103. OFFICE

When we stepped into the office, the familiar scent of papers, fabric samples, and faint machine oil hit me. The shutters were half‑open, letting in slanted morning light. Four staff members were already busy—two on the checking tables, one checking inventory sheets, and another on the phone, probably talking to a supplier.

I paused at the entrance and took a slow look around. Four staff now… I thought to myself. In my past life, I had seen this very office bloom into a team of ten. There were days when the place buzzed like a beehive, people carrying files, fabrics stacked everywhere, voices overlapping in meetings. And then, later, I had watched that same buzzing team slowly shrink to three.

It wasn't because of lack of work alone; it was because of how management errors piled up, one after the other. I had been too young to understand then, but now—after a whole lifetime—I could trace every misstep in my head like connecting dots.

Looking at Appa's company now, small and neat, I knew something: if managed with care, five good staff members were enough for this scale of work. Appa never needed ten. He just needed the right five and a sharper eye.

And yet, in this very period, we were still strong. He was making a neat 2–3 crores in pure profit every year. These were his golden years, the years where he could enjoy his success and stand tall among his peers. My heart swelled with pride. Appa, you built this with your own hands, without any textbook, without anyone to guide you.

But then I remembered the future—the fading profits, the sleepless nights, the weight of debts we almost drowned in. I shook the memory away for now, reminding myself that I was back here with a second chance.

I followed Appa inside. The staff nodded politely, some curious glances at me. To them, I was just a 13‑year‑old tagging along with her father, maybe playing "office." They had no idea that inside me lived a woman who had already seen this office through its rise and fall, someone who had studied Commerce in school, International Business in college, and later, a master's in Fashion Textile Merchandising.

I smiled faintly at the thought. If only they knew how many of my project reports were based on these very files, these very machines…

But I also remembered the arguments I'd had with Appa in my past life. He'd always dismiss my suggestions gently:"Nila, kanna, these things work in big, structured companies, not in a small setup like ours."He wasn't wrong—his way had brought him this far. But I had always believed theory and practice together could do wonders. I hadn't pushed hard enough to make him see that. This time, I would. Slowly. Carefully.

I walked past the small accounts desk and noticed there were no extra tables or systems available. In the future, we had bought three more systems as we expanded, but now, the place felt bare. I didn't complain; I simply followed Appa into his cabin.

The cabin wasn't large—just a desk, a chair, and shelves of files stacked high, smelling faintly of ink and paper dust. A framed picture of our family sat in one corner, beside a small Lord Murugan idol with a fading flower garland.

"Sit, kanna," Appa said with a smile, already reaching for his files and phone.

I sat opposite him quietly. I didn't jump to ask for a system or disturb the staff. It was a busy hour; I could see them moving briskly outside, their heads bent in concentration. I respected that. Work ethics were important—I had learned that the hard way.

Instead, I reached across the table and pulled one of the open files toward me. The handwriting, the invoices, the supplier lists—everything felt familiar, almost nostalgic. To anyone else watching, it might have looked like a child playing office, flipping through papers without a clue.

But inside my head, the numbers made sense. The entries, the order patterns, the stock movements—they all connected like a puzzle I had already solved once. I could almost predict where a mistake might slip in, where someone might take advantage.

Appa didn't interrupt me. He was on the phone, his tone polite but firm, talking to a client about sample approvals. Between calls, he was dictating quick instructions to the staff who stepped in and out.

I didn't speak. I just observed. Every word he said, every note he wrote—I watched and listened, filing them away in my mind. This was my second chance, and I wasn't going to waste it.

Appa… I thought as I turned another page of the ledger, you built all this with your hands, with only practical knowledge. But this time, you won't have to do it alone. I'm here. And I know more than I did last time.

Outside, the hum of the machines continued. Inside the cabin, the air was calm, filled only with the faint sound of Appa's pen scratching against paper and the soft shuffle of files as I began my quiet inspection of our future.

When the morning rush settled down and the phones stopped ringing constantly, Appa finally leaned back in his chair and looked at me with a half‑smile.

"What are you doing, kanna?"

I looked up from the file I was holding.

"I'm just checking these orders, Appa. I… I have a doubt. When you're on business trips, who checks your files? I mean, the important ones—the ones that need your permission before they can proceed?"

Appa chuckled softly, like it was a silly question.

"Nila Kanna… usually the company runs on its own. It's like I just handle things over the phone. Everything here is properly organized and managed, you know? I don't really have any issues regarding that."

I frowned, tracing a line on the margin with my finger.

"But, Appa… think about it. You travel almost ten days every month. That's almost one‑third of the time! It's not a small amount of time. And if there's no one to check on things when you're not here, how do you really know everything is running properly?"

Appa laughed gently. "Kanna, it's called trust. You can't keep living by not trusting people. This is a small team. They're with me for years."

"But Appa," I leaned forward, my voice soft but serious, "this isn't a family—it's a business. Trust is good, but there should be structure. Someone should be there to handle things when you're not here. If you don't want to hire someone new, then use the people you already trust. Or even a machine… you know, a system to track."

He raised an eyebrow. "A machine?"

"Yes!" I nodded quickly. "Or at least Amma. She used to come and check everything before, right? She knew about all the orders, all the clients. You used to speak with her every day about them."

Appa sighed and leaned back, thinking. "Yeah… she used to come. But that was before we shifted to this new house. It's far from the office now—more than half an hour. The old house was just ten minutes away. She used to just walk here whenever she wanted."

I tapped the file thoughtfully. "So, Appa… why not use one of the staff drivers to bring Amma here on days you're traveling? If you're not here, she can be here. She doesn't have to be here every day, but she can keep an eye on things."

Appa's lips curved into a slow smile. "Hmm… that's a nice idea, kanna. I never thought it was necessary."

"It's not necessary," I said carefully, "but you and Amma need to understand that this is business. You need to be mindful about what happens daily. Everything should be in proper order. You're not just managing one company, Appa—you're handling two. And Amma is already the managing director of the other one. You can't keep her out of this one by just telling her things over the phone. When she's free, ask her to come and check things herself."

He nodded slowly, thoughtful now. "Okay… okay. It's a nice idea. I'll think about it."

I closed the file with a satisfied thump. "Good. So, for now, don't worry about me. I'm just waiting for one of the systems to be free so I can do some work. You can go on with your day."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Ayyo… Mr. Grown‑up is advising me now. Okay, okay, I won't worry. I'll go check the stocks for tomorrow's sampling. I'll come back and sit with you later."

"Wait, Appa," I said quickly before he left, "if you find a few good samples, keep them ready when you go for meetings tomorrow. Don't just carry files—carry some fabric, some tangible things. It makes people order more."

His eyes crinkled with surprise and pride. "Nice idea, kanna. I'll do that. I'll have a few samples in hand tomorrow."

I watched him leave the cabin, feeling a warm pride in my chest. This time, I thought, I'm not just going to watch him struggle. This time, I'm here to make a difference.