What We Never Said

Monday mornings were never quiet in New York.

By seven o’clock, the streets below Clair Andrews’ apartment had already filled with impatient taxis, cyclists weaving through traffic, and commuters clutching takeaway coffees as they hurried towards the subway. The city moved with a rhythm of its own restless, relentless, and completely indifferent to anyone who struggled to keep up.

She’d lived in this building for three years

Long enough to stop looking up every time she caught sight of the skyline. Long enough to know which cafés made the strongest coffee, which streets to avoid during rush hour, and exactly how many minutes it took to walk from her apartment to the office if every traffic light happened to be green.

Somewhere along the way, New York had stopped feeling unfamiliar. It had simply become home.

It had simply become home.

Rain tapped softly against her bedroom window, blending with the distant hum of traffic below. Together, they wrapped the room in a quiet that made getting out of bed feel almost impossible.

She shifted further beneath the covers, determined to steal just a few more minutes before the day began.

Then her phone vibrated.

The sound echoed across the bedside table, cutting through the silence.

She frowned but kept her eyes closed.

Whoever it was could wait.

A few seconds later, it buzzed again.

With a quiet sigh, she stretched an arm across the mattress. Her fingertips brushed against the cold mug of tea she’d abandoned the night before, then the worn copy ofThe Perks of Being a Wallflowerresting beside it. It lay open, face down, exactly where she’d promised herself she’d stop after one more chapter.

She rarely kept that promise.

Eventually, her fingers found her phone.

The brightness of the screen made her squint.

Mia.

A smile appeared before she’d even opened the messages.

Clair didn’t need to open the messages to know what they said.

Mia had never believed in sending just one text. If she had something to say, she’d send it one message at a time, usually before the other person had a chance to reply.

Sure enough, the first message was waiting for her.

Mia:Please tell me you’re awake.

The message lingered on the screen.

Clair’s gaze drifted back to the copy of her book lying open beside her tea.

She’d done it again.

She’d promised herself one chapter before bed.

One chapter had turned into three.

Three had somehow turned into half the book.

By the time she’d looked at the clock, it was well past one in the morning.

She smiled to herself.

Some habits were impossible to break.

Only then did she look back at her phone.

Another message appeared before Clair had a chance to respond.

Mia:Actually, don’t answer that.

Mia:I already know you aren’t.

Clair couldn’t help but laugh

Clair:Good morning to you too.

The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.

Mia:Tell me you didn’t forget what today is.

Clair frowned.

Her eyes drifted towards the cream blazer hanging neatly from the wardrobe door, then to the leather folder resting on her desk.

Everything was ready.

The presentation.

The notes.

The outfit.

She hadn’t forgotten any of it.

oh no....

Her stomach dropped.

She’d forgotten what day it was.

Clair:Please don’t tell me it’s Monday.

Mia:I hate to be the one to tell you this.

Mia:But unless we’ve all collectively skipped a day...

Mia:It’s Monday.

Clair let her head fall back onto the pillow.

“For five more minutes,” she muttered to no one in particular.

Her phone vibrated again.

Mia:Don’t even think about it.

A smile tugged at the corners of Clair’s lips.

Clair:You know me too well.

Mia:That’s exactly what worries me.

Clair placed her phone on the bed beside her and looked around the room.

Morning light filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the floor. Clothes she’d folded over the weekend sat neatly on the chair in the corner. Her bookshelf, on the other hand, was another story entirely. Novels were stacked two rows deep, with a few more piled horizontally on top where they’d long since run out of space.

She’d promised herself she wouldn’t buy another book until she’d finished the ones she already owned.

That promise had lasted exactly four days.

Her eyes landed on the shopping bag tucked beside the bookshelf.

She looked away.

Some mistakes didn’t need acknowledging before breakfast.

The phone buzzed once more.

Mia:Coffee on me if you’re downstairs in twenty.

Clair smiled.

Clair:Make it thirty.

Mia:Twenty-five.

Clair:Deal.

She set the phone aside and finally pushed the covers back.

The floor was colder than she’d expected.

“Right,” she sighed.

“Let’s pretend we’re responsible adults.”

She wandered over to the wardrobe and reached for the cream blazer.

Halfway there, she stopped.

Her eyes drifted back to the bedside table.

Her book was still lying open where she’d left it.

With a quiet sigh, she walked back and picked it up, carefully slipping yesterday’s café receipt between the pages before closing the cover.

She really should have bought proper bookmarks by now.

