Amra placed her handbag on her desk. She had arrived at exactly 8 a.m. at the MasPal office, located just 20 minutes from her home.
OneMedic was a company that supplied medical items—rubber gloves, surgical masks, and electronic equipment used in hospitals. Amra had been working in the marketing department for five years now. Initially, she had applied for the R&D division, but her application was rejected. Still, she was grateful to be offered a role elsewhere in the company.
In a time when many young people struggled to find jobs that matched their degrees, Amra had accepted the opportunity without being picky, even though it meant stepping away from the field she had studied.
"Amra darlingggggg, morning!" came the voice of Fatin, Amra's colleague—better known in the office as the Speaker Auntie. Everyone in the company knew her from the marketing department. She was a walking radio, always full of gossip, always speaking—even to strangers.
"Morning," Amra responded flatly, not even glancing her way.
"Weh girl, what's with you today? PMS?"
Fatin, clearly surprised by Amra's mood, immediately suspected it was that time of the month.
"No. It's nothing."
"Really? You sure it's nothing?"
"Yeah."
Amra sighed. Her mood had been off ever since she woke up from that dream… about him.
"Come on lah, tell me."
"There's nothing to tell."
"Well, if you're not gonna talk, I will."
Fatin dragged a chair and plopped down beside Amra, handing her phone over.
Amra glanced at the screen.
"Who's this...?" she asked hesitantly. She hadn't planned on entertaining Fatin's drama this early, but the image caught her attention.
Fatin smacked the desk dramatically.
"This! This is that no-shame devil! Look at that face—like a shoe stepped in dog poop—yet he dares to flirt with women. He's been married for five years with three kids! This guy hit on you last month, remember? Not just you, girl—Shika from Finance too! And don't even start on that two faces girl, she actually entertained him. Got smacked by the wife in the parking lot yesterday. I went stalking on Facebook—bam! There he is, posing with his happy little family. If I were his wife, I'd turn his peanuts into peanut butter!"
Amra let out a soft laugh. Fatin might appear sweet and proper, but once you knew her, her mouth had no filter.
"Don't just laugh. You nearly got played too, remember?"
"I didn't even entertain him. I told him I'd report him if he messaged again."
"Good for you! That kind of guy isn't worth a sneeze."
"Exactly. If it were Aiman, maybe..."
Amra froze. She cursed herself for letting the name slip. It was a reflex—pure instinct—triggered by a wave of emotion she didn't see coming. And now, she had just handed Fatin fresh fuel for gossip.
She grabbed a file and pretended to busy herself.
"I have a meeting outside. See you later."
Without waiting for a response, she rushed off before she could be interrogated.
"Eh, Amra? Why so early? Oi! Who's Aiman?? AMRAAA!"
Fatin's voice echoed behind her, but Amra was already gone.
"Hah! Secrets like that? I must investigate. Detective Fatin is on the case! MUAHAHAHA!"
"Morning, Kak Fatin," said Annis from the marketing team.
"Anne, my precious sister! Begin your day with this juicy headline. Look!"
Fatin showed her the same picture and started the gossip trail all over again.
------------
"AMRAAAAA!"
Fatiha's voice boomed through the phone as Amra answered the call. She was on her way to Hospital Tunku Jaafar for a meeting with Dr. Ibrahim.
"Eh, give me salam first, woman!"
"Oh right—*assalamualaikum*—my bad, hehe."
"What is it? Calling me this early."
"Guess who I bumped into today?"
Amra frowned. Why was Fatiha so excited? Could it be...?
"Who?"
"Zahid!"
"Zahid who?"
Amra tried to dig through her memories.
"The guy who used to hang out with your beloved Aiman."
"Oh... him. Why are you telling me this?"
"No reason. Just thought… if Zahid's here, maybe 'someone else' is nearby too."
Amra sighed. She really didn't want to get her hopes up. Even if she saw him again, there was no guarantee he'd remember her—or even want to talk.
