The January Letters

This year, I knew it was my fresh start.

Yes, yes, you hear that all the time, but 2026---the year I'm convinced I'll finally get it together.

"Maya," Amber called out, holding the moving boxes. "Have you seen the tape?"

"It should be in the work office!" I call out, poking my head out the door frame. Amber Miller appears a second later, hair pulled into a tight ponytail and arms crossed, her signature look when she’s frustrated. “No, I’m telling you, I left the tape right here on the kitchen table,” she insists, her tone sharp but familiar.

The scene flashes me back to sophomore year, the two of us hunched over a corner table at Bean Scene Café, laptops open and coffee cups scattered between us. Back then, we’d just been paired up by Professor Dunn for that ridiculous branding assignment—analyzing every scrap of a business’s online presence and customer experience, then writing a monster report with real recommendations. We both majored in marketing, but our styles clashed hard. Amber thrived on color-coded spreadsheets and bullet points; I wanted big-picture ideas and clever turns of phrase.

Those first few weeks were a mess of late-night texts, heated debates over logo placement, and at least one near-meltdown in the campus library. At some point, Amber even called me bland for the colors for the logo because I wanted a warm, earthy, composite color, while she protested for a cool, neutral, and monochromatic shade. Eventually we agreed with Amber's idea, because she was always right. But somewhere between arguing over which coffee shop to analyze and rewriting the executive summary for the fifth time, we figured out how to work together. Even now, years later, I can hear the edge in her voice and remember the stubbornness that somehow became the glue of our friendship.

My boss, Gregory Herald, from Innovix Solutions, recently offered me a position in one of our offices in Brooklyn---and I couldn't say no. Since then, (with Amber's help) I've been packing, planning and even setting new goals for myself for my new start. I sit cross-legged on my bedroom floor, surrounded by half-packed boxes and teetering stacks of clothes, pausing every few minutes as my mind wanders to Brooklyn. I can almost see myself there already—walking down those tree-lined streets, weaving around puddles left by a spring rain, sunlight glinting off the brownstone stoops. I imagine the mornings: the smell of fresh bagels, the buzz of a coffee shop on the corner, the city waking up all around me. Evenings play out in my head, too—browsing through cozy bookstores, laughter spilling from rooftop get-togethers, stumbling on colorful murals tucked away in alleyways. Every shirt I fold, every book I tuck into a box, feels like a step closer to that life. Brooklyn isn’t just a place I’m moving to—it’s a whole new story I get to write, and I can’t wait for the first chapter.

My pit bull, Tank, started barking in the other room, pulling me from my thoughts. With a reluctant sigh, I went to check on him. He was in the kitchen—a place once filled with laughter and warmth, now stripped to bare walls and empty cupboards. Tank stood with his paws braced against a cabinet, barking at the calendar taped crookedly to the fridge. In bold red marker, December 31st was circled and scrawled with: MOVING DAY.

Today is December 27th—two days after Christmas, and just three days left until I say goodbye to Maple Oaks for good. I’ll give credit where it’s due: the community welcomed me with open arms. That is, until Carl moved in next door and turned my little haven into a circus. No offense, but peace and quiet haven’t existed since. One Friday night, I’m almost certain I heard his bed frame shatter mid-hookup—the kind of soundtrack you never want while trying to sleep. Not exactly the neighborly charm I’d hoped for.I shook my head, a small smile breaking through the stress. Crouching down, I scooped Tank into my arms, feeling the solid warmth of him. “Are you excited too, Tank?” I asked, my voice brightening. “We’re going to be living in Brooklyn! And don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about your friend Sniffles. We’ll visit him before we leave, promise.”Amber comes out of my office, holding the tape in her hand. "Are you still coming to work tomorrow? Gregory wanted to finalize the marketing for TechFreeze."

I checked my calendar and gave a quick "Yeah", as attempt to calm Tank down. TechFreeze is a cutting-edge data preservation tool designed to help businesses securely pause and archive digital operations, ensuring the preservation of critical information. As the project manager at Innovix Solutions, I’ve poured months of planning and coordination into every detail of TechFreeze’s development. The product combines advanced encryption with seamless integration, allowing companies to “freeze” active systems—whether during mergers, audits, or unexpected downtime—ensuring that sensitive data remains intact, accessible, and tamper-proof.

With an intuitive dashboard and customizable settings, TechFreeze empowers IT teams to control exactly what gets preserved and when. Automated notifications and audit trails offer transparency and peace of mind, while rapid restoration features minimize disruptions when it’s time to “thaw” operations and resume business as usual. Bringing TechFreeze to launch has been my proudest achievement at Innovix Solutions, and as I think about the type of projects I’m assigned to at Brooklyn, I can’t help but feel a mix of nostalgia and excitement for what comes next.

At first, telling Gregory about my whole '2026 get-it together' plan, he was very reluctant about it first, and said it wasn't possible for it to be flexible, and I had to most likely had to apply to another tech firm because of it. Towards the end of the year, Innovix Solutions made an announcement that they're opening firms in New York (Brooklyn), Los Angeles, and Fresno.

I've worked at Innovix Solutions for 6 years, after getting my bachelor's degree, also specializing in business administration, marketing, computer science, engineering, and information technology. It was a struggle at first getting used to it---but work became my second favorite place to be at.

"Can we get something to eat?" I ask, putting Tank on a leash. "I had this packaged apple oatmeal for breakfast and it wasn't the finest."

"Glad you're thinking the same thing." Amber says with a grin.

As a tradition, we went to Bean Scene Café. We've been going almost every day as students in college to the fact the employees memorized our orders. I notice Ash in behind the counter and I immediately flash him a smile.

