A silence stretches, thick with unspoken things. She looks at me, her gaze steady, unflinching.
"I seem to be something you hold so dearly, yet I... can't return that weight. Do you think it will hurt you more if I don't?"
I could not answer. My lips sealed. She continued
"Actually, you didn't lie. And... I think I couldn't angered you that much. I was wrong."
I blinked, caught off guard. Was she really saying this?
"I'm sorry if my temper made you uncomfortable," she added softly.
Was this an apology? A real one? Or was she just trying to smooth over the tension between us? Maybe she was hiding something—her feelings, perhaps? But if I hadn't provoked her, she wouldn't have gotten so upset... would she?
"Solin, honestly, I—"
She interrupted me, her voice calm but deliberate.
"So, you're a team leader in the IT department, right?"
"Yes," I replied, still trying to gather my thoughts.
"That's cool! Keep up the great work," she said, her tone light and encouraging.
"Yes, and actually, I'm—"
She cut me off again.
"I hope we can keep our distance from now on," she said, her voice steady but hollow. "At home, at work—everywhere. I don't want to deal with misunderstandings or complexity anymore."
My heart clenched.
"No," I whispered. "Please."
She sighed, her gaze flickering away.
"What do you want from me?"
I took a step forward as my voice tinged with desperation.
"Are you saying we're supposed to stop everything—right here, right now?"
"That's what should be done," she replied, barely audible, as though saying it aloud might solidify the truth she was trying to convince herself of.
"Why?" My voice cracked, raw with disbelief.
"Why are you going this far? What's so wrong between us that you keep pushing me away? Why can't you accept me?"
Her shoulders slumped, her expression crumbling under the weight of my words. She didn't answer. She just stood there, quiet, as if retreating into herself might shield her from the confrontation.
"I'm not just pulling away from you," she said, her voice firm but trembling at the edges. "I've set boundaries with everyone. I want to be alone. But you… you keep crossing the line."
"Am I?" My voice wavered, barely audible, my hands trembling as the weight of her words pressed down on me.
"Yes!" she said, her tone sharp, each syllable striking like a lash.
In that moment, a cruel clarity swept over me. This—this—was my sin. The one that would haunt me, leaving scars no apology could mend. Was I always the one reaching too far, needing too much, demanding validation from anyone willing to offer it? Maybe this was the truth of who I was—a person forever out of place, never quite enough, always too much. A burden, not a blessing, to the world around me.
For the first time, I turned my back on her brow, uncertain how to meet her gaze as though I no longer knew how to face her. Each step I take feels heavier than the last, the path ahead, the hardest I've ever known. I let myself weep, I let myself feel the sharp ache of every inch of my being, the suffering—cruel, relentless—An unbearable weight upon my soul.
From that moment on, silence became our language. At home, at work—I kept my distance, unwilling to impose myself on her or anyone else. I withdrew, retreating into a shrinking orbit of solitude. No friends. No family. Just me and the weight of my thoughts. It reminded me of a phrase that said "I was just another face in the crowd." I felt it deeply.
I began questioning everything. My existence. My purpose. Has anything I've done so far truly mattered? Did the life I'd built hold any meaning worth clinging to?
And then, a deeper question arose, one that haunted me in the quiet hours: was I valued enough to endure until I uncovered the agreement I might have made with God before I was born? Was understanding that even necessary to continue?
The answers eluded me, leaving only the hollow ache of uncertainty.
I hadn't realized how many days, how many weeks, had slipped away without a word between us. Now, we are strangers—mere echoes of what we once were. We faded from each other's lives, and in doing so, we vanished from the very world we once shared.
The serene dusk, the sunset's red glow, the wine's scent, and our murmured conversations—all have vanished, like a river flowing away, its waters lost forever.
We remained the same, unchanged. The torment we bore wasn't ours to create but forced upon us. Silently, we embraced it, enduring in solitude, never speaking of it. It was a choice shaped by who we had become. We drew boundaries to shield ourselves, avoiding consequences and clinging to the fragile hope that time would heal. In that hope alone, we placed our trust.
Two months into the job, I faced top management for the review that would decide my transition from probation to full-time. Yet, the moment felt hollow. The stress and pressure had worn me down, leaving me caught between professional demands and a deeper, more personal unraveling.
She was calm in the storm, effortless in a way that made me feel like a shadow. Was it her lack of empathy or some hidden wound that shut her off? She seemed untouched by chaos, while I remained invisible to her.
I could no longer bear the silent weight of being overlooked or the pressure to fit a mold that wasn't me. After days of deliberation, I finally acted. With quiet resolve, I drafted my resignation letter and placed it on the desk this afternoon. Now, I waited for my manager to receive it.
"Hey, did you hear something?" Kun, a soft-spoken IT officer with a mild demeanor aka Beta, asked as he glanced over at the taller young man walking beside him. They were colleagues, navigating through the quiet hum of their office, their footsteps echoing faintly along the rows of desks.
Vann, the taller of the two, looked over in response, his expression curious.
"What happened?"
Kun lowered his voice, sharing a tidbit of gossip with a cautious glance.
"I heard our manager might be transferred to one of the other subsidiaries under the Kambol district brand. As I heard, there is a food business located there."
