Debug my heart

Chapter 6: The Blue Screen of Death

The air between them was so thick with unspoken data that Abigail felt she might suffocate. Alexander’s grip on her waist hadn't loosened; if anything, he had pulled her closer, his thumb grazing the soft fabric of her blazer. Just as his head began to tilt—just as the "First Class" logic in Abigail’s brain finally surrendered to the physical reality of him—a sharp, aggressive chirp cut through the silence.

Alexander’s phone, sitting on the mahogany desk, was flashing a crimson alert.

The spell didn’t just break; it shattered. Alexander recoiled as if he’d been hit by a high-voltage surge. He stepped back, his face instantly hardening into the "Ice King" mask she’d first met.

"The server room," he said, his voice clipped and devoid of the warmth that had been there seconds ago. "A high-priority alert. I have to go."

Abigail stood there, her legs feeling like unoptimized code. "Right. Of course. The project."

He didn't look back. As he strode toward the elevator, Abigail realized that for Alexander Collins, vulnerability was a "System Error"—and he had just performed a hard reboot.

When Abigail got home all she could think of was the near kiss the both had, her thought was interrupted by the ring of her Phone with the caller named mom then hit her like cold water that she hasn't spoken to her parents since moving here

After speaking with her parents for sometime telling them of how the country was beautiful and there food was good she bid them good night promising them that she will call from time to time.

It’s been a few days since the near kiss they both had and the office felt like a walk-in freezer.

Alexander had spent this few days in a state of internal panic. He was terrified by the "Glitch" in his programming—the fact that he had almost kissed a Junior Engineer, a girl who sang children's songs and talked about flour measurements. To protect his "System Integrity," he did the only thing he knew how to do: he became a machine.

During the 10:00 AM code review, he didn't even look at her. He projected her front-end module onto the massive boardroom screen and began to dismantle it with surgical cruelty.

"The padding on these containers is off by two pixels, Ms. Johnson," he said, his voice echoing in the silent room. "It’s sloppy. It lacks the precision I expect from someone with your credentials. It suggests a lack of focus. Redo the entire module by the end of the day."

Abigail’s heart plummeted. "Two pixels, Mr. Collins? That’s a negligible rendering variance that doesn't affect the—"

"In this company, nothing is negligible," he snapped, finally meeting her eyes with a coldness that made her flinch. "If you can’t handle the 'First Class' expectations, perhaps you’re better suited for a smaller firm. Don't waste my time again."

The room went thick with awkwardness. Maya looked like she wanted to leap across the table and strangle him. Abigail felt a lump in her throat that felt like an Emotional Buffer Overflow. She didn't argue. She didn't explain. She simply gathered her tablet, her face a mask of burning shame.

She managed to make it to the breakroom before the "system" finally failed. She stood by the window, staring out at the gray Vancouver sky, and let two silent tears fall. They weren't tears of sadness; they were the result of a total pressure overload.

He hasn't spoken to her a couple of days now and the day he did it was to rain insults at her.

"That was uncalled for, Alex!"

The roar came from the hallway. Abigail wiped her eyes quickly as she heard Liam’s voice echoing through the glass partitions. A moment later, Liam stormed into Alexander’s office, slamming the door so hard the frames rattled.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Liam shouted. "I don't care if you're the CEO or my brother—you don't talk to her like that. She’s been working non-stop for a project you put on her lap!"

"I am maintaining standards, Liam," Alexander’s voice was a low, dangerous rumble.

"Standards? You’re being a bully because you’re scared of how much you like her!" Liam retorted. "Maya is furious, and Abigail is in the breakroom probably wondering why she ever moved to this country. If you break her spirit, Alex, you don't just lose a developer. You lose the only person who’s been able to look at you without flinching in five years. Fix it. Or I’m taking my shares and walking."

Alexander sat in the silence that followed Liam’s exit. He looked at the security feed on his secondary monitor. He saw Abigail in the breakroom—alone, small, and devastated. For a man who viewed the world in logic, the sight of her tears was a "System Error" that no line of code could fix.