Instead, she seemed to have collected receipts from cafés, bookstores, and the occasional supermarket, each one tucked inside a different novel.

Oddly enough, she always knew which receipt belonged to which book.

She placed it neatly on top of the growing pile beside her bed.

“I’ll finish you tonight,” she murmured.

Then she smiled to herself.

“Assuming I survive Monday.”

Only then did she return to the wardrobe.

The cream blazer came first, followed by a crisp white blouse and a pair of tailored black trousers. She held the blouse against herself for a second before putting it back.

“No.”

She reached for the navy one instead.

A moment later, she frowned and swapped it back for the white.

Some decisions didn’t need to be as difficult as she made them.

Satisfied at last, she headed towards the kitchen.

Her hand had already filled the kettle before she remembered.

She paused.

“...Right.”

Coffee.

A laugh escaped her.

Mia would never let her hear the end of it if she turned up with a cup of tea after accepting free coffee.

She emptied the kettle, grabbed her keys from the bowl by the door, and took one last look around the apartment.

Book.

Laptop.

Presentation folder.

Phone.

Everything accounted for.

“Let’s see how long that lasts.”

With that, she slipped on her shoes, locked the door behind her, and stepped into the familiar hum of the city.

The lift groaned its way down to the lobby, stopping twice before finally reaching the ground floor.

Clair shifted the leather folder beneath her arm and glanced at the time on her phone.

Twenty-two minutes.

Mia was going to be unbearable about that one minute.

The doors opened with a reluctant shudder.

Mrs Brady from 5B stood near the mailboxes, holding a folded umbrella in one hand and the lead of an overly excited golden retriever in the other.

The dog spotted Clair immediately.

His tail began thudding against the wall.

“Good morning, Archie.”

She crouched just long enough to scratch behind his ears, earning a happy huff and a smear of fur across the knee of her trousers.

Mrs Brady gave her an apologetic look.

“He likes you too much.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible.”

Archie leaned further into her hand as though determined to prove the point.

Clair smiled and stood, brushing the loose fur from her trousers.

“Big day?” Mrs Brady asked, nodding towards the folder.

“Presentation.”

“You’ll be wonderful.”

Clair adjusted the strap of her bag.

“That’s very kind of you to say before knowing what it’s about.”

Mrs Brady waved the concern away.

“You always look like you know what you’re doing.”

Clair laughed softly.

“That may be the nicest thing anyone says to me today.”

She held the door open while Mrs Brady attempted to guide Archie towards the lift. Archie, apparently offended by the idea of their conversation ending, planted all four paws against the tiled floor.

“Come on,” Mrs Brady said. “She has a life.”

Clair stepped outside before Archie could argue.

The rain had softened to a fine drizzle, just enough to wet the pavement and cling to the loose strands of hair around her face. She opened her umbrella and joined the flow of people moving down the street.

The city was already fully awake.

Yellow taxis edged through traffic. Delivery drivers manoeuvred boxes around people. A cyclist shouted at a car that had stopped too close to the kerb. Somewhere behind her, a horn sounded, followed almost immediately by another.

Three years ago, the noise had exhausted her.

Now, it barely registered.

She knew this street in every season. She knew which paving stones collected water after heavy rain and which shop shade leaked near the corner. She knew the bakery opened before six and that the owner sometimes handed out unsold pastries just before closing.

She also knew that if she took the shorter route past the station, she could reach the café in nineteen minutes.

Possibly eighteen, if she ignored the traffic lights.

Her phone vibrated inside her coat pocket.

She didn’t need to look.

Mia: Twenty minutes.

Clair continued walking.

Clair: You said twenty-five.

Mia: I changed my mind.

Clair: That feels legally questionable.

Mia: So does showing up late after negotiating.

Clair smiled at the screen.

Clair: I’m nearly there.

Mia: That means nothing when you say it.

Clair: It means I can see the building.

Mia: Can you actually?

Clair looked up.

The café was still half a block away.

Clair: Emotionally.

The typing bubble appeared.

Then disappeared.

Then appeared again.

Mia: I’m cancelling the coffee.

Clair: You already bought it.

Mia: I’ll drink both.

Clair quickened her pace.

The café sat on the corner of a narrow street, squeezed between a pharmacy and a small florist that changed its window display every week. Its front windows were fogged from the warmth inside, turning the people seated behind them into blurred shapes.

Mia was easy to spot.

She had taken the table beside the window and spread herself across it as though she had booked the entire café. Her coat hung over the back of the chair beside her, one hand curled around her cup while the other scrolled through her phone.

