I have Loved Enoug
His brother didn’t even wait.
The car stopped in front of the towering glass building, and before he could gather the courage to say anything, the door had already shut behind him.
“Just go,” his brother had said. “At least try.”
And then he was gone.
He stood there alone.
For a moment, he didn’t move.
The building in front of him stretched so high it seemed to disappear into the clouds. People walked in and out like it was nothing—like it wasn’t terrifying, like it didn’t feel like stepping into a completely different world.
His throat tightened.
At twenty-four, he suddenly felt like a lost child.
He wanted to go home.
He wanted his mama.
His fingers hovered over his phone. If he called her, she would come. He knew she would. She’d rush here without asking a single question and take him back like nothing ever happened.
But his father’s voice echoed in his head.
“At least give the interview. One month. If it doesn’t work, we’ll open your restaurant.”
The restaurant.
Near the beach his grandparents had gifted him. A small, beautiful place. His place.
The thought made him smile for a second.
But the building in front of him still felt too big. Too cold.
He sighed dramatically, scrunching his face like a stubborn child.
Then, finally—
He stepped inside.
The lobby was even worse.
Too many people. Too many confident faces. Too many candidates dressed like they belonged there.
He froze for a second.
Then his eyes fell on the long line.
He straightened slightly.
Competition.
For a brief moment, something inside him sparked.
Then he shook his head, almost laughing at himself.
I don’t even want this job.
I’m opening my own restaurant anyway.
Relaxed again, he took a seat, completely unconcerned.
Hours passed.
Four of them.
And he didn’t even notice.
Instead of revising answers or stressing like everyone else, he was busy planning his restaurant in his head—menu ideas, decoration, the way the sunlight would hit the tables near the windows.
He was so lost in it that he only realized the time when his stomach growled.
“Excuse me?”
He looked up.
The receptionist stood in front of him, smiling politely.
“It’s your turn.”
“Oh.”
He blinked, then stood up quickly.
“Right. Thank you.”
Ten minutes, he told himself as he walked toward the door.
I’ll be done in ten minutes. Then I’ll eat something before Biff comes to pick me up.
He smiled to himself, completely at ease.
And stepped inside.
He closed the door behind him.
Turned.
And froze.
There were a few people seated behind the long table.
But he didn’t see them.
Not really.
Because his eyes landed on one person—
And stayed there.
A man in a perfectly tailored light grey suit, matching tie, composed posture… and a smile.
Not loud.
Not overly friendly.
Just… there.
Soft. Controlled. Effortlessly beautiful.
And for a second—
He felt it.
Something strange.
Like a pull.
Like his body had forgotten how to stay still.
His heartbeat shifted, just slightly, just enough to confuse him.
He didn’t understand it.
But he couldn’t look away.
Two hours later—
He walked out of the room with an appointment letter in his hand.
It was almost three in the afternoon.
He had gone in planning to leave in ten minutes.
Instead, he had stayed.
Talked.
Answered.
Improvised.
Made them laugh.
Made him laugh.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Because once he had seen that smile—
He just… wanted to see it one more time.
He stepped outside the building—and froze.
His mother, his grandparents… they were all there waiting.
For him.
The moment he saw them, something inside him cracked open. All the nervousness, all the tension he had been holding since morning—gone.
And then he ran.
Like a child.
Straight into their arms.
“Why did it take you so long?” his mother asked immediately, holding his face. “Did you like the job? Were they nice to you?”
Before he could even answer, his grandmother had already pulled out a small lunch box, opening it with practiced care.
“Eat first,” she said softly, pressing it into his lap.
His grandfather started the car without a word, while his mother turned in the front seat, watching him closely. And his grandmother… she simply started feeding him, like he was still a little boy who couldn’t manage hunger on his own.
He didn’t even protest.
He was too happy.
Too safe.
“Oh,” he said between bites, mouth full, completely relaxed. “I got the job.”
Silence.
All four of them turned at once.
His mother blinked. “You’re going to work in the advertisement department?”
He shook his head casually.
“No. Sales strategy. I joined the sales department.”
That made the silence heavier.
His grandfather actually glanced at him in the rearview mirror.
His mother frowned. “But you were called for ads, right?”
“Yes,” he said, chewing slowly like it was the most normal thing in the world. “But the sales head was very impressed. So I joined him instead.”
A beat.
No one spoke.
They just stared at him like he had completely lost his mind.
He smiled at them innocently and took another bite of food.
As if nothing in the world was unusual.
