Love’s Confusion
I texted Sultan, “Did you ever love anyone?”
“Yes, truly,” he replied.
“And then?”
“It all started at a funeral,” he began. “My distant aunt’s son had drowned—he was only 13. I went as the driver for my mom. I was waiting in the car after dropping my mom off when that girl appeared. I could see her through the window—tears in her red, puffy eyes, messy hair, still in her pajamas. I guessed it was her home. Later, I learned the boy who’d passed was her only brother. She had already lost her mother eight years before, so she was more than just his sister—she’d practically been his mother too.”
He continued, “During the funeral rites, she cried uncontrollably and even fainted. Everyone there was moved to tears seeing her pain. I remember that day like it was yesterday. I wanted to be there for her, but to her, I was just a stranger. I wished I’d met her sooner, maybe then I could have helped ease her pain.”
“Two weeks later, I saw her at college, and we became friends. At first, I just wanted to support her. She was still grieving, holding onto so much pain and vulnerability. Eventually, we became best friends. But here’s the twist: she confessed her love for me before I could tell her how I felt.”
“But after my mom passed away, everything changed. I withdrew from everyone, including her. I was overwhelmed with guilt and grief. She tried so hard to reach out and be there for me, but I shut her out, isolated myself completely. When I finally tried to reconnect, I found out she had married. In a way, I feel like I’m responsible for losing two people who meant the world to me—my mom and her.”
“When I lost the people who meant everything to me, it felt like my body was running on just 1% battery, with no one around to recharge me. It was as if my life was on the verge of shutting down,” he added.
When someone shares their deepest pain with me, my struggle begins— how to find the right words to comfort them, how to show them I’m truly with them. what if I was in their place? They trust me so much, and it’s my responsibility to hold that trust.
As he finished, I could feel the heaviness of his story. His pain felt raw, almost tangible.
“Hello, did you vanish after hearing all that?” he asked after a few moments of silence.
Realizing I hadn’t replied, I said, “Your story really touched me. You almost switched on my tear ducts!” I added a playful tone to lighten the mood.
He sent a laughing emoji. “This is why I don’t usually share my story. But I feel connected with you… maybe it’s the friend I’ve been missing.”
“Yes, we could be great friends,” I said.
Then I admitted, “I’m confused.”
“About what?” he asked. I told him about Faraz.
“So, what are you going to say to him tomorrow?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
“Do you still love him?” he asked.
“I haven’t forgotten him,” I said honestly.
“That means you still care,” he replied.
“He wants to marry me,” I added.
“And what do you want—yes or no?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
He suggested, “Think about the feeling you get when you imagine him proposing. Are they happy butterflies or sad ones? Happy butterflies mean you want it; sad butterflies mean you don’t.”
“I think about a future with him, and it feels warm… but there’s still a part of me that hesitates.”
“Maybe tomorrow you’ll find all the answers to those ‘buts,’” he said reassuringly.
“Maybe,” I replied, and with that, we ended our conversation.
Tomorrow’s my first day at my dad’s office. Afterward, I’ll head to the beach to meet Faraz. Oddly, I’m more nervous about meeting him than about starting my new job.
Punctuality is important
“I’m leaving for the office in 10 minutes; punctuality is important,” my dad said as he yanked my blanket off.
“Let me sleep for just 30 more minutes,” I mumbled groggily. I’ve been sleeping until 10 AM for the past 15 days—how was I supposed to adjust my routine so suddenly?
“If you want to work in my office, you need to be ready in 10 minutes,” he said, his voice firm. But after hearing my reply, he switched to pleading.
“I don’t want to work in your office,” I replied.
“Please,” he said, almost putting his hands together in a begging gesture. He then turned to Mom, speaking loudly, “I told you she’ll give me a big headache.”
Mom replied, “I’ll handle her. You go ahead and get ready.” I could hear her footsteps approaching. Before she could say anything else, I jumped out of bed.
“You have 10 minutes,” she said.
“I need 20,” I replied stubbornly.
“You two are going to drive me crazy,” she said, pressing her lips together as if stuck in the middle between Dad and me.
I managed to get ready in 20 minutes. By the time I reached the car, my dad had been waiting for me for 10 minutes. He looked irritated. I’d already annoyed him on the first day, which wasn’t great.
It took about 10 minutes to reach the office, and Raya was already there when we arrived.
“Good morning, Uncle,” she greeted cheerfully.
“Good morning,” Dad replied. “What time did you get here?” he asked.
“About 15 minutes ago,” she answered with a smile.
“I like your punctuality,” he said, his gaze briefly shifting toward me. “Some people should learn from others about being punctual.” He walked off without another word.
“I’m always punctual on my first day, Uncle,” Raya called after him, giving a thumbs-up.
“Why does your dad look so mad?” she asked.
“I made him wait 10 minutes,” I admitted.
“Now he’ll understand my pain,” Raya said, making an exaggerated annoyed face. “I remember whenever we plan to go somewhere, you always make me wait at least 10 to 30 minutes.”