Two coffees sat on the table.

Clair pushed open the door.

Warm air rushed over her, carrying the smell of roasted coffee, toasted bread and something sweet she couldn’t immediately place.

Mia looked up.

Her eyes moved first to Clair, then to the clock above the counter.

“Twenty-three minutes.”

Clair closed her umbrella.

“You said twenty-five.”

“I was testing you.”

“Did I pass?”

“Barely.”

Mia slid the second cup across the table.

Clair sat opposite her and wrapped both hands around it.

“You’re a good person.”

“I know.”

The coffee was exactly how Clair liked it.

She took a grateful sip.

Mia narrowed her eyes.

“What time did you go to sleep?”

Clair looked down at her cup.

“That’s quite a personal question.”

“What time?”

“One.”

Mia stared at her.

“Approximately.”

“Clair.”

“One fifteen.”

“You have a presentation this morning.”

“I’m aware.”

“And you stayed up reading.”

“The chapter ended badly.”

“That is not an emergency.”

“It was to me.”

Mia leaned back in her chair.

“You know, most people stop reading when they get tired.”

“Most people lack commitment.”

“You look tired.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean it affectionately.”

“That makes it worse.”

Mia smiled into her coffee.

Clair took another sip and glanced around the café.

It was busier than usual. A queue had formed near the counter, mostly office workers checking watches and typing messages with one hand. A woman at the next table was attempting to balance a laptop, a phone call and a croissant at the same time.

Clair understood the ambition.

Mia reached across the table and brushed something from the front of Clair’s trousers.

“Dog hair?”

“Archie.”

“Of course.”

“He wished me luck.”

“More support than you’re getting from me.”

“You bought me coffee.”

“That was before you admitted you went to bed at one fifteen.”

Clair took another drink.

The warmth helped.

“You’re very judgemental for someone who once watched an entire season of a dating show in one night.”

“That was research.”

“For what?”

“Human behaviour.”

“You texted me at four in the morning to say love was dead.”

“It had been a difficult episode.”

Clair laughed.

It came easily with Mia. It always had.

They had met during Clair’s first month at her new job, when she had still checked maps before leaving her apartment and apologised every time someone walked into her. Mia had taken one look at her standing outside the wrong office building in the rain and asked if she was lost.

Clair had insisted she wasn’t.

Mia had walked her to the correct building anyway.

They had been inseparable ever since.

Mia nodded towards the folder beneath Clair’s arm.

“You ready?”

“I think so.”

“That wasn’t convincing.”

“I’ve gone over it so many times I can hear myself talking in my sleep.”

“You would have had to sleep for that.”

Clair gave her a look.

Mia lifted both hands.

“Sorry. Supportive now.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re going to be brilliant.”

Clair glanced at the folder.

She knew the presentation. She knew the numbers, the strategy and every question they were likely to ask. She had practised in front of the mirror, in the shower and once while standing in the queue at the supermarket.

None of that stopped the small knot in her stomach.

Mia noticed.

She always did.

“You know more about this than anyone in that room,” she said.

“I know.”

“You’ve spent weeks on it.”

“I know.”

“And if Richard interrupts you again, I’ll trip him in the hallway.”

Clair looked up.

“That’s not supportive.”

“It is to me.”

A smile pulled at Clair’s mouth.

Richard had interrupted her three times during her last presentation, twice to repeat points she had already made and once to ask a question answered on the slide behind her.

He had later congratulated her on staying calm.

“I can handle Richard.”

“I know you can. I just don’t want you to have to.”

There it was.

Beneath the jokes and the dramatic messages, Mia cared with an intensity she rarely admitted to directly.

Clair reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

Mia immediately pulled away.

“Don’t make this emotional. It’s too early.”

“You started it.”

“I absolutely did not.”

Clair smiled and sat back.

Mia’s eyes moved towards the canvas bag resting near Clair’s feet.

“What’s in there?”

“My laptop.”

“Only your laptop?”

Clair followed her gaze.

The top corner of a paperback was visible above the opening.

She moved the bag closer to her chair.

Mia pointed.

“What is that?”

“Nothing.”

“It has a cover.”

“Most things do.”

“Did you bring a book to work?”

“I always bring a book to work.”

“You have a presentation.”

“The presentation won’t take the entire day.”

“You stayed awake until one fifteen reading that exact book.”

Clair took another sip of coffee.

“That’s unrelated.”

Mia leaned across the table and looked inside the bag.

“You’re halfway through it.”

“A little over halfway.”

“That does not help your case.”