As if changing departments on a whim—on the same day—was exactly what they had all planned for him.
And somehow… he looked completely content sitting there in the middle of it all
He was sitting on the floor.
A half-eaten watermelon rested in his lap, and he was completely unbothered by everything around him. Watermelon juice on his fingers, watermelon shorts slightly messy, and a spoon in hand like it was the most important tool in the world.
Around him, his entire family was gathered.
Watching him.
The youngest. The softest. The most spoiled member of the house.
Singha.
They had raised him like this—carefully, lovingly, almost protectively. So much so that even the neighbours often complained.
“Let him grow up.”
“He won’t survive in the real world like this.”
But to them, he was still the same.
A child.
Even now, at twenty-four, he didn’t feel any different.
And truthfully… neither did they.
He tore a piece of watermelon with his spoon, completely relaxed, like nothing in the world could touch him.
He had never been pushed to be “tough.”
Never forced to harden.
Because in this house, there was always someone ready to protect him.
And now—
this same soft, spoiled “little bunny” had gotten a job.
On his first interview.
In sales.
With a very good salary.
The family still hadn’t fully recovered from the shock.
His mother was staring at him like she was waiting for him to correct himself. His grandparents were silent in disbelief.
But Singha?
He was calm.
Completely at peace.
Eating watermelon like he hadn’t just changed his entire future.
Then suddenly, his thoughts drifted again.
A small smile formed on his face.
I’ll be working directly under Mr. Youn… Yountan…
His heart did something strange.
Warm.
Fast.
He lowered his gaze slightly, hiding the expression forming on his face.
I’ll see him every day…
The man in the grey suit.
That smile.
That voice.
That presence.
His spoon paused mid-air for a second.
Then he smiled to himself again.
Like he was floating somewhere far above the room.
Not in this house.
Not on this floor.
But somewhere in the space where that man existed.
And for the first time that day—
he felt like his life had quietly started changing.
He was joining in two days.
And somehow, that felt like both too soon and not soon enough.
That afternoon, his father and his brother took him out to shop for office clothes.
It wasn’t really shopping.
It was more like being carefully assembled into a “working adult,” step by step.
They picked out bright, cute shirts that still somehow looked professional on him. Soft formal shirts. A few tailored trousers. A couple of smart casual outfits. New shoes that actually fit properly for office wear. Even small accessories his brother insisted were “important for first impressions.”
Singha just followed along happily.
Trying things on.
Turning in mirrors.
Smiling whenever someone nodded approval.
He didn’t feel pressured.
He felt… taken care of.
Like always.
On the way back, they stopped for ice cream.
Of course they did.
Because in his world, big life changes always ended with something sweet.
He sat in the car, ice cream in hand, looking out the window with a soft, satisfied smile. The sunlight hit his face, and for a moment, everything felt simple.
New job.
New clothes.
New life starting.
And he was—
the happiest person on the planet.
Completely unaware that this “new life” wasn’t just about office work…
but about the man in the grey suit who had already unknowingly taken up space in his thoughts.
It had been a pleasant day.
The new assistant I hired today was… surprisingly funny.
He still found himself thinking about him while standing on his terrace.
He leaned slightly over his rubber plant, gently brushing its leaves.
“You saw him today too, didn’t you?” he said softly, like the plant could answer. “Very loud personality for a first day.”
He smiled to himself.
The memory came back easily—the boy talking too freely in the interview, laughing at his own thoughts, completely unbothered by the pressure of the room.
He adjusted another leaf.
“You know,” he continued to the plant, “he made the whole team laugh.”
A small pause.
Then, as if the plant had agreed, he nodded slightly.
“Yes… it was a good meeting.”
His fingers moved to another plant nearby, a pothos hanging slightly over the edge.
“I saw the same shine in his eyes,” he said thoughtfully. “The kind boys his age usually have.”
He tilted his head.
“Or maybe I’m just imagining it.”
A faint smile appeared on his face.
He gently touched the leaves again.
“The CEO thinks I’ll get the *Sales Ledger Award* this year,” he added casually, as if the plant was part of the conversation.
Then he laughed quietly.
“And he says I’ll be the youngest to get it.”
He shook his head slightly.
“If I get it, he’ll take credit for it, of course.”
The plants didn’t respond, but he didn’t seem to need them to.
It was just a habit.
A way of thinking out loud without interruption.
He exhaled slowly.
“I should sleep.”
But he didn’t move immediately.
Instead, his voice softened again.
“He must be in love,” he said, almost amused. “People his age usually are.”
