Mira's POV
The front door clicked open, followed by the sound of someone kicking off their heels like they were declaring war.
I didn't even need to step out from the kitchen to know who it was.
"So… how was your first day, latest secretary?" I called out from the kitchen, sing-songy.
No answer.
"Mrs. Secretary, don't tell me you're already tired. It's just a day!" I said, stepping out of the kitchen in an oversized T-shirt, hair up in a messy bun, a spoon of peanut butter halfway to my mouth.
"Ahhh!" I screamed, nearly dropping my spoon. "Who the hell is this? Don't tell me this is my bestie!"
Ayla's makeup was smudged, her blazer half-off, eyes somewhere between murder and meltdown.
"Yep. Classic Day One," she muttered, melting into the couch cushions, still in her rumpled work clothes.
"What in the name of hell is smelling like this?" she said as she settled down, sniffing the air as the scent of burnt popcorn filled the small apartment like failure itself.
"I'm making popcorn for you, of course," I replied, crouching beside her. "Can't let you starve after your big first day."
"That doesn't smell like popcorn, Mira," she groaned. "That smells like total failure. I guess you'll have to munch on it yourself. I'm already drowning in mess; I shouldn't add yours to my diet."
"Is your day that bad?" I asked, licking my peanut butter spoon anyway.
"Disastrous," she mumbled into a pillow. "I'm quitting tomorrow."
I snorted. "Not taking you seriously. You said that about your last part-time job."
"Yeah," she muttered, rolling onto her back, "but my last boss wasn't Elena Morgan."
"I don't get you. Is that supposed to be a scary name or something? Or is your boss that bad on day one?"
"Mtcheeew!" She hissed loudly. "Elena Morgan. The Elena Morgan. The one from my high school. My nemesis. My deskmate."
"No way!" My spoon froze midair. I blinked once, twice, then sat down beside her. "That Elena?"
Ayla groaned and covered her face with a pillow. "Yes, that Elena."
I whistled low and sat cross-legged beside her. "Wow. Of all the women in New York City, the universe decided to recycle her? I guess that means I have a chance of bumping into my celebrity crush too. What are the odds?"
"Apparently high," she said, voice muffled through the pillow.
I nudged her leg. "You're serious? Like… the Elena Morgan who used to…"
"Yes!" she snapped, sitting up. "The same one! The one who made my high school life a living hell, who thought my pain was a group project!"
I tried and failed not to laugh. "Okay, okay, calm down. I just wasn't expecting your teenage villain to show up in a power suit."
"Oh, she did," Ayla said bitterly. "And heels. And perfume that smells like money and heartbreak."
I clutched my stomach, laughing. "Oh my God, you're doomed."
"I know! You don't need to remind me," she threw her hands up. "She's my boss now! And she didn't even flinch when she saw me, like she didn't remember me at all! I almost spilled coffee on her, and she caught me like some damsel in distress. It was mortifying."
"She caught you?" I echoed, grinning.
"Yes. By the waist," Ayla said through gritted teeth. "Do you know how awkward it is to be held by your high school bully while she's on a business call?"
I wiped a tear from my eye, laughing harder. "Okay, that's kind of iconic though."
"Iconically traumatic," Ayla corrected. "I was one heartbeat away from passing out."
I smirked. "So, what's the real problem? The bullying or the catching?"
She gaped at me. "Excuse you?"
"Oh, come on," I teased. "You've been describing her like she's a movie trailer. The hair, the voice, the perfume… Girl, that's not trauma, that's tension."
"Stop!" she groaned, throwing a pillow at me. I caught it easily, still laughing.
"You think everything is a rom-com," she muttered. "All my life I used to dream of getting my revenge on her, and now she's my boss. Guess my revenge got postponed to heaven."
I reclined dramatically. "I think life is a rom-com, and you're just the unwilling protagonist. Seriously, though… are you sure you want to quit? If she doesn't even remember you, what's the big deal?"
"The big deal," Ayla said sharply, "is that I remember her, Mira. Every comment, every smirk, every time she made me feel like I didn't belong. You think I can sit in her office every day pretending it's fine?"
"Why not?" I shrugged. "You're not that girl anymore. You've grown. You've got a degree, a career, and let's be honest, you're gorgeous. Like so gorgeous and cute that sometimes I wish I wasn't straight so I could have you all to myself."
She groaned. "I hate it when you try making sense. It's always backwards."
"That's why you keep me around." I grinned, satisfied.
"You really think she doesn't remember?" I asked gently.
Ayla hesitated. "I don't know. She's impossible to read. Maybe she's changed. Maybe I'm not even a blip in her memory anymore. But looking at her today… I'm sure she doesn't remember me."
I studied her for a moment. "And that bothers you."
She looked up, startled. "What?"
"You heard me," I said softly. "If you hated her that much, you'd be relieved she forgot. But you look… disappointed."
She glared at me, but it didn't stick. "You're reading too much into it."
"Am I?" I smirked. "Because I've seen that look before. It's the it's complicated look."
She laughed weakly. "It's not complicated, Mira. She was horrible to me."
"Then tell me," I pressed. "You've never actually told me what she did. You always skip the details. Spill the real tea sugar, milk, everything."
Ayla went quiet. The laughter faded. The air thickened. She fiddled with a loose thread on the couch.
"It's old stuff," she murmured. "Ancient history."
"Then it shouldn't hurt to talk about it," I said gently.
She opened her mouth, closed it again. "Don't be nosy, Mira. Just… encourage me to quit. Like, encourage me to quit. That's all I need."
"Not happening," I grinned, and suddenly pounced, tickling her until she squealed. "I'm not encouraging you on what I don't know the full backstory of. What if it's some kind of dark romance and you're lying to me that it's bullying? Will you talk or not?"
"Stop! I'll talk! I'll talk!" she screamed between laughter, wriggling to break free.
"Good," I said, triumphant. "But wait, let me grab the popcorn first. If we're diving into a full-on drama, I need snacks. Maybe my soul knew you were coming home to spill tea, that's why it burned the popcorn in advance."
I headed toward the kitchen, and behind me, Ayla's soft laugh filled the apartment again.
For a moment, everything felt light. But beneath her laughter…
I could tell the past was knocking again.