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Ayesha's POV
I bought the ring I would use to propose to my husband today. Wait. Did I just say husband?
He wasn't my husband. Not yet. For now, we were just boyfriend and girlfriend, and I loved him so much. Normally, no one in my family would ever approve of a woman proposing to a man. It would mean she sold herself short and was very desperate.
I didn't tell my mother what I was about to do. The only person who knew was my best friend, Gemma. In fact, she was the one who suggested it. Right now, she lay sprawled across my messy bed.
"Wow, I'm so happy for you. You know what I'm going to do on that day?" She sat up quickly. "I'll sing your favourite song as karaoke and organise the couple games both of you will play."
"Aww, Gemma, you're making me shy. You know that will be my big day." My cheeks bloomed pink.
"And wait, I forgot. I'll make sure I invite all our friends."
My smile slipped. OUR friends. I knew she meant her friends because I didn't really have any. Gemma was the only friend I'd ever managed to keep. Growing up, people always found something to laugh at when it came to me, especially my body.
Puberty didn't have mercy on me the way it did on other girls. At sixteen, I had no breasts. My chest was flat, my butt was flat, and some people genuinely thought it was funny to call me bro.
One afternoon in high school, someone compared a classroom wall to my chest and everybody laughed. I ran into the girls' bathroom crying.
"Do I really look like a boy?" I asked nobody in particular.
"No," a voice answered from one of the stalls. "You're beautiful. They're just jealous."
That was Gemma. We became inseparable after that.
"What do you think I should wear, Gem?" I asked.
"We'll go shopping and I'll pick something sexy." She grinned. "But first, let me see the ring again."
I opened my dresser drawer and handed her the small box. She admired it for several seconds.
"Do you think he'll like it?" I asked nervously.
"This isn't just any ring. Do you remember how much we spent?"
I smiled weakly. Not we. Me. The ring had cost almost all my savings. Chris wasn't just any man. He was the CEO of Azul Corporation. And he was mine. At least, I thought he was.
We had been classmates in high school. He never bullied me like everyone else did. Years later, when we met again after university, he didn't even recognise me at first. It hurt more than I wanted to admit. But eventually, we became close. Then closer.
I remembered one evening when I'd stayed late at work trying to finish a report. Everyone else had gone home. Chris came out of his office, looked at my desk and frowned.
"You haven't gone home yet?"
"I want to finish this first."
An hour later, he returned with a paper bag containing my favourite chicken pie and a bottle of juice.
I hadn't told him those were my favourites. Somehow, he'd remembered. Later that night he called to make sure I got home safely. Maybe those things sounded small. But they mattered to me. For four years, I held onto moments like that. There was only one thing that bothered me.
Chris liked keeping our relationship private. We never attended events together. We never appeared together in public. Whenever I asked about it, he would tell me not to overthink things. I always listened. Gemma said successful men were usually more cautious about relationships. So I tried not to worry.
Today, I would finally take a bold step. I would propose.
"Give me the ring, Gemma. I want to keep it safe."
She handed it back and stood up.
"I'm going to shower. Yesha, make your bed. It's gross."
"I'll do it. What time is the staff get-together again?"
"Five-thirty. That's where you're proposing."
I hesitated. "Can't I do it in private? He might feel embarrassed."
Gemma groaned loudly. "Why are you acting scared now?"
"I'm not scared."
"Then stop overthinking. You've been together for four years. If he loves you, he'll be happy."
That made me feel better. Gemma always seemed to know what she was talking about. After she showered, we went shopping. Out of dozens of dresses, she picked a tiny green one.
The moment I tried it on, I hated it. My hip bones showed. My legs looked too thin and even breathing felt difficult.
"I don't like it, Gem."
"I do. And trust me, you'll look amazing."
I wasn't convinced. Still, I bought it. By 4:45 p.m., I was struggling with the zipper alone in my apartment. After finally managing it, I took a taxi to Azul. I arrived ten minutes late. The venue was already crowded. I searched for Gemma but couldn't find her.
Then I saw Chris. I saw those green eyes and his perfectly styled blond hair. Also he had the same smile that always made me forget every insecurity I had. As if he felt me staring, he looked over. Our eyes met, he smiled and my heart immediately calmed.
See? Everything was going to be fine. I just needed courage. While I waited for the right moment, my supervisor Daya pulled me aside to help fill wine glasses. While I worked, I noticed her staring.
"I should keep this to myself, but... do you feel comfortable in what you're wearing?"
"I feel comfortable, Mrs Daya."
She nodded slowly.
When I finished, Gemma finally arrived. Compared to her elegant white layered dress, I felt ridiculous. She squeezed my hand.
"It's time, Yesha. Go for it. I'll record everything."
I nodded. This was it. I walked toward Chris. The room suddenly felt too hot.
"Ayesha, you made it. Good to see you."
"It's good to see you too, Mr Chris."
He frowned slightly. "Is there something you need?"
"Actually... yes."
"Let's talk in my office."
"No. Let's do it here."
He sat back down. I pulled out the ring box. Then I got down on one knee. The room went silent. More and more people turned to look and my hands shook.
"Will you marry me, Mr Chris?"
There was silence. My smile began to falter.
"Mr Chris, will you…"
"Stop it."
I froze. His voice was cold.
"Get up from your knees. What drama are you trying to pull here? Are you creating a social media post?"
Confusion flooded me. "But... I thought we liked each other. I'm being serious."
