The Joy of saving is better than the pain of helplessness

Jamal POV

I have a contract to sign with a group of French people. I can do anything possible to fly over there, because I am extremely late for this encounter.

I don't even know what happened today. Latif came over my house and delayed me with so many family talk.

I've never been time unconscious in my life, and now I'm speeding pass cars like a thief who is been followed by the police.

I stop at the foot of the building and Jeez . . . everywhere is taken. The lot is full. I wonder what's happening up there or is there a party going on somewhere?

Fuck it!

I scan a place to pack in for almost 5 minutes before discovering a lady entering her car. I strain my eyes a little to see clearly. My eyes sights are good. No worries.

I wait in my car as the owner steps on the gas, heating her engine to leave the space. As if she knew I needed that spot, she peels off.

I rush at once to occupy the space Allah has given to me and someone rolls over just at the same time, and I am forced to hit this car.

Once I own the spot, I get out of my Benz and the competitor get down of . . . hers. I halt in my breath, steps decreasing as Myla walks up to me angrily.

It should have been anyone else but NOT HER. I stare down at her wounded car, my cheeks floating and returning to normal.

"How can you be so arrogant?"

I'm quiet. I'm not sure I have time to talk back at her because she can take the whole day.

"Look at what you did to my car! And now you going to walk free, uh?"

I suspire heavily. I discovered 'sorry' works for many people. I should say that so she doesn't deprive me leaving.

"I'm sorry. I'd see what to do once I'm done with my contract"

I gesture to leave and she steps in front of me.

"You are not going anywhere. You can still make it up for my car by giving back the space it was supposed to occupy."

And could've asked for any other thing, but not my space. I shake my head "I can't give it to you. I'm really late. So please just get out of the way"

"I have an internship. I'm already late and there's no way I can make it up because this is my last year. So you better return into your car if you have any clear conscience at all"

"Then I don't have a clear conscience. See ya later"

I push past her and she stares at me in great awe. I really can't do anything for her right now. She has no idea how I suffered and waited to get that spot.

...

Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!

My translator is not here? How could I have driven all the way only for him to disappoint me?

"You—really need to get a translator before—we start. Sa restè diz minute"

I shuffle my hair in frustration and take out my phone. I dial my translator's number and it goes to voice message.

Amid, my right hand and manager, whispers something to my ear in Arabic. I instruct him to keep calling my translator while I ruminate on a second option.

Cameroon

But—that country is bilingual. Oh. She can speak French. She must speak French. I need to get back down.

"I'd be right back", I say to Amid and he befuddles.

"But—sir"

I keep a deaf ear to his last words as I get into the lifter. Once it touches the flow, I step out and pert towards the main door, leading outside. She not there! Where can she be?

I ex-ray the place for her and remember that she needed to attend an internship around here. Meaning there must be a hospital somewhere. I sigh. That'd be difficult for me to search the entire hospital for her.

I need to call her. I dial my sister's number. She must have Myla's contact. I just hope she doesn't complicate this for me.

"Jamal?"

"I need Myla's number right now" I tell

"What's happening?"

I knew it "Just send her number. I can answer that later"

"You're making me nervous—Are you ok?"

I swipe my palm over my face that is becoming a tad slice of tomato.

"Everything is fine. But it will not be if you don't forward her number now!"

"Ok . . . a second" she puts the call on hold then comes back to it "Done. I just messaged her contact to you"

"Thanks" I hang up immediately and enter my inbox. I retrieve her number and call at once.

She's not answering my calls. What the f—k is taking her so long?

"Pick up please" I mutter under my breath.

"Hello—"

"It's me . . . Jamal"

She's silent over the phone. Certainly surprised. How will I start explaining all these to her? I feel guilty for what I did.

"Myla . . . I need you. I want you to come back to the place we—I left you in so we could sort things out"

She doesn't say anything once again.

"Myla?"

"Jamal—are you ok?" she sounds like my sister right now

"I'm not . . . ok. Just come back please. Where are you?" I look around again.

"I'm in the hospital. I can't just leave"

Oh. She made it there.

"I don't know how to say this but—my translator is not picking my calls. And I need one now. The only person I have here is you. You speak French right?"

She hesitates before responding "No"

My eyes grow wide "Are you serious right now? I-I thought you said . . .you're from Cameroon?"

"Yes, I did. That doesn't mean I can speak French. And even if I could, it's been ages I left there. I'm sorry I can't help you. I really need to hang up. My lecturer is approaching"

It feels like my world is crumbling. I feel the earth coming to a stop. What will I do now?

I look at the phone and she hanged up already. I move to my car and leaned there, bellowing my cheeks.

Third Person POV

Myla is extremely guilty. She feels like if she doesn't safe Jamal, her life will never be the same. She wasn't wrong though. She doesn't know if she can speak French. She was not really fluent with the language back then.

That's because everyone around her spoke English. And when she tried to speak French, they'd mock at her for her mistakes, instead of correcting her.

Her educator tutors and makes them look at an operation performed on a pregnant woman, the baby fitting for her life and her mom struggling to breathe through the oxygen pipe.

She's been in this for years but today she has not felt so much fear and pain about how this will end. Her heart is beating faster and her mind keeps reflecting on what Jamal told her. She needs to try. She can't just stand here and see this woman dying. It's better to feel the joy of helping someone than the sadness of staring at someone helplessly.

She closes her eye and opens it. She makes a pivot turn and leaves the room; her mates staring her back disappearing into the hall of nurses and doctors.

She descends the building through a crane. She gets out and her steps multiply as she leaves the skyscraper.

To be continued...