“I might read on the train home.”

“You walk home.”

“I might get the train.”

“You live twelve minutes from the office.”

Clair smiled.

Mia shook her head.

“You know you own enough books to start a small library.”

“They’re all different.”

“I’ve seen your shelves. Three of them are the same book.”

“Different editions.”

“The words are the same.”

“The covers aren’t.”

Mia stared at her for a moment.

Then she picked up her coffee.

“I worry about you.”

“You worry about everyone.”

“That’s because everyone keeps making terrible choices.”

Clair glanced at the clock above the counter.

“We should go.”

Mia followed her gaze and sighed.

“I haven’t finished.”

“You told me I was nearly late.”

“That was before I sat down.”

Clair stood and slipped the folder back beneath her arm.

Mia took two quick drinks before standing.

“You’re carrying that coffee.”

“I bought yours.”

“And I’m very grateful.”

“You’re not carrying mine.”

Clair reached for it anyway.

Mia pulled the cup out of reach.

“Absolutely not.”

“You can’t hold an umbrella, your phone and coffee.”

“Watch me.”

Outside, the rain had almost stopped.

They walked side by side towards the office, their pace falling naturally into rhythm. Mia managed the umbrella, coffee and phone for exactly thirty seconds before handing Clair the cup without comment.

Clair accepted it without smiling.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were going to.”

“I was thinking it.”

“That counts.”

They crossed at the next light, slipping between people moving in the opposite direction.

The office building appeared ahead of them, all glass and sharp edges, its entrance crowded with people shaking rain from their umbrellas.

Mia checked Clair’s reflection in the dark screen of her phone.

“Your hair’s fine.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“You were about to.”

Clair smoothed the front of her blazer.

“Do I look tired?”

“Yes.”

“Mia.”

“You also look expensive and competent. It balances out.”

“That’s better.”

They stopped beneath the awning outside the building.

Mia took her coffee back and adjusted Clair’s collar.

“You’ve got this.”

Clair exhaled slowly.

“I’ve got this.”

“And if you don’t, I’ll still trip Richard.”

Clair looked at her.

“For moral support.”

“Exactly.”

The revolving doors turned behind them.

Clair tightened her grip on the leather folder, lifted her chin and stepped inside.

The lobby buzzed with the familiar rhythm of Monday morning.

People drifted in through the revolving doors in waves, umbrellas dripping onto the polished marble floor as conversations overlapped with the soft chime of the lifts arriving and departing. Somewhere near reception, someone laughed. A phone rang almost immediately after.

Clair barely noticed any of it.

She’d been through these doors hundreds of times.

The security guard behind the desk looked up as she approached.

“Morning, Clair.”

“Morning, Daniel.”

He smiled as he handed back her access card.

“Big presentation today, isn’t it?”

“News travels fast.”

“My wife works on your floor.”

Clair laughed.

“That explains it.”

“She says you’ve been living in one of the meeting rooms all week.”

“I’d like to deny that.”

“But?”

“...I can’t.”

Daniel chuckled.

“Well, good luck.”

“Thank you.”

She slipped the card back into her bag and headed towards the lifts, Mia falling into step beside her.

A crowd had already gathered.

Monday.

Of course.

Mia glanced at the queue before pressing the button anyway.

“As if that was going to make it come any faster.”

“I like to feel involved.”

The doors slid open.

Half the lobby attempted to fit inside.

Clair looked at Mia.

“We’ll take the next one.”

“Agreed.”

Neither of them was in the mood to spend the next thirty floors standing shoulder to shoulder with strangers pretending not to notice each other.

The second lift arrived less than a minute later.

Much better.

(Inside the lift.)

There were only five other people.

The quiet lasted all of three seconds.

“Morning, Clair.”

She looked up.

Richard.

Of course.

He stood opposite her, coffee in one hand and his laptop bag slung over his shoulder.

“Morning.”

“Ready for the presentation?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

He smiled.

“I’ve got a couple of thoughts I’d like to add.”

Mia looked down at the floor.

Clair knew exactly why.

If she made eye contact now, she’d laugh.

“Happy to hear them afterwards,” Clair said with an easy smile.

Richard nodded, apparently satisfied.

The lift pinged.

His floor.

“See you in a bit.”

“See you.”

The doors closed again.

Silence.

Mia waited exactly two seconds.

“‘I’ve got a couple of thoughts.’”

Clair bit the inside of her cheek.

“Don’t.”

“I’m trying.”

“You are not.”

“I’m really not.”

They both laughed.

