Hearts by schedule

The Planning Meeting — Tension in Table Form

They gathered around the oval glass table, sunlight streaming through the slatted blinds, catching the edges of fabric swatches and flicking shadows across the polished surface.

Rihu led with practiced ease, flipping through design decks and budget lines. Apple, in an off-white blouse embroidered with gold thread, sat back cross-legged, happily thumbing through pastel color palettes and lace samples. She offered bright commentary, laughter lightly scattered between her choices.

Art… said nothing.

Until—

> “What about the garden we saw, Arc?”

His voice, quiet — but pointed. Smooth as silk. Sharp as a blade.

Arcon’s spine stiffened. The nickname hit like a memory.

> “It’s a strong option,” he replied, calm but clipped. “You liked it yesterday.”

Art didn’t look away.

> “I still do.”

For a flicker of a second, the air was thick.

Apple caught the shift — her eyes darted between them. A spark of something curious, almost amused, passed through her expression. But she masked it with a smile.

> “As long as I get the final say on my dress,” she said, with a soft laugh, “you two can have your garden romance moment.”

Rihu snorted.

> “Fair trade.”

The meeting continued, ticking boxes. Schedules. Flower preferences. Tableware. But the undercurrent between Art and Arcon remained — invisible, unmistakable.

As it wrapped and Apple lingered behind chatting with a junior planner, Rihu pulled Arcon aside near the exit.

Her voice was low, but direct.

> “Listen… if this is turning into something complicated — or dangerous — I can take over the client. No questions asked.”

Arcon stared at her for a beat, the mask slipping just enough for fatigue to show.

Then, softly:

> “Thanks, Rihu. But I’ve got it.”

He paused. Eyes dark.

“I just need to remember who I’m supposed to be in the story.”

---

BONUS — The Earring

The Night Before – Café Pavement, Soft Magic

Outside the little café after their unexpected hour together, Rihu had laughed at something Apple said, brushing her hair behind one ear.

She hadn’t noticed her gold hoop drop — just as they were leaving.

Later, when Apple returned to grab her forgotten phone charger, she spotted it near the table leg. A delicate thing, still warm from the sun.

She picked it up.

Held it in her palm for a moment.

And then… slipped it into her purse.

She never mentioned it.

Not that night.

Not the next day.

But later — alone in her room — Apple turned the earring over in her fingers, again and again.

As if it held something she didn’t yet understand.

Something small.

Something beginning.