Emma bounced into the lobby. Her shoes made little taps on the shiny floor. Her heart still felt warm and light, like the desk and the hidden letter were glowing inside her chest.
She did not see the pile of emails on her screen. She did not care about the buzzing phones. She did not even notice the smell of burnt coffee and the sharp bite of printer ink. All the noises and smells felt soft today, like a song playing far away.
She walked to her desk. Then she saw Sarah.
Sarah was by the coffee machine. Sarah always stood tall, like the world was her stage. Her blazer was shiny and sharp. She smiled big, showing teeth. She talked to the other workers in a fast, happy way. They laughed when she laughed. Not right away—just a tiny bit late. Emma's tummy twisted. She did not know if she liked Sarah or if she hated her. Maybe both.
"Good morning, Emma!" Sarah called, her voice smooth and bright. "Big meeting today, huh? I heard you get to share your ideas."
Emma's hands felt a little shaky. She tried to smile. "Yes, I am ready," she said. She poured coffee into a cup, though she did not even want to drink it.
Sarah leaned closer, still smiling. But her eyes looked sharp, like little knives. "Stick to what works. No time for silly ideas."
Emma bit the inside of her cheek. She wanted to frown. But she nodded instead. "Don't worry. I have a strong plan," she said. "And some fresh things too."
Sarah's smile did not reach her eyes. "Fresh things. How… thrilling," she said slowly. She stirred her coffee even though it was already stirred. "But remember, Emma. This is not art school. This is business."
Emma's jaw hurt from clenching it. She wanted to say something mean back. But she stayed quiet. She walked away, coffee warm in her hand.
She whispered to herself, "Don't let her get to you."
The big meeting room hummed like a beehive. People sat in chairs. Some talked in little groups. Emma's chest pounded as she walked in. She felt both scared and happy at the same time.
She sat down and lined up her notes. Her fingers shook, but she held them still.
Sarah walked in late. She slid into the chair across from Emma, smirk tugging at her lips.
The boss smiled at everyone. "Let's start. Emma, why don't you go first?"
Emma's stomach flipped. She stood up, holding the clicker. Her fingers felt sweaty. But she pressed the button anyway.
The screen lit up. Bright colors. Big words. Simple slides. Her voice came out shaky at first, but it grew louder as she went on. She told them about bold ideas. About small risks. About how those risks could make big waves. She talked about stories and people and feelings.
When she stopped, the room was quiet. Too quiet. The silence pressed on her cheeks.
Then Sarah tilted her head. Her voice was soft, but sharp underneath. "Interesting. But how long will this take? And with whose budget?"
A couple of small laughs floated in the air. Emma's throat felt dry. Her chest sank.
Sarah leaned back. "We should stay with what works. Maybe save these 'fresh' things for later."
More chuckles. Emma's hands curled tight. She almost stayed quiet. Almost. But then something in her chest sparked.
She raised her chin. "If we only play safe, we will fall behind. We need risks. That is how we grow."
The boss nodded. "Go on."
Emma's voice grew steadier. She told them again. She said people wanted real things. She said stories mattered. She said love and truth were stronger than rules—just like Jack's letter had shown her.
Her words rolled out. She told them about brands that dared to try. About ones that people remembered because they were brave.
Some people nodded. Some leaned forward. Emma's heart beat faster, but now it was from joy, not fear.
Sarah narrowed her eyes. She opened her mouth again. "Emma's ideas sound nice, but—"
Emma cut in, gentle but firm. "I know it will take work. I know it takes money. But if we never change, we vanish."
The room shifted. Pens stopped moving. People listened.
The boss smiled. "Good. Let's see how to blend Emma's ideas with our plans. Sarah, thank you, but we need new things too."
Emma sat down, her chest buzzing. She had done it. She had spoken. Sarah's glare slid off her like water.
Back at her desk, Emma still felt the hum in her body. She replayed her words. She had stood tall. She had not broken.
The sun came through the window. It painted her desk golden. Emma thought of Jack's letter again. His voice in the paper. His hope. She felt his strength in her heart.
She opened her notebook. She began to write a plan. Step by step. Research. Data. Proof. She would make her ideas shine so no one could laugh at them again.
Her phone buzzed. A message popped up.
Ryan.
Her lips curved up before she even read it.
"How's the work grind?" with a silly face emoji.
Emma giggled. She typed back fast: "Busy! Had to fight Sarah in the meeting. But I won."
The reply came quick. "Of course you did. You're good at that. Drinks tonight? We can celebrate."
Her cheeks warmed. She typed: "Yes! Seven?"
"Perfect."
Emma set her phone down. She bit her lip, smiling to herself. She remembered his laugh, loud and warm. She remembered how he teased her about tea instead of wine. She felt her stomach flutter.
When the day was done, Emma cleaned her desk. She wanted nothing heavy left for later. She wanted to be light.
At seven, a knock.
Ryan stood there. Jeans. A soft shirt. A bottle of wine in his hand. A smile on his face.
"Hey, pretty," he said.
Emma laughed. "You brought wine!"
"Something special," he said, stepping inside.
They sat on her sofa. The lamp made soft gold light on the walls. Ryan's knee brushed hers. Emma felt the touch all the way up her spine.
She told him the story of the meeting. She made it big and silly, waving her hands. Ryan laughed hard. His laugh filled the room. Emma laughed too, louder than she had all week.
The stress of the office melted. The sound of Sarah's sharp words faded. Here, in this small room, only warmth mattered.
Ryan poured the wine. Emma raised her glass. They clinked.
"To wins," Ryan said.
"To new starts," Emma said back.
They sipped. They smiled. Emma leaned back, her body soft, her heart alive.
And deep in her pocket, the memory of Jack's letter still whispered, gentle as a promise.