"I doubt it. I've got work to do. I'll call you tonight."
They ended the call with goodbyes. Amra found herself gazing around the hospital. Memories stirred—especially that second encounter... the first time she ever saw him cry.
---
That night, lying on her bed, Amra found herself scrolling through her phone.
Why did that name suddenly slip from her lips this morning?
It's been ten years since they last met.
Ten years since she last heard his voice, saw his smile—yet his name had risen uninvited, as if it had been waiting at the tip of her tongue all along.
She opened Facebook. No recent posts.
Then Instagram. Still no trace of him.
Even LinkedIn—nothing.
She wasn't even sure what she was looking for—maybe a photo, a life update, anything to say he was doing well.
Anything to explain why, after all this time, her heart still remembered what her mind tried to forget.
But it was all blank.
Maybe that was for the best. Maybe some stories were never meant to continue.
Still, part of her... couldn't stop searching.
---
The next day, Amra wrapped up her meeting with Dr. Ibrahim and gathered her documents.
"Thank you for your time, doctor. I'll follow up with the quotation by next week," she said with a polite smile.
Dr. Ibrahim nodded. "Good work as always, Miss Amra. Send my regards to your team."
"I will, Doctor. Have a good day."
As she stepped out of the consultation room, she headed toward the nurses' station—a familiar stop during her hospital visits.
"Miss Amra, done with your meeting?" called out Nurse Salwa, the head nurse in charge of ward supplies.
"All done, Kak Salwa. I'll email you the updated product list soon. If there are any extra items you need, feel free to WhatsApp me like usual."
"Sure thing. I'll check the stock later. By the way, the powder-free gloves are running low again. Any promotions this month?"
Amra smiled. "There are! HQ just sent us the updated catalogue this morning—I'll forward it to you."
"Good. And if you've got any samples, don't forget to drop them off for our ward," Nurse Salwa teased with a grin.
"Of course! Your ward gets special treatment," Amra replied, tapping her folder playfully.
They exchanged a quick laugh before Amra waved goodbye.
She continued on toward the elevator, nodding at a familiar face at the pharmacy counter. The sharp, sterile scent of disinfectants and alcohol rub lingered in the air, making her stomach turn.
She hated staying too long in hospitals. Everything felt too clean, too cold.
As she stepped out of the elevator and turned into the corridor, she almost bumped into someone who suddenly walked past her.
She nearly snapped at the person but stopped.
Something about that figure... the way he walked, his posture...
It felt familiar.
"Aiman!" she called out, uncertain but driven by instinct.
The man turned around slowly.
Her heart pounded.
It was him.
Aiman bin Aufan.
The boy who had quietly stolen her heart in high school.
The one who had seemed untouchable—too kind, too brilliant, too perfect.
He was the golden boy everyone adored. And her? Just a quiet girl on the edge of the crowd, never brave enough to speak.
She never told him. How could she? She was invisible. He was light.
And now—ten years later—he stood in front of her.
But not as the Aiman she remembered.
His face was pale, his eyes hollow. His shoulders slumped like the weight of the world was pressing down on him.
There was no light in his expression—only pain. Only exhaustion.
Before she could speak, he stepped forward.
And in the blink of a breath, he collapsed into her.
His arms wrapped around her, clinging tightly. His face buried in her shoulder like a man breaking apart.
Before she could speak, he stepped forward.
And in the blink of a breath, he collapsed into her.
His arms wrapped around her, clinging tightly. His face buried in her shoulder like a man breaking apart.
Amra froze.
The corridor fell away. The people around them faded. Time seemed to hold its breath.
She stood there—stiff, stunned—as the boy she had once admired trembled in her arms.
Her hand hovered behind his back, unsure whether to hold him or push him away.
Then, in a voice barely louder than a breath, he spoke.
"Amra…"
A pause. A quiver.
"Help me... This is killing me."
*******