Mira's POV
The front door clicks open, followed by the sound of someone kicking off their heels like they're declaring war.
I don't even need to step out from the kitchen to know who it is.
"So… how was your first day, latest secretary?" I call out from the kitchen, sing-songy.
No answer.
"Mrs. Secretary, don't tell me you're already tired. It's just a day!" I say, 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 scream, nearly dropping my spoon. "Who the hell is this? Don't tell me this is my bestie!"
Ayla's makeup is smudged, her blazer half-off, eyes somewhere between murder and meltdown.
"Yep. Classic Day One," she mutters, melting into the couch cushions, still in her rumpled work clothes.
"What in the name of hell is smelling like this?" she says as she settles down, sniffing the air as the scent of burnt popcorn fills the small apartment like failure itself.
"I'm making popcorn for you, of course," I reply, crouching beside her. "Can't let you starve after your big first day."
"That doesn't smell like popcorn, Mira," she groans. "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 ask, licking my peanut butter spoon anyway.
"Disastrous," she mumbles into a pillow. "I'm quitting tomorrow."
I snort. "Not taking you seriously. You said that about your last part-time job."
"Yeah," she mutters, 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 hisses loudly. "Elena Morgan. The Elena Morgan. The one from my high school. My nemesis. My deskmate."
"No way!" My spoon freezes midair. I blink once, twice, then sit down beside her. "That Elena?"
Ayla groans and covers her face with a pillow. "Yes, that Elena."
I whistle low and sit 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 says, voice muffled through the pillow.
I nudge her leg. "You're serious? Like… the Elena Morgan who used to…"
"Yes!" she snaps, 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 try and fail 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 says bitterly. "And heels. And perfume that smells like money and heartbreak."
I clutch my stomach, laughing. "Oh my God, you're doomed."
"I know! You don't need to remind me," she throws 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 echo, grinning.
"Yes. By the waist," Ayla says 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 wipe a tear from my eye, laughing harder. "Okay, that's kind of iconic though."
"Iconically traumatic," Ayla corrects. "I was one heartbeat away from passing out."
I smirk. "So, what's the real problem? The bullying or the catching?"
She gapes at me. "Excuse you?"
"Oh, come on," I tease. "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 groans, throwing a pillow at me. I catch it easily, still laughing.
"You think everything is a rom-com," she mutters. "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 recline 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 says 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 shrug. "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 groans. "I hate it when you try making sense. It's always backwards."
"That's why you keep me around." I grin, satisfied.
"You really think she doesn't remember?" I ask gently.
Ayla hesitates. "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 study her for a moment. "And that bothers you."
She looks up, startled. "What?"
"You heard me," I say softly. "If you hated her that much, you'd be relieved she forgot. But you look… disappointed."
She glares at me, but it doesn't stick. "You're reading too much into it."
"Am I?" I smirk. "Because I've seen that look before. It's the it's complicated look."
She laughs weakly. "It's not complicated, Mira. She was horrible to me."
"Then tell me," I press. "You've never actually told me what she did. You always skip the details. Spill the real tea sugar, milk, everything."
Ayla goes quiet. The laughter fades. The air thickens. She fiddles with a loose thread on the couch.
"It's old stuff," she murmurs. "Ancient history."
"Then it shouldn't hurt to talk about it," I say gently.
She opens her mouth, closes 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 grin, and suddenly pounce, tickling her until she squeals. "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 screams between laughter, wriggling to break free.
"Good," I say, 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 head toward the kitchen, and behind me, Ayla's soft laugh fills the apartment again.
For a moment, everything feels light. But beneath her laughter…
I can tell the past is knocking again.