Incidental Love

“Where do you see yourself in the next three years?”

It’s the kind of question every interviewer asks — like we’re all puzzle pieces waiting to be slotted into some company’s future, as if life ever follows your plans.

The guy sitting across from me looks like he might throw up. Early twenties, shaking knee, sweat beading at his temples. I’ve seen this before. Hell, I’ve lived this before. But I learned a long time ago not to let anyone see me sweat.

He stammers through the usual script: “I… I can see myself working hard and growing with the company.”

Wrong answer.

I don’t want someone who “hopes” to be better. I want someone who knows they will be. Who will tear down a wall if there’s no door. That’s how I got here — from charity bins and empty fridges to this glass-walled corner office at WestLine Telecom. Youngest department manager in the company’s history. Promoted at twenty-six. No nepotism, no leg up. Just grit.

You don’t claw your way to the top without leaving some blood behind.

I smile politely and thank him for his time, but I’ve already crossed his name off in my head.

When he leaves, I swivel my chair to face the skyline — sharp buildings cutting into soft clouds. The city below buzzes, unaware of the girl in this office who shouldn’t have made it this far. Who wasn’t supposed to.

I was a fighter before I could spell the word.

My mother overdosed when I was six. My father? A name on a birth certificate. I don’t even know if he’s alive. The rest of the family didn’t want the burden, so I spent my childhood in foster homes — rotating doorways of pity, neglect, and silence. If you’re lucky, no one notices you. If you’re not, they remind you why you’re unwanted.

But I adapted. I survived.

And I dreamed of something more.

Not just stability. Perfection. A life so structured and clean, nothing could reach inside and shatter me again. That was the goal. Predictability. Safety. Control.

That’s probably why I made him up.

Kael.

My secret. My soft place to fall. My fantasy.

He started as a daydream in high school. A blurry sketch of safety in a world that always felt like it might collapse. He became more real over time — the shape of his shoulders, the sound of his laugh, the way his hand would fit over mine without bruising. A man built entirely from absence: kind where others were cruel, calm where others were explosive, loyal where others disappeared.

Green eyes. Strong hands. A quiet strength that grounded me in my darkest moments.

He was everything I needed.

And no one I could ever have.

I never told anyone about him — not even Talia or Noah. Especially not them.

Talia would’ve dragged it out of me with wine and insults. She’s loud, wild, a walking chaos storm with a heart of gold. She was the first friend I made after moving into my own place. Practically adopted me the moment we met. She lives across the hall but practically resides in my apartment.

Noah, on the other hand, is the only real constant I’ve had. We started at WestLine the same year, and he’s been my shadow ever since — quiet but fiercely loyal, always knowing when to push and when to just exist. He’s never asked for more than I could give. And that’s rare.

After the interviews, I called him.

“Done torturing hopefuls?” he teased.

“Done for today. Want me to drop off the reports or—”

“I’ll swing by. Talia’s still planning to abduct you tomorrow, by the way.”

I sighed. “I figured.”

“She’s got that matchmaking glint again.”

“She can keep it to herself.”

“You keep this up, and you’re going to die alone surrounded by color-coded spreadsheets.”

“Honestly? Sounds peaceful.”

We both laughed, and I felt the knot in my chest loosen just a little.

That night, I went home to the first place I ever owned. My name on the lease. My rules. It’s not much — small kitchen, a coffee table with one wobbly leg, framed quotes on the wall about survival and strength — but it’s mine.

Talia barged in fifteen minutes later with takeout and her usual flair for dramatics.

“You haven’t been on a date in years,” she groaned between bites of noodles. “Do you even remember what attraction feels like?”

“I’m attracted to sleep. And silence.”

“You need a man.”

I raised an eyebrow. “No. What I need is fewer texts from you during work hours.”

“You made Kael up to fill a void—”

My entire body went still.

“What?”

“I mean… I didn’t mean Kael, Kael,” she said quickly. “I just meant—like—a fantasy guy. You’ve been single forever and clearly not looking.”

I said nothing.

She didn’t know. Of course not. No one did.

But it still felt like she’d scraped her fingernail over an invisible wound.

“You need to live a little,” she pressed. “There’s a new club a few blocks over. You’re coming with me. I won’t take no.”

“Fine,” I muttered. “One drink. One hour.”

She lit up like she’d won the lottery. “That’s all I need.”

But what she didn’t know — what I didn’t know — was that everything was about to change.

Because that night, in that club, I saw him.

And I froze.

Same face. Same jawline. Same green eyes I’d imagined into existence.

Kael.

Except… he wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t safe. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a fight — or into one. There was a shadow behind his eyes I’d never imagined. A sharpness I hadn’t given him.

He looked real. Tangible. Dangerous.

And somehow, he saw me too.

Not just glanced — saw.

Like he already knew who I was. Like I wasn’t a stranger.

I couldn’t breathe.

The air between us snapped like a live wire.

And in that moment, I knew—

This wasn’t the man I invented.

But he was going to ruin everything I thought I knew about reality.