A month had passed quietly since the deal with Horizon Group.
The streets of Ashrock shimmered under early summer heat. Delivery vans rumbled through narrow lanes carrying sealed boxes stamped with the golden "H" of Horizon. For the city, it was just another logo. For Ashburn, it meant progress — the first visible proof that his small empire was starting to move.
Inside his shop, he crouched near a stack of new cartons. The labels gleamed, neat and uniform, unlike the old hand-marked ones. He opened a box and lifted a product in his hand, eyes narrowing slightly.
He took a slow breath.
> Quick Appraisal – Activated.
In an instant, his senses sharpened. Weight, texture, material — even subtle packaging details aligned like data inside his mind. No words appeared, no numbers blinked, but a sense of quality, precision, and margin clarity settled in him like instinct.
He nodded faintly.
"Not bad. Horizon's people know what they're doing."
He stood, called his helper over, and instructed, "Split the shipment. Half stays here, half goes to the new branch. Handle the fragile items carefully."
"Yes, sir," the young boy replied, already moving crates toward the van.
---
The new branch stood at the edge of Ashrock's western market — smaller, humbler, but bright and freshly painted. The signboard hadn't even lost its new shimmer. Inside, shelves stood half-filled, waiting for the full rhythm of trade.
Ashburn walked through the aisles, checking inventory sheets. The faint smell of fresh wood and cardboard filled the air. It wasn't perfect yet, but it was alive.
His system's soft chime echoed within.
> [Evaluation Progress: 30%]
[Time Remaining: 3 Months]
[Funds Utilized: 6,00,000 / 8,00,000]
He exhaled slowly. "Still early… but it's moving."
The numbers weren't dazzling, but growth rarely was. It came quietly — like a steady flame that refused to die.
---
By late afternoon, he returned to the main shop. The customers had thinned, and the air was heavy with the day's warmth. He sat at his desk, stretching his shoulders and glancing at the clock.
Work, accounts, deliveries — everything ran smoother now. Yet one problem remained: time. He barely had any left for himself. The ledgers piled faster than he could manage.
That's when a voice from memory surfaced.
"You should hire a secretary. Someone to help you manage the paperwork and appointments."
Kainat's gentle suggestion echoed in his head again. She'd said it with a light smile, but it lingered deeper than expected.
Maybe she was right.
He leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment — and an image appeared in the dark of his thoughts. A quiet office from years ago, the smell of paper and cold air conditioning. And a girl sitting two desks away, typing swiftly while balancing a cup of tea near her keyboard.
Aisha.
He remembered her name like a note that had never faded.
Back then, during his university internship at a small trading firm, she had been the senior intern assigned to train him. She was sharp, organized, and always composed. He'd been a little clumsy, still learning the ropes of data entries and supplier coordination — but she'd guided him patiently, never once losing her cool.
"Numbers," she used to say, "are like people. You just need to know where they hide their truth."
He used to watch her explain budget sheets and management logs with simple clarity, her eyes always calm, her tone confident. There were small moments too — shared snacks during breaks, short walks to the tea stall outside, her laughter carried by the city wind.
She was one of the few people who'd left an impression on him — not just because of her looks, though she had that quiet elegance that drew attention — but because of her steadiness. She made work feel human.
He smiled faintly, opening his old phone's contact app. It took a while to scroll down through the long list of forgotten numbers, some saved under half-written names from old times.
Then he found it — "Aisha (Internship)."
His fingers hovered above the screen. Should he call right away? That might sound sudden. A message, maybe.
He typed slowly.
> "Hey, Aisha. It's Ashburn — from our internship days. How have you been?"
He read it twice, then hit send.
The message vanished into digital silence.
---
That night, he stayed at the shop longer than usual. The fan hummed quietly above, moving the warm air just enough to keep him awake. He reviewed supplier lists and customer invoices, but his focus kept drifting back to that message.
He checked his phone again. Nothing.
He told himself not to overthink. It had been years — she might not even remember him. Or maybe she'd changed her number. People moved on.
Still, a small part of him hoped for a reply. Something about reconnecting with that old chapter of life felt… right. Maybe it was practicality. Maybe something else.
Outside, the shop lights dimmed as the night deepened. He finished his last entry, locked the drawers, and finally leaned back with a sigh.
Tomorrow, he'd visit Kainat's kitchen again — drop off the old furniture they'd promised her. Life was busy, but not without meaning.
When he finally stood to leave, his phone buzzed once — a single vibration breaking the silence.
He picked it up.
A new message blinked on the screen.
> "Hi Ashburn, long time. I've been doing fine. Didn't expect to hear from you — it's been years."
He felt an unexpected warmth spread through him. So she did remember.
He typed back before he could overthink.
> "Glad to hear that. How about we catch up over a cup of tea sometime?"
There was no reply for a few seconds. Then another buzz.
> "Tea sounds nice. But tell me — what's this about? Just old memories, or something new?"
The corners of his lips curved slightly.
He stared at the screen for a long moment, then smiled to himself.
The game of business was about numbers and deals — but sometimes, fate threw in people who made the numbers worth chasing.