By 7:00 PM, the sky had turned an ominous shade of bruised purple. The "Great Vancouver Storm" had arrived. A cyclone-strength wind was howling against the high-rise glass of Abigail’s Kitsilano apartment. She was sitting on her floor, still in her work clothes, surrounded by unpacked boxes and a half-eaten bowl of cold poutine, when a heavy, rhythmic knock sounded at her door.

She opened it to find a sight that made her brain perform a Hard Reset.

Alexander Collins was standing in the hallway. He was soaked to the bone, his expensive charcoal suit clinging to his frame, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. He wasn't holding an umbrella. Instead, he was lugging a massive, heavy box with the "KitchenAid" logo prominently displayed.

"Mr. Collins?" Abigail gasped. "What are you doing here? The news said the bridges are closing!"

"I... I was in the area," he lied, his teeth chattering slightly. He set the box down with a heavy thud. "I realized my review this morning was... unoptimized. You are a brilliant engineer, Abigail. I shouldn't have questioned your precision over two pixels when your logic is flawless."

He pushed the box toward her. It was a high-end, professional-grade stand mixer in a deep "Cobalt Blue."

"You remembered the baking promise," she whispered, her anger beginning to melt.

"I have high data retention for things that matter," he muttered, looking uncharacteristically shy as he wiped rain from his eyes.

The wind shrieked against the building, a terrifying sound that made the floor vibrate. Abigail looked at the storm, then at the powerful CEO currently shivering in her doorway.

"You can't drive the sedan in this," she said, pulling the door open wider. "The roads are a mess. Come in. I’ll make you something warm, and we can call it an 'Out-of-Office' truce."

Half an hour later, the scene was surreal. Alexander was sitting on her modest sofa, wearing a pair of oversized gray sweatpants and a Seattle Seahawks hoodie he’d borrowed from her "moving" box. He looked completely Unencrypted.

"Is this... the poutine Maya mentioned?" he asked, looking at the dish Abigail had hastily heated up.

"It’s a 'First Class' version," she teased, sitting on the floor across from him. "Homemade gravy. It’s a family recipe my dad taught me back in Seattle. It’s a cure-all for bad days."

As they ate, the professional barriers began to crumble. They talked about the pressure of expectations—how she felt she had to be perfect to prove she belonged, and how he felt he had to be a machine to keep the Collins legacy from cracking.

"I was raised to be a successor, Abigail," he said, staring into his mug of tea. "My childhood was a series of chess matches and private tutors. My mother believed that 'emotional narratives' were a waste of cognitive resources."

Abigail paused. "Wait. Does that mean you’ve never seen a classic animated movie? No Disney? No Pixar?"

Alexander looked at her blankly. "I watched a documentary on the Industrial Revolution when I was six. Does that count?"

Abigail dropped her fork. "Alexander, that is a crime against humanity. We are fixing this right now. It’s part of your 'Culture Fit' training."

She pulled up her streaming account on her laptop and scrolled through the titles. "We’re going with The Lion King. It’s a story about legacy, so you’ll relate, but it’s also... well, you’ll see."

As the opening notes of the "Circle of Life" filled the small apartment, Abigail watched him more than the screen. At first, he sat stiffly, analyzing the animation techniques. But as the story progressed—as Mufasa fell and Simba cried out into the gorge—Abigail saw the final c***k in his armor.

Alexander wasn't just watching; he was gripped. His jaw was tight, and his eyes were wide. In the dim light of the apartment, as the cyclone roared outside, the most powerful man in the city looked like a boy seeing magic for the first time.

He looked over at her, his expression raw and completely open. "He's... he's all alone now," he whispered, his voice thick. "He has no one to show him the way."

"He has his friends," Abigail said softly, reaching out to take his hand. "And he has the strength his father gave him. He just has to find it."

Alexander didn't pull away. He squeezed her hand, his palm warm and real. For the first time, he wasn't a CEO, and she wasn't a Junior Engineer. They were just two variables that had finally found their place in the same equation.

"Abigail," he said, turning toward her as the movie credits began to roll. "Thank you for... for the 'unpretentious' evening."

"Anytime, Grandpa Shark," she whispered.

He didn't correct her this time. He just leaned closer, the storm outside forgotten, as the silence in the room became the most important line of code they had ever written.