Mr. Vann raised an eyebrow.
"I hadn't heard about that. Who's going to take his place?"
Kun shrugged nonchalantly, then turned to me, I was seated at my desk nearby, and added,
"Who knows? Hey, RED, you got any inside info on this?"
I looked up at them, shaking my head slightly, signaling that I had no idea what they were talking about.
Vann leaned in, his voice low but insistent.
"Oh, I think you know, considering you're the team leader."
I shook my head, a quiet refusal.
"No, I don't."
Beta, ever the messenger, dropped a hint with careful precision.
"I've heard... our former GM, Hak Seng, might be returning. There's a chance he'll join our team as a manager, but don't mention it to anyone."
His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.
The tall young man beside him shifted closer, his curiosity piqued. They both leaned in, talking in hushed tones, yet the words drifted clearly to me.
"So, if GM Hak does return... Does that mean sister Solin will resign?"
Vann's voice carried a note of concern, his brow furrowed.
The question hit me like a sudden storm, unsettling and sharp. It lingered in my chest, pressing against my ribs, as if it had the weight of something far more significant than just a passing worry.
"Why?" Beta asked, a spark of curiosity in her voice.
"You didn't really know?" Vann teased, his grin wide.
My hands trembled, betraying my nerves.
"And how do you know, then? What's so important about it?" Beta pressed, his tone sharp.
"I have my sources," Vann replied with a shrug.
"Who?" Beta inquired, her eyes narrowing.
"You don't need to know," Vann said, his voice cutting off further questions.
Beta smirked.
"Oh, I know. You're close to someone in the finance team."
Vann laughed, the sound light but unsure.
"Haha, but..."
"But what?" Kun interjected, his voice steady.
Vann hesitated, then sighed, as if the weight of what he was about to say had finally settled on him.
"Hak Seng is a big fish—he wouldn't be a manager of any department now. He's even the nephew of the company's president."
"So, you're saying if he comes back, Solinka will leave again because of him?" Beta's voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it now.
Thus, the "he" referred to up until now is none other than Hak Seng, a former general manager of our electric importing and distribution company.
Curiosity consumed me, shattering my focus. Who was he? What did he look like? My limited access left me restless, questions swirling in my mind. Unable to sit idle, I tore up my resignation letter and searched for a way to reach Solinka. I had to find her—I had to hope she'd give me a chance.
The rain poured steadily, drenching streets as traffic lights cast a steel blue glow on wet pavement. The muted radiance carried a quiet melancholy, like the world sighing in solitude. The scene resembled a living abstract painting, light and shadow mingling in serene sadness.
I stood under the misty rain, urban lampposts casting long shadows by the parking lot exit. The air hung heavy with moisture, the city's hum distant yet constant, as I lingered in the flickering, muted light.
The car's headlights blinded me for a moment. Through the rain-soaked windshield, I saw her reflection. She saw me too, but didn't slow down, her expression curious, as if surprised. I turned away as her car disappeared into the night.
I slowly approached her car, my mind racing with tangled thoughts. I couldn't pinpoint what unsettled me. In my head, I rehearsed every possible conversation, but the words slipped away, just out of reach. I only wished I could speak to her without hesitation or chaos.
Dressed in black slacks and a dark olive faux suit, she leaned against her red car, exuding casual grace. From a distance, her gaze lingered—curious yet composed. I paused to collect myself before walking toward her. As I neared, she shifted, her black heels clicking softly, an elegant gesture marking my arrival. Her charisma was stunning.
"Wanna have a talk?" I broke the silence, stepping forward. She didn't answer immediately, but instead, gave a subtle nod.
"I…" I started, but the words caught in my throat. A sudden hesitation washed over me, though I couldn't quite place why.
She, however, seemed unruffled, taking control of the moment.
"Let's find somewhere to sit first, then talk."
I agreed without hesitation. A place to sit, away from the distance between us, would allow my overthinking to find its purpose.
Through the misted glass of a nearby coffee shop, we sat at a small, intimate table. Outside, the wind whispered, carrying the fresh scent of rain. Despite the chill, a quiet warmth lingered beside her, spreading through me.
I can hardly look away from her, as if the world fades. In her presence, I feel a quiet joy, like the awe of gazing at stars in the night sky.
After placing our order—a pair of drinks and a dish to share—we settled into our seats, facing each other across the table. The air between us hummed with unspoken words, a quiet anticipation as we readied ourselves to talk.
"So, how was your work today?" she asked, breaking the silence.
"Umm, just so-so," I replied with a shrug.
"That's nice!"
"Really?"
"Umm."
"What about you?" I asked, steering the conversation her way.
She glanced away, her fingers fidgeting slightly before she resumed her calm demeanor.
"It's... not alright," she admitted softly.
Her words caught me off guard, and I noticed her expression shift, a shadow of sadness crossing her face.
"Is your work difficult, or is it just the pressure?" I asked, her tone light but curious.
"Could be both," she replied, keeping my voice steady.
It wasn't about Hak Seng, then. She didn't seem to know anything about the rumors yet—or at least, not from me. I had to tread carefully. But if she wasn't aware, how had her team caught wind of it? How had they managed to share it with Mr. Vann and Mr. Kun?
Continued...