By Monday morning, the air in the firm had changed.
It wasn't something you could name, exactly—just a tension, like something unspoken was pressing against the walls. Idris was earlier than usual, quieter in meetings, shorter with partners. And Amina… she felt the weight of eyes.
Because people were noticing.
Not the cleaning staff. Not yet.
But others.
"Did you see her go into the records room again?" whispered Leila, one of the junior secretaries, her red lipstick always just a bit too bold for the firm's tone. "That's twice this week."
"So?" said Zara, flipping her braid. "She's probably just doing extra hours."
"With the managing partner? Please. Do you know how many people would kill to be in that room with him?"
Their giggles were low but cutting. Amina kept her head down and moved faster with her trolley.
She had felt it too—that she was being watched. A few raised eyebrows. Some lingering glances. As though her presence, once invisible, was suddenly a disruption.
She hated it.
She didn't want attention. Especially not this kind.
But things got worse that afternoon.
Idris had called for two coffee deliveries: one for the boardroom, another… for the filing room.
And it was Leila who carried the tray into the records room and found him standing beside Amina, reviewing file labels, sleeves rolled up, his tone calm and easy.
For the first time, Amina saw his mask slip—not because he changed, but because someone else was in the room. His face tightened. His voice went cold.
Leila set the tray down too hard. "Your coffee, sir."
He didn't look up. "Leave it."
She lingered. "Of course. Anything else you'd like me to bring?"
"No."
Her smile thinned. "Enjoy."
The door shut behind her like a warning.
Amina turned to him, chest tight. "I shouldn't be here."
"You were helping me," he said quietly, but something was already shifting between them.
"They'll talk," she said.
"They already do," he replied.
She looked at him then—not as a powerful man, not as someone unreachable—but as someone human. Someone caught.
And yet, his expression softened.
"I'm not ashamed to work with someone who shows more discipline than half my staff," he said.
But that wasn't the problem, and they both knew it.
By evening, the whispers had spread.
In the executive lounge, over glass tumblers and tired sighs, two senior partners exchanged a look.
"Is it true?" one asked.
"She's a cleaner," the other said. "A girl from nowhere. If this gets out…"
"It won't. He's too careful."
"He used to be."
That night, Amina sat on the rooftop of her building, knees pulled to her chest, the stars faint under city smoke.
She thought of her mother—what she'd say if she knew. What she'd warn her daughter against. And she thought of Idris, of how his gaze sometimes softened when he looked at her, as if he saw the girl behind the uniform, the dust, the rules.
But men like him didn't live in her world.
And girls like her weren't supposed to touch theirs.
And yet…
She already had.