"If you're really serious, then I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. I won't marry you. Now get up and leave. You've embarrassed me enough already."
The words hit harder than any slap. Tears filled my eyes. I struggled to stand. More than a hundred people stared at me but nobody said a word. Gemma still had her phone raised.
"Gemma, stop it." My voice came out broken.
I turned away, desperate to find somewhere private to cry. Then I heard a loud ripping sound. The room gasped and my stomach dropped. I looked behind me.
The dress had split completely between my buttocks. My white underwear was visible to everyone. For a moment, I couldn't move.
Someone laughed. My face burned. But the worst part wasn't the ripped dress. It wasn't the humiliation. It wasn't even the laughter. It was Chris.
Chris had seen all of it.
Chris's POVI didn't sleep that first week without Gemma in the house. The silence felt different now, heavier, full of the things I hadn't let myself think about while I was busy convincing myself I was doing the responsible thing.It was a Sunday morning, early enough that the light outside was still gray, when I gave up on sleep entirely and turned on the television without any real intention of watching anything. I flipped through channels the way a person flips through their own thoughts when they're trying not to land on one in particular.Then I stopped.She was sitting across from a morning show host in a bright studio, a microphone clipped near the collar of a fitted rust colored dress, her hair loose around her shoulders in a way I had never once seen her wear it at the office. She looked nothing like the woman who used to sit quietly at her desk finishing reports after everyone else had gone home. She also looked, somehow, exactly like herself, the version of herself I thin
Chris's POVThe months after Ayesha resigned passed in a way I could only describe as gray. Gemma moved into the mansion within a week of the confirmed pregnancy, carrying in boxes I hadn't agreed to make room for, rearranging furniture in rooms I rarely used and some I did.I told myself it didn't matter. None of it mattered, not really, not measured against the responsibility I believed I carried now. I had been raised to take ownership of my mistakes, and if this was mine, then I would see it through properly, whatever that cost me.It cost more than I expected.Gemma redecorated the east sitting room without asking, replacing furniture that had belonged to my mother with pieces she preferred. She began monitoring household accounts that weren't hers to monitor. She attended events at my side, something Ayesha had never once been allowed to do, and positioned herself carefully in every photograph, every introduction, every conversation with my associates, referencing the baby const
Ayesha's POVThe idea came to me while I was sweeping the gallery floor late one evening, frustrated after a second rejection from Marlene Kline's office. Diana's words kept circling in my head. Stop asking for permission. Make them notice you.I thought about the children's hospital three blocks from my old apartment, the one I used to pass on my way to work and never once stopped to think about. I thought about how much good a little attention could do, for them and for me both, if I built something worth paying attention to.I called the hospital's community outreach office the next morning and proposed a charity art night. All proceeds from sales would go toward their pediatric ward. I would cover the wine and the printed invitations myself. All I asked was that they let me put their name on it.They said yes before I had even finished my sentence.I spent two weeks preparing. Diana donated three smaller pieces for the cause without me even having to ask. I reached out to two other
Ayesha's POVShe walked in on a Tuesday afternoon, when the gallery was empty except for the hum of the radiator and the faint smell of fresh paint that still hadn't fully faded."You're the owner?" she asked, not bothering with a greeting."I am. Ayesha Adams." I extended my hand.She didn't take it. She was already moving past me, studying the walls with narrowed eyes, the way someone studies a problem rather than a room. She was tall, sharp featured, somewhere in her forties, with paint stains on her fingers that no amount of scrubbing had ever quite gotten out."This space is wrong for hanging anything larger than a meter," she said. "Your lighting is decent. Your floor creaks in three places, which is honestly charming if you market it right.""I'm sorry, who are you?""Diana." She finally looked at me properly. "I paint. I've been looking for somewhere that isn't a corporate lobby or a coffee shop to show my work, and most galleries in this city want nothing to do with anyone wh
Ayesha's POVThe bank loan officer had kind eyes and a stack of paperwork that seemed to multiply every time I blinked. I sat across from her in a small glass office, my hands folded so tightly in my lap that my knuckles had gone pale."You're proposing a gallery space," she said, scanning my application. "Have you run a business before?""No," I admitted. "But I've worked in corporate finance for four years. I understand numbers. I understand budgets. And I've been saving since I was twenty."It wasn't entirely true. I had been saving since I was twenty, yes, but most of it had gone into a ring that someone had told me to get up off my knees for. I didn't say that part.She studied me for a long moment, then looked back down at the file. "The space you're interested in, it's modest. Good location, decent foot traffic once people know it's there. Risky, but not foolish.""I know it's risky.""Most first time business owners underestimate how slow the first few months will be.""I'm pr
Ayesha's POVI didn't cry until I got home.In the mall, in front of Chris, I had been steady. My voice hadn't shaken. My hands hadn't shaken. I had looked at him and told him to go away and I had meant every word of it. But the moment my apartment door clicked shut behind me, something in my chest finally gave out, and I slid down against the door and cried until my throat hurt.It wasn't even about the rejection anymore, or the dress, or Gemma's stupid video. It was about how easy it had been for him to ask "what happened yesterday" like I was the one being unreasonable. Like four years could just be folded up and put away because it was inconvenient for him.I sat there for a long time. When I finally got up, my legs were stiff and my face felt swollen. I went to the bathroom, washed it, and looked at myself in the mirror. Bony shoulders. Flat chest. The same girl who had been laughed at in a high school hallway, still standing in the same body, still waiting for someone to look at







