Cereus
The following days were a whirlwind of activity. The board meeting loomed large, casting a long shadow over Wusan Conglomerate. Collin, true to his word, kept a professional distance. Their curt interactions felt like a well-rehearsed dance, devoid of the raw emotions that had stirred the night he visited my office.
The day of the meeting arrived, a suffocating pressure settling in my stomach. The conference room buzzed with nervous energy as executives and board members filed in, their faces grim masks hiding unknown agendas. Collin, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, stood at the head of the table, his expression a stormy sea of emotions.
My role was to present the financial reports, a culmination of countless hours spent crunching numbers and compiling data. As I spoke, my gaze met Collin's for a fleeting moment. A single word flickered in his eyes – "Good luck." It was a simple gesture, yet it resonated within me, a silent support amidst the corporate battlefield.
The meeting itself was a war of words, veiled threats, and veiled alliances. Collin, however, was a force to be reckoned with. He navigated the treacherous terrain with steely resolve, his voice firm and unwavering as he countered arguments and defended the company's future.
As the meeting dragged on, a new concern began gnawing at me. The issue at the factory, the one Collin mentioned in our late-night encounter, seemed to be at the heart of the dissent. Whispers of mismanagement and potential financial irregularities rippled through the air, creating an unsettling atmosphere.
Finally, after hours of tense debate, a tentative agreement was reached. The board would appoint a committee to investigate the factory situation, a decision that left a bitter taste in my mouth.
The rest of the day was a blur of follow-up emails and meetings. By the time I reached my apartment, exhaustion had settled in like a leaden cloak. Yet, even as I drifted off to sleep, Collin's words echoed in my mind: "Can we talk… properly? When all this is over?"
The following morning, Matthew messaged me, an invitation to grab coffee. Hesitantly, I agreed. Matthew had been a constant source of support, his unwavering kindness a safe harbor during the turbulence of the past week.
The coffee shop was a bustling haven, filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the murmur of conversations. Matt greeted me with a warm smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. We talked about his day, his upcoming project, and his plans for the weekend. His enthusiasm was infectious, and for a while, the worries of the company and my unresolved feelings for Collin faded into the background.
As we parted ways, Matt leaned in for a kiss, his touch gentle and familiar. Yet, for the first time, it felt lacking, a pale imitation of the storm of emotions that had stirred within me during my encounter with Collin.
The feeling left me unsettled, a sense of disloyalty tugging at my conscience. Matt deserved better than a confused girlfriend harboring ghosts from the past.
Wandering home, guilt gnawed at me. Later that evening, after a restless night's sleep filled with tangled dreams, I made a decision. Reaching for my phone, I typed a text, my fingers hovering over the keyboard for a long, drawn-out moment.
"Can we talk? – Cereus"
The message sent, I held my breath, waiting. The seconds ticked by, each one an eternity. Finally, my phone buzzed with a reply.
"About time. Where and when? – Collin"
A shiver ran down my spine, a mixture of fear and a strange sense of anticipation. The past six years had built a wall between us, a wall of hurt and unspoken words. But with this single text, I had taken the first tentative step towards tearing it down. The path ahead was uncertain, shrouded in the fog of the unknown, but a part of me, a long-dormant part, yearned to know what lay beyond.