Ayra
The morning had started with promise — coffee in hand, lip gloss perfect, attitude on point.
And then she walked in.
Tiana Grant. My boss. Or as I call her in my head: Dictator-in-Heels.
"Your desk is cluttered," she said before she even said good morning.
I blinked. "It's organized chaos."
She raised an eyebrow. "There's no such thing. Fix it. And move that plant — it's blocking the symmetry of the room."
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and nodded instead. "Yes, Tiana."
"Also," she continued, striding past me like she owned the air, "I need the campaign report printed and on my desk by 9:00. Triple-checked for errors. Last time, you missed a typo."
"That was one typo on the 22nd slide."
She turned around with a sharp look. "Are you debating with me?"
"No, ma'am."
"Good. Then use that energy to spell-check."
She disappeared into her glass office, and I sank into my chair with a groan, glaring at the poor innocent plant like it had betrayed me.
By 11:00 a.m., I had already reprinted three reports, rewritten an email Tiana could have typed herself, and watched her insult two interns' fashion choices.
When Khloe's name popped up on my phone during lunch, I smiled instantly and stepped into a quiet corner.
"I hope your morning's better than mine," I whispered.
"Oh, it's definitely calmer than that," she replied with a laugh.
"Great. I'm being psychologically tortured by pastel suits and passive-aggression."
She giggled. "Want me to send you cookies?"
"No, just send me your boss. I'll take Xavier over Tiana any day."
We both laughed — and even though my day was chaos, her voice made it better. She always did.
---
Khloe
I came in a little later than usual — intentionally. I needed the extra fifteen minutes of quiet before walking into a space that still carried a little awkwardness from yesterday.
The elevator was empty — small blessings — and the office was already humming with activity by the time I reached my desk.
There, right on my keyboard, sat a small box. Matte black. Clean, elegant lines. No card. No note.
I looked around cautiously. Was it… from Clara? Ayra? No. The edges were too sharp, too precise. This wasn't from someone impulsive.
I slowly opened it.
Inside was a sunflower keychain — delicate, gold-trimmed, with a tiny letter K in the center of the bloom.
My breath caught.
It was unmistakably him. No one else knew. No one else would have done something so quietly thoughtful after shutting me down just the day before.
A rush of confusion and warmth hit me at the same time.
Why now?
Why this?
I glanced toward Xavier's office, but the blinds were shut. Still, I felt the same sensation I always did when he was near — like a string between us, faint but undeniably real.
Maybe it meant nothing.
Or maybe it meant something he just wasn't ready to say out loud.
Either way, I slipped the keychain into my bag and sat down, a faint smile tugging at my lips.
And for the first time in 24 hours, the ache began to ease — replaced by something else. Something unspoken. Something waiting.