He hadn't even read the first message.
But maybe he was still in the meeting. He had said something earlier that morning, Back-to-back strategy sessions all day. That was normal. CEOs were basically professional fire extinguishers. And Aaron… Aaron was CEO of VANTA corp, the same damn place I worked at, even if I might as well have been a ghost to the execs.
I typed slowly this time:
[Kina]: still working overtime… if you're done soon, maybe we can leave together?
[Kina]: or just text me when you're free. No rush.
I hesitated, then hit send.
Then I went back in.
By 8:11 p.m., I was finally done.
Everything checked. Re-checked. Files named and saved properly. The folder was uploaded, the email sent, and I even proofed the damn footer font because I didn't want to give Katherine any more ammunition.
I pushed back from my desk, sighing deep from my chest.
I clocked out officially on the internal system, logged off, powered down, and collected my things. My body was heavy. Feet dragging. My stomach felt hollow, like even the hunger had given up on me.
I checked my phone one last time.
Still nothing.
A sharp stab of something hot and irritated curled in my chest, right under the bone.
I unlocked my screen, pulled up his contact, and hit the call button as I stepped out of the building into the cool, lonely night air.
It rang once. Twice.
The line clicked.
"Hello?"
His voice was deep, clean, emotionless, the one I'd fallen for anyway.
Every inch of fury I'd rehearsed in my head fizzled like a dropped match in the rain. My breath caught, and instead of the explosion I thought I'd deliver, all I managed was a soft, unsure, "Hey… sorry, am I disturbing you?"
I hated how small I sounded. Like I was asking for permission to exist. I knew I wasn't.
"I sent you a few messages," I added, trying not to sound like I'd been counting every minute between them. "You didn't read any."
"I'm busy," he replied, flat and practiced. That cold monotone he used on board members, interns, reporters. Everyone.
Even as I was used to it, my stomach twisted in quiet rejection.
"Right…" I swallowed. "Should I wait for you? I mean, I just clocked out so…"
"Aren't you tired?" he cut in, not unkind, but not warm either. "You should just go home, we can meet up tomorrow."
I blinked, staring down at the cracks in the pavement like they held all the answers to why I suddenly felt like I was begging.
"I'm not tired," I lied.
I was exhausted. My body ached. My soul wanted to sleep for three business days. But I hadn't seen him properly in what felt like forever. Work had swallowed him whole, especially with that high-stakes negotiation deal with the Korean conglomerate breathing down his neck. He had said today. He promised.
"But… you said we'd see each other today," I murmured, voice smaller now. "You promised."
There was silence on the line.
Dead air.
My heart thudded, loud enough to hear.
"Did I… annoy you?" I whispered, trying to laugh but it cracked. "I didn't mean to be clingy, I just—"
"No," he interrupted, softer now. Still distant, but a little frayed at the edge. "You didn't. I'm just really busy right now, Kina. I'll call you when I'm less buried."
And in the background, I could hear them, muffled voices, clinking glasses, a sudden burst of laughter. It was real. He wasn't lying.
That somehow made it worse.
I bit the inside of my cheek, then forced a quiet, "Okay."
A beat passed.
"I love you," I whispered, hoping it might anchor me to him for just a second longer.
But before I could ask him to say it back, the call ended.
Just like that.
Cut off.
I stared at the screen, heart sinking.
Of course he didn't say it back. He was busy. He was important. He was everything I wasn't.
I sighed and locked my phone, shoving it into my bag like it had personally offended me. "It's fine," I muttered to myself. "He's got a lot going on. It's not that deep."
But the knot in my chest refused to loosen.
I dragged my feet toward the intersection, thinking of the little apartment I called home. The one-bedroom cave that always smelled like old floor polish and ramen seasoning. The sink probably had a bowl or two I hadn't gotten to. My laundry was still sitting in a pile. I hadn't vacuumed all week.
And I'd probably go back, toss on pajamas, cook instant noodles in the kettle again, and cry while watching Kickboxer like I was the one taking the hits. Or maybe I'd watch something different this time? A romantic comedy show?
As if on cue, my phone buzzed.
A picture.
From the VANTA corp group chat.
A pub.
All of them, my team, my seniors. Laughing. Drinking. Toasting. Ms. Lacey with a cocktail. Even Katherine was there, somehow looking like she ran the entire country.
I stared at it.
Just for a second.
Then I locked my screen again and whispered, "Those gatherings always make me uncomfortable anyway."
But the sting stayed, hot, sharp, pathetic.
I shook it off. Tried to. Then with a heavy exhale, I tugged my coat tighter around myself and started down the road home.
Alone.
But first... FOOD.
The fluorescent hum of the convenience store lights buzzed like bees inside my already pounding head.
I moved down the aisles like a ghost, basket in hand, grabbing what comfort I could in neat plastic wrappers and microwaveable dreams. A packet of spicy ramen went in first, followed by another one, just in case I felt masochistic. I added three cans of beer, the cold seeping into my fingers. A couple of cheese sticks. Hot dogs, because I liked to slice them up and toss them into the soup like I was on a cooking show. I paused in front of the dairy fridge, chewing on my lip.
Did I still have eggs at home?
Maybe.
Probably not.
I didn't grab any. I was too tired to care.
My eyes landed on a small bottle of mango-flavored yogurt, bright yellow with a little cartoon fruit on the label. It looked dumb. But it was my soft, sweet, favorite treat. Like a hug, It always found its way into my basket.
Consolation in liquid sugar form.
At the register, I half-smiled at the clerk, tapping my phone to pay. My back ached. My neck was tight. I felt like if anyone even looked at me too long, I'd melt into a puddle right there in front of the gum rack.
The bell above the door jingled softly as I left, bag swinging lazily at my side. The streets were quieter now, dipped in that sleepy violet-gray of early night. I could feel the pull of my tiny apartment a few blocks away, but the usual route felt impossibly long.
I stopped at the intersection, staring down the narrow alley to my right.
Everyone always avoided it. Too dark. Too quiet. Too many ghost stories, the kind kids whispered with wide eyes and the older women at the office still flinched at when someone brought them up.
They said a woman hanged herself there and still wandered, searching for her missing child. They said if you walked through with earbuds in, she'd whisper your name. That you'd never make it out the other side.
Tonight?
I didn't care.
I was too tired to believe in ghosts.
Besides, if she was real… maybe we'd understand each other.