LOGINAyesha's POV
I held onto the torn edges and ran off towards the restroom. I heard some giggling behind me. When I got there, I sat on the toilet seat weeping and wondering why Chris had rejected me like that. He should have just accepted in front of everyone, then later we could have talked it out in private. Was that too much to ask, or didn't he care about my feelings the way I cared for his?
I thought about all those small moments I had held onto like they were promises. The time he had stopped in the hallway to ask if I had eaten. The two bouquets he brought without a reason. I had built a whole future out of those small things and apparently I had been building alone.
My mind went back to Gemma. She was the cause of all this. This is what she advised me to do and why wasn't she here comforting me like she used to? I wiped my eyes with the back of my palm, smearing mascara across my chin. I hissed when I looked in the mirror. Why should I care how I looked when this had just happened to me?
I stayed in that stall longer than I should have. Long enough to know that whatever was left of that evening was over. I straightened up, pressed a wad of tissue beneath my eyes, and told myself I wouldn't cry again tonight. I lied to myself. But I tried.
I stepped out slowly from the bathroom and into the get-together hall only to find that everyone had gone. The only thing sitting helplessly on a chair was my handbag. And as unbelievable as I would put it, Gemma was nowhere to be seen either. That meant I had spent too long in the bathroom. At least she should have waited for me.
I sadly took my bag and went home. Throughout the night, she wasn't picking my calls. Was she embarrassed too? But why would she be? She wasn't the one whose dress ripped with her undies peeking out, neither was she the one who got dumped in front of everyone. And it was all her idea, wasn't it?
When I got home, I sat curled at the edge of my bed with my phone face-up on the pillow, waiting for it to light up. I replayed the whole evening in my head like a punishment I couldn't stop giving myself. The ring I had saved up for. The green dress that didn't even fit. Chris's face when he said stop it was not flustered, not even regretful. Just cold. Like I was a stranger who had walked up to him at the wrong event.
My phone buzzed suddenly. For one hopeful second, I thought it was Gemma.
A message from one of my colleagues flashed across the screen.
Are you okay?
Below it was a video attachment.
My stomach dropped. I clicked on it and there I was, Kneeling, holding out the ring and then Chris rejecting me. What followed was the awful ripping sound.
I dropped the phone immediately. She had already uploaded it. A few minutes later another message came in. Some people asked if I was alright. Others sent crying emojis. One person sent laughing emojis before deleting them. It didn't matter. The damage was already done.
The video was out there. Everyone had seen it. I felt pity for myself, and that ridiculous video she made… I'd ask her to delete it as soon as I could reach her. Chris deserved an apology from me. I'd do that at the office tomorrow. But I hoped he let it slide. He cared for me, right? We were dating. He should just let it go.
I stashed the ripped dress away somewhere deep in my closet. I told myself I wouldn't throw it away or burn it. Maybe one day in the future, I'd show it to my children, if I got married and had them.
I woke up late the next day after I had promised myself I'd go in early so people wouldn't see me walking in. Dang, this was going to be disastrous. I fumbled through my shower after I brushed my teeth, which I wasn't sure I did properly. I grabbed a mint candy on my way out just in case.
The walk from the lobby to my desk felt like the longest walk of my life. I kept my head down, watching my own shoes move one step at a time across the floor. But even with my head down, I could feel things. Like when a conversation paused when I passed and the way someone cleared their throat. I knew what it felt like when attention was aimed at you. I'd been a target long enough to recognise the weight of it.
I put my head down as I navigated my way towards my spot in the office. People laughed about something and since I was someone who knew what it felt like when laughter was directed at her, I suspected something.
Pristine, who sat opposite me, was looking at her phone too, although she wasn't smiling. I had always known her to be very nonchalant.
"Excuse me, Pristine, what's going on? Everyone looks quite occupied. Is it work-related?"
"It would have been better if it was," she said flatly, and handed me her phone.
Yikes. There I was, proposing before a man, getting rejected, and getting my gown ripped between my ass.
The video had thousands of views already.
Someone had added dramatic music to it.
The comments were even worse.
I quickly looked away. I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry so bitterly, but everyone was there. Who knew who was holding a camera in my face today?
I swallowed my tears. "Thanks, Pristine."
She nodded, put the phone down, and went back to the paperwork she was doing. But where the hell was Gemma? This wasn't funny anymore. She had better fix this. I waited and an hour went by but she didn't show up.
Was I being too harsh? Maybe she was just sick, or worse. I dialled her number again but she didn't pick up. Why did you have to fall sick after exposing me like this, Gemma? I had almost forgotten my heartfelt apology to Chris.
No. That wasn't true. I hadn't forgotten, I had been avoiding it. The more I thought about yesterday, the more confused I became. Chris and I had been together for four years. Four years. Surely he didn't mean to humiliate me. Maybe he was angry or I had caught him off guard. Maybe if I explained myself properly, things would make sense again.
I couldn't sit here imagining answers. I needed to hear them from him. Despite being uncomfortable, I picked myself up and went to his office.
Knock knock. I hoped this worked out.
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







