I’ve been exhausted from keeping my focus since August. After a short holiday in Kuala Lumpur, I flew to Toronto to fetch my brother and his kids, and even then the team still couldn’t manage to sell all the units. Yesterday, I set foot in the Maldives; this morning, I was already back on a two-hour flight to the office. Everyone looked drained, stuck in the same circle, unable to trace the fault line where each deal kept slipping away. Each missed closing felt like another step further from the targets we had set.
In the evening, I took them out for dinner—biryani and steaming masala tea. We spoke, we shared, and for a while their faces softened. When it was over, they went home to rest. I broke my fast with nothing more than a glass of barley water and a bowl of chicken soup. My appetite was gone. The headache and chest pain—lingering now for more than two weeks. I lay down, hoping for forty winks, but sleep refused to come. I rose, showered, dressed, and laced my running shoes. The targets were still waiting.