The lift stopped on the twenty-fourth floor.

The doors slid open to a familiar chorus of ringing phones, keyboards clicking and conversations carrying across the open plan office.

Someone looked up from their desk.

“Morning, Clair.”

“Morning.”

Another voice followed almost immediately.

“Did you get my email?”

“I’ll look at it before lunch.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“I know.”

The reply earned a laugh as she continued towards her desk.

The office had never been particularly quiet, but she liked that about it. There was something reassuring about the constant movement. People discussing deadlines over coffee, someone rushing towards a meeting with a laptop tucked under one arm, the marketing team gathered around a whiteboard already covered in colourful sticky notes.

It meant things were happening.

It meant people cared.

Mia peeled away towards her own department, lifting her coffee in farewell.

“Try not to start without me.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“And if Richard interrupts you—”

“I know.”

“I’ve still got your back.”

Clair smiled.

“I never doubted it.”

She watched Mia disappear around the corner before turning back to her own desk.

Everything was exactly where she’d left it on Friday.

Her notebook sat beside her keyboard, colour-coded sticky notes marking different sections. A small succulent occupied the corner of her desk, somehow still alive despite several weeks of questionable care. Beside it sat a framed photo of her and Mia, both laughing at something outside the frame, taken during a weekend trip to Boston the year before.

She placed her bag beneath the desk and opened her laptop.

Thirty two unread emails.

She sighed.

“That feels unnecessary.”

As if on cue, another email arrived.

Thirty three.

“Show off.”

She clicked through the first few, mentally sorting them into today’s problems and tomorrow’s problems.

A shipment update.

Meeting notes.

An approval request.

Nothing on fire.

Good.

“Morning, Clair.”

She looked up.

Olivia from merchandising stood beside her desk, tablet tucked under one arm.

“I heard today’s the big day.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“You’ll be brilliant.”

“I hope so.”

Olivia smiled.

“You know, every time you say that, you end up making the rest of us look bad.”

“I’d settle for just making it through without dropping the clicker.”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

Olivia glanced at the leather folder resting on the desk.

“You’ve been preparing for this for weeks.”

Clair nodded.

“We’re finally presenting the autumn beauty strategy.”

“To the entire leadership team?”

“And Richard.”

Olivia winced.

“...My condolences.”

Clair laughed.

“I appreciate your honesty.”

Olivia started to walk away before stopping.

“Oh, before I forget.”

She turned back.

“The samples for next month’s fragrance launch arrived.”

Clair’s eyes lit up.

“They’re here?”

“They’re in the product room.”

“I’ll have a look after the presentation.”

“I thought you’d say that.”

Olivia grinned before disappearing into the sea of desks.

Clair couldn’t help smiling.

Moments like that reminded her why she’d chosen this career in the first place.

It had never just been about numbers.

It was the stories brands told.

The excitement of a launch.

Watching customers discover a product they fell in love with.

Building something that people remembered.

She glanced at the clock.

8:47.

Thirteen minutes.

Enough time to breathe.

Not enough time to overthink.

She reached for the leather folder, flipping through the pages one last time.

Not because she needed to.

Because it settled her nerves

At 8:58, Clair closed the folder.

That was enough.

Reading through it again wasn’t going to make her any more prepared.

She already knew every slide.

Every figure.

Every question Richard was likely to ask.

She slipped the folder under her arm and stood.

As if on cue, Olivia appeared beside her desk.

“You ready?”

Clair took a slow breath.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Olivia smiled.

“That’s the least convincing thing you’ve said all morning.”

“It’s true.”

“It isn’t.”

“It is.”

Olivia laughed, giving her arm a gentle squeeze before they walked towards the meeting rooms together.

The corridor was already busier than usual.

People stepped aside as they passed, offering quiet words of encouragement.

“Good luck.”

“You’ll smash it.”

“Looking forward to seeing it.”

Clair thanked each of them, trying not to think too much about why everyone seemed more confident than she was.

The meeting room overlooked the city.

Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across one wall, framing a skyline hidden behind soft grey clouds.

A long oak table filled the centre of the room.

Most of the seats were already occupied.

Richard looked up first.

“Morning.”

“Morning.”

He gestured towards the laptop connected to the screen.

“All yours.”

“Thanks.”

Clair set her folder down and plugged in her laptop.

The familiar title slide appeared on the screen.

Autumn Beauty Strategy

She checked the clicker.

Once.

Twice.

Old habit.

Satisfied, she placed it beside the laptop.

One by one, the remaining seats filled.

Conversations faded.

