In This Life

The ceramic mug in Fatima's hand was warm, its smooth rim familiar against her lips as she took a small sip of tea. It was jasmine today. Not her usual black tea, but she had woken with a taste for something lighter.

The mug itself was pale blue, delicately painted with small white flowers that curled around its sides in careful loops. She had bought it from a small shop shortly after arriving in Canada, during one of those early weeks when everything had felt strange and new and slightly lonely. The shopkeeper had wrapped it in brown paper and twine, and Fatima had decided immediately that it would be her work teacup.

At home she had another favourite. A deeper green porcelain cup she had brought from India.

She liked having things that belonged to particular places. It made the world feel orderly.

Fatima set the mug down on a coaster beside her keyboard and reached for the pen lying neatly beside her notebook. Technically the office provided pens. Entire boxes of them sat in supply cabinets. But they were thin, cheap things that skipped when writing quickly. Fatima preferred a particular brand with a heavier barrel and a precise, fluid ink line. She always brought her own.

There was nothing wrong with liking certain things more than others.

She had a favourite jacket.

She had a favourite cousin.

Life was simpler when one acknowledged preferences honestly.

Movement in the aisle caught her attention: Tom. He walked past her desk with the easy confidence of someone who had always been told he was handsome. Broad shoulders, cleanly-shaven face, tailored shirt. Many people in the office considered him attractive.

Fatima did not.

Not after the way his eyes lingered. He thought she didn't notice. But she noticed everything. The quick sideways glance. The slow sweep of his gaze across her body. The subtle curl of amusement in the corner of his mouth before he continued walking.

A pig in a well-fitted shirt was still a pig.

Fatima's expression remained composed as her eyes moved past him.

Across the open office floor Roy stood beside one of the junior analysts, leaning slightly over her desk while pointing at something on the monitor. The younger woman nodded as he explained something, his voice low and patient.

Roy smiled.

He seemed to be doing that a lot today. Fatima watched for a moment as he straightened and gave the analyst an encouraging nod before moving on to the next workstation.

It was also perfectly acceptable to have a favourite male coworker.

Her fingers returned to the keyboard, but her thoughts lingered on Roy for another moment. It was Friday. Many people in the office became lighter on Fridays. There was a particular buoyancy in the air as the weekend approached. But Roy rarely changed much from one day to the next.

Steady.

Reliable.

Kind.

That was one of the things Fatima appreciated most about him as a supervisor. Over the two years she had worked here he had proven himself again and again to be fair, patient, and quietly competent.

Yet today he seemed brighter. Not unprofessional. Simply happier.

Fatima lifted her mug again and took another sip of tea as Roy crossed the office floor carrying a stack of reports, greeting someone along the way.

Perhaps he had enjoyed a particularly good evening. One of his girlfriends, maybe. Maybe more than one. The thought drifted through her mind easily, without judgment.

Fatima found herself wondering, briefly, what it would be like to be one of those girlfriends.

Roy was kind. Reliable. Gentle in a way that did not diminish his authority. A woman could do far worse.

Her thoughts wandered further back, unbidden, to her university days. There had been a man in one of her engineering seminars. Arjun Mehta. He had been charming in the effortless way some men cultivated. Friendly, humorous, quick to offer help when someone struggled with a difficult problem.

In some ways he had reminded her of Roy. Similar build. Same easy smile. The same quiet, approachable manner. But the resemblance ended there.

Arjun had been married. Everyone knew it. And yet he flirted constantly with the women in their program. Subtle at first. Then less subtle as the months passed. Lingering compliments. Casual touches that lasted a moment too long.

Eventually the truth surfaced. He had been seeing another woman from the program behind his wife's back. His wife found out. She left him.

Fatima hoped he had learned something from the experience.

The memory sharpened her appreciation for the difference between that man and Roy. Arjun had not been satisfied with one woman. Roy, on the other hand, clearly valued the three women in his life. Fatima had observed him long enough to know that he was not the sort of man who toyed with people or manipulated them for attention.

He respected women. More importantly, he understood that trust mattered. A man who had three girlfriends and still carried himself with that level of calm reliability was clearly someone who understood commitment.

Fatima respected that. Roy wasn't a cheater, nor was he greedy. He had simply found three women worth committing to. He was a man who committed to the women he loved, not someone trying to twist social convention just to have sex without consequences. He was a regular, normal, everyday man who knew how not to stray.

If Arjun had been more like Roy, been able to commit to his wife the way Roy committed to his girlfriends, his life wouldn't have been upended.

Her fingers continued typing steadily while her thoughts drifted again.

She was also honest enough with herself to acknowledge another truth. If Roy had not already been spoken for, she would have hoped he might notice her. The thought made her smile faintly.

Steady.

Reliable.

Kind.

Those were qualities that mattered far more to her than sculpted abs or arrogant confidence. Men like Tom were everywhere. Handsome, self-assured, and so enamoured with their own reflection that they rarely made room for another person in their lives. Fatima would take reliability over vanity any day.

But Roy was taken. His three girlfriends would not appreciate their boyfriend turning his attention toward another woman. And Roy himself did not seem like the kind of man who would disrespect them that way.

So Fatima would respect it too. Some boundaries were simply understood.

She lifted her teacup again, finishing the last of the jasmine tea before setting the mug back on its coaster. The office hummed softly around her. Roy passed by her desk a moment later with another stack of reports, offering her a brief friendly smile as he walked past.

Fatima returned the smile politely. Then she turned back to her screen. Perhaps in another life things might have been different.

But in this life, she had work to do.