At first, I didn't notice, but time seemed to stretch, each second dragging as I waited for her return. The world felt still, and I counted stars, tracing their light across the sky, filled with a quiet longing. I foolishly wished that, like me, she was gazing at the sky, thinking of me.
With each breath, I sent my love to her, carried on the cool breeze of the night. A silent prayer, a whisper to the stars, that somehow, somewhere, she could feel the depth of it all.
***
I received a note from Song Hak Seng, explaining that he couldn't make our scheduled meeting and had to push it to Monday afternoon. It wasn't the end of the world, but it left me with a lingering emptiness.
The days drifted by, one blending into the next, as I remained holed up in my apartment, consumed by the dull glow of the screen. Games filled the hours, but there was no real escape, no thrill of companionship, not with Solin still absent.
I couldn't help but wonder—where was she? What was she doing? What had drawn her away? The uncertainty gnawed at me. Not knowing she wasn't home was one thing, but I craved every detail of her day.
The desire to understand her, to be part of her world, became an obsession. Every second, I felt the pull to know everything, to fill the emptiness with answers I wasn't sure would come.
I ached to call her, to hear her soothing voice, the rhythm of her breath that made everything feel lighter. But the phone stayed still in my hand, as if it knew I wasn't ready, even as the urge to reach out pulled at me.
I believe she needs time to reflect, standing at a crossroads with a life-shaping decision ahead. My hope is that she chooses herself first, above all else, and doesn't lose herself in others' desires. I want her to hold onto her essence, not surrendering who she is to meet others' expectations.
The weekend slipped away like sand, too short and fleeting. It felt over before it could settle in, leaving Monday looming ahead. I wasn't ready to face that CFO—not in the slightest. Just the thought gave me a dull headache, starting at the base of my skull and spreading through every nerve.
I stepped out of the elevator onto the 11th floor, my footsteps echoing faintly in the quiet corridor. The office was dimly lit, but there was no sign of Hak. My eyes scanned the room as a familiar voice called out gently.
"Red!" Thavry greeted me softly, her tone warm yet professional.
"Hello," I replied with a nod. "I came to meet the CFO."
She offered a polite smile.
"Alright, just a moment. He's on a call right now."
"Where is he?" I asked, glancing around.
"Out on the balcony," she said, motioning toward the glass doors.
"Okay," I murmured, settling into a nearby chair to wait.
Minutes ticked by. Finally, Hak strode back into the room, his presence commanding as always.
"Red!" he said, his voice full of warmth. "How are you?"
I stood to greet him, offering a small smile.
"I'm doing fine."
He smiled at me briefly before moving to his chair, reaching for a stack of documents. I assumed he was looking for the report I had sent him last Friday—the one I noticed he had already printed out.
My gaze lingered on him as he sifted through the pile, but then something changed. His hand paused, hovering over a different document. His expression shifted to one of shock as he picked it up, flipping through the pages.
He put my report aside, his movements deliberate, and lifted the other document again, this time examining it more closely. His brows furrowed deeply, and anger flickered across his face, sharp and unmistakable. Without a word, he set it down and reached for the phone, his jaw tight with purpose.
When the line connected, his voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.
"Thavry! Where did you get this letter?"
He paused, listening with the kind of patience that felt more like restraint.
"When? When did our company receive a resignation letter via email? … No, you answer my question!" His voice rose slightly, laced with frustration. "Then why," he demanded, each word clipped and precise, "is it sitting on my desk?
He paused and listened to Thavry.
"Okay, I'll check my email," he muttered, his voice clipped with frustration. He set his phone aside and turned toward the computer on the table beside him.
I stood up hesitantly, watching him.
"What's wrong, sir?" I asked, even though I already had a suspicion. The letter had to be from Solin. I couldn't just sit still, not when he looked so tense.
"No, it's fine," he said curtly, his eyes fixed on the screen. His focus was unwavering, though his tone betrayed the tension simmering beneath.
"So, when are we starting the meeting?" I pressed, glancing at the clock.
"Just give me five minutes!" he snapped, his voice sharp.
"But we're already fifteen minutes late," I pointed out, my frustration slipping into my tone.
He paused, his gaze lifting to meet mine. His jaw tightened as he swallowed hard. After a moment, he exhaled and scanned the desk for my printed report. Without another word, he grabbed it and walked toward the meeting table.
"I'm sorry. Please, sit down," he said finally, gesturing to a chair as he sank into his own. His voice was quieter now, but his hands betrayed him. They trembled as he set the documents down. The tension hadn't left him—it seemed to swell, barely contained. His anger was palpable, radiating through the room, yet he struggled to keep it from boiling over.
"Are you alright?" I asked gently, sensing the tension in the room.
He hesitated for a moment before answering, his voice low and clipped.
"I'm not happy with our staff."
"Oh!" I responded, taken aback by the sharpness in his tone.
"She knew the policy," he continued, frustration spilling into his words, "and yet she still made mistakes. We don't accept letters like that through email."
"You shouldn't be so angry," I suggested, trying to diffuse the situation. "Why don't we just ask her to rewrite it properly?"
He shook his head, his voice fading into a murmur.
"She didn't listen."
The weight of his emotions hung heavy in the air. He wasn't just angry; there was sadness in his eyes, a disappointment that went beyond her mistake. I wanted to understand it, to see the situation as he did.
"Strange," I mused aloud. "Why would she act that way?"
He didn't answer, at least not directly. Instead, he opened my report, flipping through the pages with an absentminded air. His thoughts weren't here—they were on Solinka.
"She's arrogant," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible. Then, as though the words escaped before he could stop them, he added bitterly,
"That… that bitch."
"She is not," I declared, my voice firm.
His head snapped toward me, his eyes narrowing as they locked onto mine. "What did you just say?"
"I said, she is not what you claimed she is," I repeated, holding my ground.
A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face. He already sensed there was more to this than I let on, but he chose to brush it off.
"You don't know anything," he said dismissively.
"I do know!"
His eyes darkened slightly.
"Know what?"
"I know you need to respect her decisions and her confidence," I shot back, my words steady and unwavering.
For a moment, he simply stared at me. Then, his lips twisted into an unsettling smile that sent a chill down my spine.
"Alright," he said, his tone laced with mockery.
"But I don't like your tone right now."
"My tone?" I asked, confused. "What did I do wrong?"
"Your attitude," he snapped, his voice sharp.
I raised an eyebrow, defiance bubbling just beneath the surface.
"Do I really?"
"You didn't know?" He asked with a voice sharper than intended. He blinked, clearly caught off guard.
"What does 'That's bitch' even mean?" I asked.
The confusion in his tone was almost comical, but he quickly recovered, leaning back in his chair.
"You're being so provocative, man! What do you mean by all this? It doesn't matter what I said," he shot back, a defensive edge creeping into his voice.
"It's none of your business anyway."
Continued...