Chairs shuffled.

Someone closed the door.

Her manager looked towards her.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

Clair nodded.

For a split second, she became aware of everything.

The clicker in her hand.

The silence in the room.

The sound of the air conditioning.

Her heartbeat.

Then...

It disappeared.

“Good morning, everyone.”

Her voice came out steadier than she’d expected.

“Thank you for making the time today.”

The first few slides were exactly as she’d rehearsed them.

Confident.

Measured.

She wasn’t reading from the screen.

She barely looked at it.

She knew the information well enough that it felt more like a conversation than a presentation.

Halfway through, she glanced around the room.

People weren’t checking their phones.

They were listening.

Good.

She clicked to the next slide.

“Our biggest opportunity this season isn’t introducing more brands.”

She paused.

“It’s helping customers discover the ones already sitting in front of them.”

A few heads nodded.

She continued.

The nerves she’d carried all morning quietly dissolved.

This was the part she loved.

Finding solutions.

Connecting ideas.

Building something that made sense.

Near the end, Richard raised a hand.

“There is one thing.”

Of course.

Clair smiled politely.

“Go ahead.”

“Have we considered pushing more budget towards the existing best sellers rather than introducing additional campaigns?”

The room fell quiet.

It wasn’t an unreasonable question.

Clair nodded.

“We did.”

She changed to another slide.

“It was actually one of the first scenarios we modelled.”

A graph appeared.

She looked back at him.

“Short term, it gives us a stronger return.”

A beat.

“But long term, it slows category growth.”

She pointed towards the figures.

“The strategy I’ve proposed costs more initially, but it performs better over the next twelve months.”

Richard studied the numbers for a moment.

Then...

He nodded.

“Fair enough.”

No argument.

No interruption.

Just acceptance.

Clair moved smoothly into the final slide.

“So...”

She smiled.

“That’s everything from me.”

A moment of silence.

Then applause.

Not loud.

Not exaggerated.

Just genuine.

Her manager smiled.

“Excellent work, Clair.”

Another voice spoke up.

“Really clear.”

“I liked the long-term approach.”

“The customer journey makes much more sense now.”

Clair felt herself exhale.

She hadn’t realised she’d been holding her breath.

As people began gathering their notebooks and laptops, Olivia caught her eye from across the room and gave her two enthusiastic thumbs up.

Clair laughed.

The knot in her stomach had finally disappeared.

Monday, it seemed, wasn’t entirely against her

Clair didn’t realise how exhausted she was until she closed her apartment door behind her.

The familiar click of the lock was enough to make her shoulders relax.

She slipped off her shoes, dropped her keys into the bowl by the door and leaned against the wall for a second.

Monday had survived her.

Just.

Her blazer found its usual place over the back of the dining chair while the kettle began to boil in the kitchen.

Some habits refused to change.

By the time she changed into an oversized sweatshirt and soft joggers, a fresh mug of tea was warming her hands.

She settled onto the sofa with a quiet sigh.

The apartment felt peaceful again.

Outside, the city hadn’t slowed down.

Inside...

everything had.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table.

A notification from the group chat.

Friday Plans

Anna:Okay, before everyone starts making excuses...

Anna:Friday. My place. Seven.

Hayden:Very subtle invitation.

Anna:It wasn’t an invitation.

Lindsey:Are we ordering food or pretending we’ll cook again?

Anna:Definitely ordering.

Alicia:Thank goodness.

Another message appeared.

Anna:Oh, and one more thing.

Anna:My cousin’s coming.

Hayden:Lily?

Anna:Yep.

Anna:She’s bringing a few of her friends too, so don’t be surprised if you don’t know everyone.

Lindsey:More people means more food. I’m on board.

Hayden:That’s your takeaway from this?

Lindsey:Always.

Clair smiled to herself.

Anna’s gatherings always seemed to grow bigger than she’d planned.

Another notification appeared.

Anna:Clair?

Anna:You’re suspiciously quiet.

Clair laughed softly and typed back.

Clair:I’m here.

Anna:Good.

Anna:See you Friday

Clair looked at the screen for a moment before replying.

Clair:I’ll be there.

Almost immediately, a string of reactions appeared beneath her message.

Hayden: She lives.

Lindsey: About time.

Alicia: sent a heart

Clair set her phone back down and took another sip of tea.

For the first time that day...

she had absolutely nothing left to do.

She picked up her book from the coffee table, opened it to the café receipt tucked between the pages and smiled.

“One chapter,” she murmured.

She already knew she was lying.