keep her voice steady, but her throat was dry.
When he finally moved, she almost jumped. He pushed himself off the wall and walked toward her, his eyes never leaving hers."Say something," she said quickly, stepping back. "This is getting really uncomfortable, Arman."
He didn't stop. Every step he took forward made her step back until the edge of his desk touched the back of her legs. Her pulse raced. She looked left and right, but there was nowhere to go. He braced one hand on the desk beside her, leaning slightly forward. His scent hit her—clean, familiar, and disarming.
"What are you doing?" he asked quietly.
She blinked, confused. "What do you mean, what am I doing?"
"Why are you acting like this?" His tone wasn't angry, but there was a strange mix of hurt and disbelief in it that caught her off guard.
"I think I should be the one asking that," she shot back, frowning. "You're the one who's been pushing me away. I'm just… finally getting the hint."
That seemed to stun him. He straightened a little, searching her face. "When did I ever—"
She let out a short, nervous laugh, almost choking on it. "When you decided to end the engagement, maybe? Isn't that enough of a sign?"
For a second, he looked at her like she had said something completely out of place. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he couldn't understand how her words connected to what he was thinking. The confusion on his face made her chest twist again—not with longing this time, but frustration.
"You're impossible," she muttered and tried to push his arm away so she could leave, but he didn't move. His hand stayed firm against the desk, blocking her escape.
"You can't leave," he said quietly.
Her breath hitched. "I already resigned, Arman. You can't stop me."
He looked at her for a long moment, then said with a calmness that somehow made her more nervous, "You still have a three-month notice period. You're required to stay until then."
Her eyes widened. "Three months?"
He nodded slowly, watching her reaction. She looked like someone who'd just realized the cage door she thought was open had never actually been unlocked.