I couldn’t help but smile. It was true—I had a bad habit of making people wait.
“If I don’t like someone, I make them wait,” I said, winking playfully.
She pinched me in response.
“Ouch!” I squealed, making it sound worse than it was because it hurt.
Dad walked by, “It’s the office, don’t scream,” he scolded. “Both of you, come to my office,” he added, his face already showing signs of irritation.
We followed him to his office, a large room with a big desk and four chairs. I’d been in here many times before, but today, the décor was different—there was a new bookshelf, though I knew it was mostly for show since my dad wasn’t much of a reader. If I ever asked him about any of the books, he’d probably admit he hadn’t read one.
“We have two rules in this office,” he said, his tone shifting from dad to boss. “Punctuality and responsibility. You need to learn to take responsibility for your tasks and be on time.”
We both nodded in agreement.
“And one more thing,” he continued. “In this office, there’s no personal relationship. I’m your boss here.” His eyes were on me.
“Okay, Daddy Boss,” I said, giving him a playful wink.
He gave me a sharp look, clearly offended. He’d try his best to be my boss at work, but to me, he’d always just be my dad—that’s never going to change.
As we walked out of his office, I turned to Raya and said, “I need to talk to Dad for a second. I’ll be right back.”
I walked back into his cabin, and he looked up as I entered.
“Dad, I need to leave early today,” I said, trying to sound serious.
He shot me a look. “No. Two rules: punctuality and responsibility.” He pointed to a poster on the wall, where the rules were boldly written in large letters.
I sighed and tried again. “Sorry, Dad, but it’s urgent. I really need to go today.”
He raised an eyebrow. “The reason?”
“Personal, boss,” I said, trying to keep a straight face.
His expression shifted to one of frustration. “I’m your dad now. Tell me the real reason.”
I smirked. “No, you’re my boss now. Rules are rules.”
I barely held back my laugh as he stared at me, clearly annoyed. As I turned to leave, I couldn’t help but burst out laughing. On the first day, in the first hour itself, I gave him a big headache.
The fun I get from playfully messing with someone I’m really close to? Absolutely unbeatable!
I love to annoy my dad and mom because: -I know they secretly enjoy it. -It strengthens the bond between us in a playful way. -It creates a safe space where I can say or do anything with them. -I know they understand—it’s my special way of expressing love to them.
“What’s going on?” Raya asked, noticing the way I was laughing nervously.
“I’m leaving early today,” I said, still fidgeting.
“At what time?”
“Four,” I replied.
“Leave at three,” she suggested.
“No way. If I leave earlier, I’ll be even more nervous. I’m already feeling the pressure building up. Look, feel my hands,” I said, holding them out.
She touched my hands and frowned. “Why are they so cold?”
“Because I’m nervous,” I admitted.
“But why?” she asked, feigning innocence, even though she knew exactly why.
“For your first date, I didn’t see you this anxious,” she pointed out.
She wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t this nervous during my first date with Faraz. But this wasn’t just any meeting—this was our reunion. My second chance. If things went wrong, that chance would be gone forever. Life was offering me a rare gift: an opportunity to be with the person I love again.
But…
Why did it feel like such a heavy but was lingering over me?
My thoughts spiraled. Seven hours left. Seven hours felt like seven years. Time was dragging, each second refusing to move forward.
Just then, a woman introduced herself as the office admin and asked us to follow her.
We walked into the next room, where four people sat working at their desks.
“You’ll be working with them,” the admin explained hurriedly, “but I’ll have to brief you later—I’ve got an emergency to handle.” She disappeared before we could say a word.
The atmosphere in the room was heavy. Everyone seemed overly focused on their screens, but I caught them sneaking glances at me and quickly looking away with awkward smiles.
“They’re pretending to work hard because they’re scared of you,” Raya whispered.
“What? Why would they be scared of me?”
“Think about it. Who are you?” she asked with a sly grin.
It clicked. I was their boss’s daughter. No wonder everyone seemed on edge.
An hour passed in strained silence. The office admin returned, delivering a nonstop monologue about the work. It felt like she was cramming a semester’s worth of information into thirty minutes. I didn’t retain a single word—my thoughts were consumed with Faraz.
How would our conversation go? What would I say? Would I even find the words?
My palms felt clammy, and now my hands were burning. What was happening? I reached out and touched Raya’s hand.
“What now?” she asked, her expression a mix of concern and amusement.
“I think I’m panicking. Is it possible to get a fever from fear?”
“Let me record this. You’re too funny like this,” she teased, pulling out her phone.
“Stop it and help me calm down!” I begged.
“What if Faraz says, ‘I don’t want you back. I don’t want to marry you’?” she said, deliberately fanning the flames of my anxiety.
“Raya! Shut up!” I exclaimed, rushing to the washroom to compose myself.
Inside, I leaned against the cold sink and tried to breathe.
Sometimes my emotions act like a psycho, with excitement and fear racing together, jumping up and down in the same direction.