Friday morning came with an unusual quietness, the kind that made Amina's stomach tense for no reason she could name. She finished wiping down the reception desk and was headed toward the executive wing when she noticed something strange.
A phone.
Left behind on a bench near the private elevator.
She looked around. No one. It was sleek, expensive—definitely not something a cleaner could afford. She picked it up carefully, flipping it over to check the lock screen.
IDRIS KAREEM.
Her breath caught.
She looked at the elevator. It had already gone up.
She shouldn't. She knew she shouldn't.
But what would happen if it got stolen? Or worse—if someone saw her with it?
Before she could change her mind, she stepped into the service lift and pressed 12—the executive floor. Her heart pounded. She rarely went up there. Mariam had warned her strictly: "That floor isn't for us."
As the doors opened, she was immediately struck by how different it felt. Quieter. Dimmer. Every detail sharp and expensive—glass, steel, dark oak. She hesitated.
Then she heard his voice.
"In the boardroom. Now." Clipped. Sharp. Speaking to someone unseen.
She stood there, holding the phone like it was made of fire.
Then, his footsteps.
He rounded the corner, phone-less, annoyed—until he saw her.
His eyes dropped to the device in her hand.
"You found it?" he asked, surprised.
"Yes, sir. Near the lobby bench."
He stepped forward, took it from her hand gently. "You came up here just to return it?"
"I thought it might get stolen if it was left too long."
A pause.
His face softened—only slightly, but enough that she noticed. "Thank you."
Amina nodded and turned to leave, but he stopped her with a word.
"Wait."
She turned back slowly.
He seemed unsure for a moment, like he wasn't used to second-guessing himself. Then: "What's your schedule?"
"My shift ends at ten."
He nodded once. "Would you be willing to stay longer tomorrow? Help with the filing room. My secretary's behind, and it's… chaotic."
She blinked. "Me?"
"You're organized. I've seen your work. And you pay attention. That's rare."
Amina hesitated. Was this real?
"Of course," she said quietly. "I'd be happy to help."
"Speak to HR. They'll extend your hours. I'll sign off."
And just like that, she was dismissed.
As she stepped back into the lift, heart fluttering, she told herself this was nothing. Just extra work. Just being useful. But deep down, something stirred—a whisper of change.
That evening, Idris sat in his car, parked near the edge of the city. He rarely came to this side anymore. It reminded him too much of before—before the firm, before his father died and left him a kingdom built on grit and fear.
He thought about Amina. How quickly she'd found the phone. How easily she'd spoken, unflinching.
He wasn't used to people like her. Not anymore. Most people wanted things from him. Or feared him. She had done neither.
He didn't know what to make of that.
He wasn't supposed to notice her.
But he did.
And now, he'd given her a reason to stay longer.
He told himself it was about efficiency. Nothing more.
And yet… when he closed his eyes that night, he wondered how it might feel to speak to her without the walls of titles and distance between them.
But he couldn't afford to wonder for long.
Because men like him didn't get involved with girls like her.
Not without consequences.