Today, the place buzzed with the familiar hum of espresso machines and low chatter, sunlight spilling through the tall windows onto scuffed wooden floors. Behind the counter, Ash was poetry in motion. His sleeves were pushed up to reveal strong, sinewy forearms, and his dark curls kept falling over his brow, begging to be brushed aside. His eyes, deep and mischievous, flicked over the crowd with lazy confidence as he frothed milk, the muscles of his jaw working under golden-brown skin. There was a kind of effortless sensuality in the way he moved—rolling his hips slightly with every step, lips quirking up as if he were in on a secret joke. Every time he laughed, the sound was low and warm, curling through the café like a secret invitation.

I caught his eye and immediately flashed him a smile, feeling a flutter in my chest."Ash!" I call out, waving my hand.

Ash whips his head up and smiles back. "May-May! How's it going?" His gaze lingered on me for a beat too long, and I felt my cheeks flush.

I smile at the nickname. "Good."

Ash turned to Amber, softening his expression but still radiating that easy charm. “Hello, Amber. Nice to see you!”

Amber gave a small smile, watching as Ash and I slipped effortlessly back into our old rhythm—trading words and glances like old friends, or maybe something more, even though we saw each other nearly every day.

"Honey almond milk flat white with whipped cream?" He remembers as he puts it in the kiosk.

"Absolutely." I turn around to face Amber, pulling her gently next to me. "Aren't you going to order?" I ask, slightly confused.

"Right! Sorry, it's just I'm going to miss us coming here."

Ash gasped dramatically, as if someone just slipped on a puddle of coffee. "May-May, you're moving?! How dare you!" he says accusingly.

I laughed. "It was for the best, Ash. And besides, it's finally time I have my fresh start."

"Well, you're not wrong. You have been in Maple Oaks for what, 5 years?"

"6." I corrected. "And I thought you had good memory sometimes."

Ash rolls his eyes. "I do, May-May. I'm assuming you want an Oat milk latte, 4 sugars and cinnamon, Amber?"

"Add two muffins also. Maya here was just telling me how hungry she was."

I rolled my eyes, exasperated. "Don't act like you didn't ask me."

"Maya, take this as an offering of friendship for the sad oatmeal you ate."

Shortly after, Ash handed over our drinks and muffins. “May-May, since it’s your last day here, I got it on the house. For the both of you,” he added quickly, glancing at Amber before his eyes landed back on me.

I smiled as I took my drink, letting my fingers linger a moment longer than usual against his. “You didn’t really have to.”

"I promise I won't." I say with a hand over my heart.

For a second, it was just the two of us, the low hum of the café fading into the background. Ash’s gaze lingered, a gentle warmth in his eyes I’d always noticed but never let myself dwell on. He looked like he wanted to say something more, his thumb brushing nervously along the rim of his coffee cup.

“You know,” he said at last, voice quiet, “Brooklyn’s lucky to have you. I hope… I hope you find a place that feels like home.”

A hush settled between us, comfortable and charged all at once. I didn’t trust myself to say anything too revealing, so I just nudged his foot under the table, a silent thank you.

He smiled, and for that heartbeat, I almost wished I could stay just a little longer.

We sat down at the table near the window as Amber had a smile I recognized.

"What's with the smile?" I say before taking a sip.

Amber leans in close, glancing if Ash was looking at us and starts whispering. "You cannot convince me that Ash doesn't like you. May-May? Seriously?"

"Ash and I are only friends." I say in a hushed tone. "Is he nice and generous, yes, do I like him, no!"

Amber nods as she pretended to understand. "Uh-huh. When are you going to tell him?"

"There's nothing to tell, Amber." I take a sip as I glance at Ash, helping another customer at the kiosk, I couldn't help but smile. I've known Ash since college---he was resourceful, helpful, and fun to be around with. My first time coming here he guessed my order and gave it to me for free. Everyone at my friend circle, including Amber, kept telling me I should go out with him, but I never asked. I wouldn't say I regretted not asking him, but the 'what-if's' are always there.

"Just ask him." Amber says, reading my mind. "Your about to leave anyway, what's the harm?"

So many things! I could've shot back, but instead I shook my head and eyed the muffin instead. "These muffins look good." I say, changing the subject.

Amber plucked one from the brown bag and took a bite. "Mmmm..." she says. "This have to be the best muffin I ever tasted."

"Don't over exaggerate, Amber."

"Have you tried it?" she retorted.

"No." I say, politely. "But it certainly cannot be that good." I took a bite, my eyes widening. I pretend that it tastes mediocre, a standard muffin, but Amber can obviously see right through me. "Just admit you agree." she says with a sigh. "You don't have to be so guarded about your opinions."

"I'm not." I lied.

"Really? What's better, warm, earthy, composite colors or cool, neutral, and monochromatic shades?"

I groan. "How many times do we have to bring this up?"

"The same amount of times you protest that your not guarded about your opinions."

"I will personally have a debate with you in the coffee shop."

"Really?" Amber’s eyes narrowed, her voice dropping into the precise, measured cadence of a closing rebuttal. "Mind you, you’re stepping into the ring with a nine-time Best Delegate winner. I’d advise you to check your warrants before you try to out-maneuver her."

Amber didn’t just like to win; she lived for the clash. A veteran of the circuit since middle school, she had spent years perfecting her signposting and cross-examination tactics. Her reputation was cemented back in college when she took home the trophy for National Spokesperson of the Year, an event where she’d famously dismantled her opponent’s entire case in under two minutes.

"Really." I agree.

We spent the rest of the time in the coffee shop debating, until Ash politely told us to leave.