An empty office, dark and silent. A man in his late twenties quietly approached the large office door, a few files tucked neatly under his arm. He paused for a moment and looked at his watch, then knocked softly.
The black nameplate beside the door read in elegant golden letters: “Rakin Mustafin, CEO.”
He opened the door carefully and stepped inside after hearing a soft approval to come in. Dressed in a formal business suit, his hair slicked back with gel, he looked almost unnaturally put-together—like someone made for suits and schedules, not everyday life.
A man in his thirties was sitting alone in the luxurious CEO cabin. The city lights cast a soft glow through the vast windows. The polished mahogany desk was orderly, a laptop dimly lit. Shadows from the bookshelves stretched across the floor, and a half-empty cup of cold black coffee sat on the table.
Rakin looked at the files and asked, ‘Are you done checking those?’ His voice sounded like the ocean wave hitting the shore, gentle and calm.
The man fixed his black rimless-frame glasses and walked near the table. ‘Yes, sir.’ He carefully placed the files on the table.
‘Thank you, Kamal. We will have the meeting first thing in the morning. I will go through these before that.’ Rakin took the files and flipped through some of the pages. His eyes looked heavy with tiredness.
Kamal stood there, shifting his weight—the same hesitation he had every night. ‘Sir, it’s pretty late.
Rakin looked at the clock. The hour and minute hands nearly overlapped. He gently nodded his head and said, “Right. You may leave.”
“See you tomorrow, sir.” Kamal left the room.
Rakin stared at the closed door for a moment, then looked back at the files. This was all he had in his life. His company and his work. He flipped the pages of the file, his eyes glazing over. He rubbed his temples. Then, as if drawn by an old habit, he reached into his drawer for the remote.
Something else he had was a reason to keep going. He started the big screen on the opposite wall. He pressed a few buttons and started a prerecorded award show.
A man and a woman were on the stage announcing the nominations. The woman in the sparkling maroon gown said excitedly, “And the best actress award goes to—” She added a dramatic pause and shouted, “Silvi Sinha for Onukto”.
Under the dazzling lights of the grand auditorium, she stepped onto the stage, her iconic deep blue gown shimmering with every movement. Her long black hair, styled in a sleek, straight fashion with a center part, cascaded down her back. She confidently walked on the stage in her timeless and classic appearance. The audience erupted in applause, but her expression remained distant, almost melancholic. Her eyes, framed by delicate makeup, reflected a quiet resignation rather than joy.
She accepted the award, her smile not reaching her eyes. It weighed nothing in her grip. As if she didn’t want to be a part of it. The cheers felt hollow, a stark contrast to the inner world she guarded so closely.
In that deep blue gown, she was a queen without a kingdom, a star longing for something beyond the glitter and glamor. As if the color of her dress represented the blueness of her life.
Silvi took the mic and spoke with rehearsed indifference, “For this award, I would like to thank my fans, my team, my friends and family, and especially my dog, Bozo. I love you all. It belongs to you!” She forced a smile on her face as she walked down the stage.
The TV screen went black. His reflection lingered in the black screen. He sighed, “She didn’t look happy.”
He rotated his chair and faced the window. As he watched the dark sky with no stars in sight, a sense of loneliness settled over him, mirroring the emptiness of the sky. The bustling city felt worlds away, its noise and activity muted by the thick glass of his window.
Silvi never won the Next Top Model Competition. Nor did she ever receive a chance to thank her lovely friend Rakin for helping her with her first photoshoot money. Almost fourteen years passed without them ever mentioning that New Year's night.
A night when the sky was lonely, but they weren’t. Since then, Rakin’s only reason to live was to see Silvi happy, to protect her mischievous smile. He had been watching her from the shadows for all this time, not knowing how to approach her. He wondered if she remembered that night. Maybe it was just another night for her. But to him, it was the night that saved him from himself.
That suicide note had ended up in the garbage. Fourteen years later, the only thing left in the trash was his courage to tell her.