A pause.
Then, gently—
“Or maybe he just smiles like that naturally.”
He stepped back from the plants, finally turning toward the door.
“Goodnight,” he said to them quietly, before walking inside and closing the terrace gate behind him.
Yountan Hale woke up at five every morning.
No matter what.
It didn’t matter if it was cold, if it was raining, if he was exhausted, or if the world felt heavy—his routine did not break.
He got ready quietly, tied his shoes, and left the house for his run.
Running had started five years ago.
Not as a habit.
As survival.
It had been the suggestion of his therapist—one of several small steps meant to pull him out of depression, one breath at a time.
And somehow, he never stopped.
Five years later, he still followed every one of those steps like a rule carved into his life.
He ran twice a day.
Every day.
Even during lockdown.
Even when the world had stopped moving.
Because Yountan Hale did not stop.
Not for anything.
People saw him as the strongest man in every room he entered.
Composed. Controlled. Reliable.
The kind of man others trusted without question.
The kind of man people respected without needing to know why.
But no one knew him.
Not really.
No one knew the version of him that existed when no one was watching.
Because Yountan Hale had built a life where nothing could reach him too deeply.
He doesn't not go to clubs.
He doesn't not drink.
He doesn't smoke.
He des not surround himself with noise or chaos or emotional weight he couldn’t control.
He avoided negativity the way others avoided danger.
Because he believed something simple—
he absorbed the energy around him.
And he could not afford to be broken again.
At home, he was different.
He would close his room and laugh sometimes.
Quietly. Softly. For no reason anyone else would understand.
Sometimes for twenty minutes.
Sometimes longer.
His secretary once believed he was talking to his best friend on the phone every day
She never asked questions.
No one did.
Because Yountan Hale was not a man people questioned.
And then there were the plants.
His only constant audience.
The only place where he spoke without filters.
He talked to them like they understood.
He shared thoughts he never shared with people.
Not pain.
Not weakness.
Just… fragments of himself.
Enough to stay sane.
But never enough to be seen.
Because outside that room, outside those walls—
he remained what everyone believed him to be.
Strong.
Unshakable.
Perfectly controlled.
A man with no visible cracks.
But inside…
his home was his heaven.
And also his hell.
The moment Yountan Hale stepped onto his floor—
he felt it.
Something was different.
The air.
The energy.
People were… smiling.
Not politely. Not professionally.
Actually smiling. Whispering. Giggling.
His steps slowed slightly.
This wasn’t normal.
His floor was known for discipline. Precision. Silence.
Not this.
He took a slow breath.
And just like that—
he put on his character.
The composed expression settled on his face, his posture straightened, and the moment his presence was noticed, the entire floor shifted.
Chairs adjusted. Screens lit up. Conversations died instantly.
Everything returned to order.
But the feeling didn’t.
Something had changed.
And he intended to find out what.
He pushed open the door to his office—
And stopped.
For a second—
he forgot to breathe.
Singha.
Inside his office.
Moving around like he belonged there.
Placing fresh flowers in a vase.
Adjusting a small plant near the window.
Completely… at ease.
Hale’s fingers tightened slightly at his side.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice low. Controlled.
Singha turned instantly.
“Oh! Hi!”
Like he had been expecting him.
Like this was normal.
“I brought some plants for you,” he said cheerfully, pointing at them. “They’re from home. My grandma says plants are the best gift.”
He moved again, fixing something on the table.
“I also brought breakfast,” he continued, as if none of this was unusual. “It’s my first job, so my whole family got really excited. They were asking if your team wants lunch too, so I said I’ll ask and let them know.”
He looked back at him.
“Do you want lunch?”
Hale didn’t answer.
He was… watching him.
Carefully.
Closely.
Trying to understand what exactly was happening.
Because no one—
no one—
walked into his office like this.
No one spoke to him like this.
No one filled his space like this.
And yet—
Singha moved from one corner to another like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Oh, and I brought a cushion for my chair,” he added casually. “Since I’ll be sitting here as your assistant. So I thought I should be comfortable.”
A small pause.
“And I got one for you too. Matching.”
Hale’s eyes widened slightly.
Just slightly.
Enough to break his usual stillness.
Singha finally noticed.
He stopped.
Looked at him properly.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice softer now, a little unsure. His eyes filled with innocent confusion.
For the first time since he entered—
he paused.
And in that pause—
Hale felt something unfamiliar shift inside him.
A thought.
Sharp. Quiet. unexpected.
Did I make the wrong decision?
