Chapter 5: The Message She Doesn't Owe an Answer
I read Daniel’s email twice.
The first time, I focused on the request: he wanted to meet away from the office. The second time, I noticed how little he’d said about why.
No explanation. No apology. Not even a hint of what he considered so important.
Just a place and a time.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I could already imagine the replies that might come naturally if I let my feelings take over. One would ask what he wanted. Another would demand why he thought he could keep showing up and asking for more. A third would agree to meet just so I could stop wondering.
I typed nothing.
At the end of the email, his signature looked as ordinary as it always had. That almost made the message worse. He could reach into my workday from a screen and make the past feel close again, then sign off like we were discussing a routine matter.
I closed the message without replying.
The report on my desk still needed a final check. I returned to it line by line, confirming each figure against the notes I’d collected. It wasn’t a cure for the knot in my stomach, but it gave my mind something solid to hold. The numbers didn’t change because I was upset. A missing detail was still missing. A verified fact was still a verified fact.
By the time I finished, my hands had stopped trembling.
I forwarded the completed document to the follow-up team, then looked at Daniel’s email again. I didn’t open it. I didn’t have to.
I called my aunty during my break.
She answered on the second ring.
“What happened?”
“I got an email from Daniel.”
There was a brief pause.
“What does he want?”
“To meet somewhere away from work. He still hasn’t said what he wants to tell me.”
“Do you want to meet him?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s a real answer,” she said. “You don’t have to turn it into yes or no before you’re ready.”
I pressed my thumb against the edge of my phone.
“Could you sit with me tonight while I think about how to respond?”
“Of course.”
She didn’t tell me to block him. She didn’t tell me to hear him out. She didn’t turn my uncertainty into an instruction. She simply offered to be there, and I felt some of the tightness in my chest loosen.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Come home when you’re finished. We’ll take our time.”
When the call ended, I set my phone facedown and returned to work.
Aiden passed my desk later that afternoon with a folder in his hand. He stopped a few feet away, leaving enough space that I didn’t feel crowded.
“Did you get the report out?”
“Yes. I checked the figures once more before sending it.”
“Good. I’ll review it with the team tomorrow.”
He glanced at the folder, then at me.
“Do you need anything from me?”
The question could have been about the report. It could also have meant something else. Either way, I appreciated that he didn’t presume.
“No, thank you. I’m all right to finish the rest of the day.”
“Okay.”
He continued down the hall. I watched him go for a moment, then turned back to my screen.
I was learning that I could accept help without handing someone else the right to choose for me.
At home, my aunty was waiting in the living room. She had made tea, but she didn’t push a cup into my hands or start asking questions before I was settled. She sat beside me and waited.
I took the folded email printout from my bag. I’d made a copy at work so I wouldn’t need to open the message again on my computer. For some reason, seeing it on paper made it easier to look at directly.
“He wants to meet away from the office,” I said. “But I don’t want to.”
“Then you don’t have to.”
“I keep thinking maybe I should hear him out.”
“Because you want to know what he has to say,” she replied, “or because you feel you owe him a chance?”
I looked down at the page.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s all right. But either way, you don’t owe him a meeting just because he asked.”
The words settled between us. I had spent too much of my life trying to guess what would keep other people calm. I knew how quickly politeness could turn into another promise I hadn’t meant to make.
“I don’t want to meet him somewhere private,” I said.
“Then don’t agree to it.”
“I also don’t want him to think he can use work to get access to me.”
“Then say that clearly. You can decide what you’re willing to discuss and where. You don’t need to explain every reason.”
I let out a breath.
“I could say anything personal needs to stay out of the workplace. And that I’m not meeting him off-site.”
My aunty nodded.
“If that’s what you want, write it.”
She didn’t reach for the paper or tell me how to phrase it. She sat with me while I opened my laptop. I read Daniel’s email once more, then started a reply.
The first version was longer. I explained that his visits had unsettled me, that his timing felt unfair, that I didn’t want to be pulled into a conversation without knowing what it concerned.
I reread it and deleted most of the message.
Those things were true, but I didn’t have to give him every truth in order to make a boundary count.
I tried again.
“Daniel,
“I’m not willing to meet you away from the office. Please keep any work-related communication professional and use the appropriate work channels. Personal matters must not interrupt my work, and I do not agree to a private meeting. If you have something specific to tell me, you may put it in writing. I will decide whether I want to respond.
“Hira”
My aunty read it over my shoulder only after I asked her to.
“It says what you mean,” she said.
I read it again, listening for an apology I hadn’t intended to include or a promise I didn’t want to make. There wasn’t one.
I clicked Send.
The message left my outbox. A small notification appeared on the screen, ordinary and final.
For a few minutes, nothing happened.
I closed the laptop. My aunty poured tea, and we sat in the quiet. I wasn’t peaceful, exactly. I was aware of the empty spaces in my life, of the daughter I missed, and of how little control I had over what Daniel might do next. But I had made one decision I could call my own.
My phone buzzed on the table.
I glanced at the screen. Daniel had replied.
My aunty didn’t move closer.
“Do you want me to stay?” she asked.
“Yes.”
I opened the email.
His response was brief. He said he would come back with an explanation. Then, beneath that, he wrote that he would speak to me in person whether I agreed or not.
I read the sentence again, my tea untouched beside me.
May you like
My aunty’s hand rested near mine, not holding it, just there if I wanted it.
I looked at Daniel’s words and understood that declining the meeting had not ended the question of what he would do next.
