Episode 4: Unseen distance
741 Words
Sharon’s POV
The alarm’s soft buzz dragged Sharon out of a dreamless sleep.
Six missed calls. Three new texts. All from Zack.
Sorry, back-to-back meetings. Call you tonight.
A breath hissed between her teeth—frustration braided with resignation. She loved him, no question. But some mornings it felt like she was in a three-way relationship with his career.
Coffee steamed in her tiny kitchen, untouched as she stared at the color-blocked calendar above her desk. Lectures. Labs. Deadlines. Life was perfectly scheduled—except for the Zack-shaped absence that kept widening.
Another ping.
Emergency at work. Can’t make lunch. Sorry.
She muttered to herself, “Focus on your own life, Sharon,” and grabbed her bag.
---
Campus buzzed with the usual morning chaos. She tried to bury the ache under enzyme pathways and lecture notes, but her mind drifted to Zack’s unread messages.
Vera caught her in the cafeteria, eyes sparkling. “Morning, Sunshine. You look like someone stole your favorite pen—or your boyfriend.”
Sharon managed a thin smile. “He’s just… busy.”
“Busy is code for barely around,” Vera teased, leaning in. “Patience is noble. But how long are you willing to wait?”
Sharon twirled her coffee cup, silent. She loved him. But every missed dinner, every half-hearted text left her a little more invisible.
After class she tried again: Hey, free tonight?
No reply. Call went straight to voicemail.
Finally: Swamped. Maybe tomorrow.
Tomorrow. Always tomorrow.
---
Evening draped the apartment in shadow. The phone rang at last.
“Hey,” Zack said, voice warm but worn. “Meetings, client calls—everything.”
“I get it,” Sharon answered, soft but steady. “I just… miss you.”
“I miss you too. I wish it was different.”
She exhaled, the knot in her chest loosening just enough. She couldn’t control his schedule, but she could own her own life. “Tomorrow, then?”
“Tomorrow,” he promised.
Hopeful words—but they felt like déjà vu.
---
Morning sunlight followed her into the sleek downtown bank. A double debit on her account was the last straw on an already frayed mood.
“There’s an error with my account,” she told the teller. “A transfer went through twice. Please fix it today.”
“Someone will assist you shortly, ma’am.”
Sharon crossed her arms, foot tapping.
The door swung open. A tall man entered like he owned the air—expensive suit, colder eyes. His voice cut through the lobby: “I need to see your manager.”
“Upstairs, first door on the left,” the teller said.
“I said, take me there,” the man replied, low and commanding.
Something in Sharon snapped. “Sir, maybe walk yourself. The stairs aren’t invisible.”
He turned, eyebrow arched. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Some people think the world owes them an escort.”
A flicker of amusement touched his mouth. “Entitlement? You don’t even know who you’re speaking to.”
“I know enough,” she shot back. “Mr. Bad Character. That’s you.”
He stepped closer, a controlled chill in his gaze. “Interesting nickname. Do you hand those out to everyone, or am I special?”
“Only to those who deserve it.”
Static filled the space between them; curious customers peeked over shoulders.
“I insist you retract that,” he said evenly.
“I don’t retract the truth.”
For a beat they held each other’s stare, two immovable forces daring the other to blink.
The teller cleared his throat. “Sir, the manager can see you now. Sharon Light, we’ll handle your issue next.”
Sharon folded her arms. “Enjoy your meeting, Mr. Bad Character.”
The man’s lips curved into a dangerous half-smile. “Name?”
“Sharon Lights.”
He repeated it like a quiet test. “Miss Lights. Consider this… our first encounter.”
Sharon turned on her heel, muttering, “Unbelievable.”
He watched her walk away, intrigue flickering behind the cool exterior. “Oh, believe it,” he murmured.
---
They left the bank fuming for different reasons yet both carried the same spark neither could ignore.
Sharon’s heart, bruised by Zack’s distance, felt an unfamiliar jolt of irritation… and curiosity.
And neither of them knew this accidental collision was only the beginning.
- Writer
