Chapter 10

Patric couldn't tear his gaze away. Her spirit, that elusive quality he had been missing for years, radiated from her like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. In her, he glimpsed echoes of his late grandfather—the unwavering dedication, the unyielding pursuit of excellence.

"Aren't you too fast to admire me, Mister?" Liya's voice cut through his reverie. She sipped her drink, her eyes challenging him. Patric straightened, caught off guard by her sarcasm.

"I am not," he replied, his voice low. "By nature, I am far too cynical to admire anything."

"Why are you telling me that?" Liya's anger flared. "Look, Dr. Patric Solomon, I am not the type of girl you're creating an image of. I am not that cheap woman you're looking for. And I am sorry for that. Go and find one for yourself."

Patric blinked. He had only meant to acknowledge her competence as a boss, but his words had taken on unintended layers. "Dr. Liya," he said, choosing his words carefully, "I meant no offense. I was merely remembering your performance in the operating theater earlier today."

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"For what?"

"For not understanding you," Liya admitted, surprising him.

"No one understands me like you, Dr. Liya," Patric said, his tone shifting. "I mean as a surgeon." He smiled, hoping to ease the tension. "The day after tomorrow, I expect you to reverse the board's decision."

"Why are you acting smart, Boss?" Her anger flared again. "We both know that you made that decision regarding the hospital staff reduction. Don't create a drama or try to act innocent."

"You've told everyone you're my fan," Patric said, leaning closer. "So, tell me, from your prior knowledge, am I the person you're creating an image of?"

Liya scoffed. "First of all, whoever told you I'm your fan is wrong. Second of all, internet rumors are hardly reliable. Even the devil would get the main character role in Chinese dramas."

"What a coincidence," Patric teased. "I'm a cdrama fan too. But seriously, I didn't want this crisis to happen. Initially, I was against the staff reduction idea."

"Why didn't you stop the other board members, then?" Liya's disbelief was palpable. "You're the hospital president. You have the power."

Patric hesitated, then sighed. "There's a complex reason behind my presidency. I never planned to be here, let alone lead a hospital in Ethiopia. It's a crazy twist of fate."

"And why did you decide to come here and be the president?" Liya pressed.

"My dad," Patric answered tersely, gripping his drink.

Liya's eyes narrowed. "Look, I know you're energetic and active. You understand what's good for the staff. But why should I trust you over the old board members?"

Patric leaned back, studying her. "I'm impressed by your leadership quality. You're the right piece for my current position. Everything you're demanding is acceptable, but I can't reveal the secrets behind this drama. Just be by my side at Monday's meeting. You'll understand in time."

Liya's resolve hardened. "I know whom to support," she said coldly, then walked out of the bar, leaving Patric to grapple with the consequences of losing her backing.

The sun peeked through the curtains, casting a warm glow across Liya's room. She stretched, her limbs unraveling from the night's embrace. Today was Sunday—the day of reflection and renewal. Liya had always found solace in the quiet moments spent within the walls of the church.

She slipped into her traditional white dress, the intricate embroidery tracing patterns of faith and heritage. The scent of incense lingered in the air as she stepped outside, the morning dew kissing her bare feet. The church stood tall, its ancient stones echoing centuries of devotion.

Inside, the congregation gathered—a tapestry of souls seeking grace. Liya knelt, her forehead touching the cool marble floor. She whispered prayers for her family, for healing, for hope. The flicker of candle flames danced, casting shadows on the ancient icons. Liya's heart swelled with reverence.

As the priest chanted, Liya's mind wandered. She thought of her parents—their unwavering faith, their love for each other. Her mother, with hands that wove stories into every stitch of her coffee ceremony dress. Her father, the steady anchor in a sea of chaos.

After the service, Liya returned home. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped her as she entered the kitchen. She ground the beans, the rhythmic motion soothing her restless thoughts. The jebena, a clay coffee pot, sat atop the stove, bubbling with anticipation.

Her parents arrived, their faces aglow from their own spiritual journey. Liya poured the coffee into small cups, the liquid dark and fragrant. They sat together—their laughter weaving through the air like incense smoke. Liya's mother traced the rim of her cup, her eyes crinkling with memories.

"Your sweet coffee warms my heart, Liya," her mother said, savoring the moment.

Liya's father leaned back, his tired eyes searching hers. "And the chaos at work?" he asked, concern etching his features.

Liya sighed. "It's relentless, Dad. The Emergency room overflowed today, patients pleading for help. But we're short-staffed, drowning in a sea of need."

Her mother's gaze softened. "And the new head?"

Liya hesitated. "A surgeon, yes. But there's something beneath the surface—an agenda. Monday's board meeting will reveal more."

"What about Martha?" her mother pressed.

Liya's voice trembled. "Devastated. And Henok—he's unwell. Anemia, he claims, but I suspect it's the weight of our chaos."

Liya's heart carried the burdens of her profession, her family, and the mysteries that swirled around her. As Sunday unfolded, she clung to faith—the one constant in a world of uncertainty.

And so, she brewed another cup of coffee, its warmth seeping into her bones.