BEHIND THE MASK

Aria Crown stared at her laptop and read the same paragraph for the fourth time. “No. This still doesn’t sound right,” she muttered. She moved the cursor to the beginning and started again. Writing was usually easy for her, but some days, even one sentence could give her trouble. Today was one of those days. She checked the time at the corner of her screen. 11:47 a.m. She had been working on the article for almost two hours. It was meant to introduce a collection of business memoirs that Hartwell Publishing was considering. The assignment was not especially difficult, but Aria wanted to get it right. She took her work seriously. She had worked hard to get where she was, and she wasn’t going to let carelessness ruin it for her. At twenty-three, she knew that getting a good opportunity was one thing. Keeping it was another. Writing was more than just a job to her. She liked taking an idea and turning it into something people could read and understand. Even when she struggled to find the right words, she enjoyed the process. “Aria!” She barely heard the voice. “Aria Crown!” A hand tapped the desk, making her look up. Mia stood in front of her with a paper bag in one hand and a look that told Aria she was about to be scolded. “Are you planning to sit here all day?” Mia asked. Aria blinked. “Good morning to you too.” “It’s almost noon.” “And?” “And you’ve been sitting here since you came in. You ignored my messages, refused breakfast, and walked past me twice without even saying hello.” “I was working.” “I can see that. I think your laptop is about to become part of your body.” Aria laughed. “You’re being dramatic.” “Maybe. Now, eat.” Mia put the paper bag on the desk and pulled a chair closer. Inside was a sandwich, a bottle of juice, and a packet of biscuits. “You bought lunch for me?” Aria asked. “No, I bought it for the ghost sitting beside you. Of course it’s for you.” Aria smiled. “Thank you.” “You’re welcome. Close the laptop.” “Let me finish this paragraph.” “Aria.” “Five minutes?” Mia folded her arms and stared at her. Aria looked at the screen, then at her friend. She saved the document and closed the laptop. “Happy now?” “Very.” Mia pushed the sandwich toward her. They ate and talked about little things. Mia told her about a colleague who had borrowed her favourite pen and still hadn’t returned it. She described the whole thing as if the pen had been stolen from a bank. Aria laughed. “It’s just a pen, Mia.” “It was a good pen.” “You can buy another one.” “That’s not the point.” “What is the point, then?” “The point is that people should return things they borrow.” Aria shook her head, still smiling. Mia could make even the smallest problem sound serious. Aria liked that about her. Mia had a way of making ordinary days feel lighter. After a while, Mia’s expression changed. She looked at Aria more closely. “So, how are you really?” Aria paused. “I’m fine.” “That’s not what I asked.” “Then why ask if you already know what I’m going to say?” “Because I know you.” Aria put the sandwich down. Mia leaned back in her chair. “You’ve been working too much lately. You’re always tired, and every time I ask you to go somewhere, you say you have something to finish. Do you even know how to rest?” “I rest.” “When?” “When I sleep.” “That doesn’t count as taking a break, Aria.” Aria smiled a little. “My job pays my bills. I have to do it.” “I know. I’m not asking you to stop working. I just want you to have a life outside this office.” “I have a life.” “Name three things you did for fun last week.” Aria opened her mouth, then stopped. Mia raised her eyebrows. “Exactly.” “You’re enjoying this too much.” “Someone has to look after you.” Aria laughed, and Mia smiled too. They had been friends long enough for Mia to notice when something was bothering her, even when Aria tried to hide it. Mia could be nosy, but she cared, and Aria knew that. For a moment, Aria turned toward the window. Outside, cars moved along the busy road while people hurried past the buildings. The city was loud and busy, as usual. Sometimes, watching other people go about their day made Aria wonder about her own past. She had grown up in foster care and had few clear memories of her parents. There were small pieces of childhood she could still remember, but they never gave her the full picture. Sometimes she remembered a woman’s voice humming. Other times, she had a faint memory of being held by someone whose face she couldn’t clearly recall. She didn’t know whether those memories were complete or if her mind had filled in some of the gaps over time. When she was younger, she had asked questions about her parents. She wanted to know who they were, what had happened to them, and why she had grown up without them. But the answers she received were often short or unclear. Sometimes, people simply changed the subject. After a while, she stopped asking so many questions. She didn’t stop caring. She just got tired of seeing people look at her with pity or avoid her eyes when she brought it up. As she grew older, she focused on school, work, and building a life for herself. She learned to depend on herself and found comfort in books. Later, writing became another way to deal with thoughts she couldn’t easily explain. She still wondered about her parents, but she tried not to let the questions take over her life. “Where did you go?” Mia asked. Aria turned back. “What?” “You went quiet again.” “I was thinking.” “About what?” “Nothing important.” Mia watched her for a moment but didn’t press her. For all her questions, she knew when to leave something alone. “Fine,” she said. “But you’re coming out with me this weekend.” Aria gave her a doubtful look. “Am I?” “Yes.” “Where are we going?” “Somewhere that doesn’t have a laptop, an office, or a deadline.” “That sounds suspicious.” “It should. I’m planning to rescue you from your boring life.” “My life is not boring.” “You had coffee for breakfast yesterday.” “I was busy.” “And the day before?” “Busy.” “And last week?” Aria laughed. “Are you keeping records of what I eat?” “Somebody has to. If I leave you alone, you’ll start living on coffee and deadlines.” Before Aria could answer, Mia’s phone rang. She checked the screen and stood up. “I need to take this. Don’t open that laptop until you’ve finished eating.” “Yes, ma’am.” “I’m serious.” “So am I.” Mia gave her a look that said she didn’t believe her, then walked away to answer the call. Aria finished her sandwich and reached for the small notebook beside her laptop. She always kept one with her to write down ideas, interesting phrases, or anything she thought might be useful for a story. She flipped through the pages. There were notes about possible characters, a few lines of dialogue, and descriptions of places she had seen. On one page, she found a sentence she had written some time ago: What if the truth about your past is nothing like the story you’ve been told? Aria read it twice. She couldn’t remember exactly when she had written it. Maybe it had been an idea for a story. She often wrote down thoughts without deciding what to do with them later. Still, the sentence stayed in her mind for a moment. She closed the notebook and put it back beside her laptop. She had enough real work to finish without turning every thought into a question about her own life. “Aria!” Mia called from near the doorway. “I’m going back to my desk. And when you finish that article, take a proper break.” “I will.” “I mean it.” “I heard you the first time.” “Good.” Mia disappeared into the corridor. Aria smiled to herself, opened her laptop, and returned to the article. She read the paragraph again, changed a few words, and continued writing. This time, the sentences came more easily. She settled into her work, focused on the words in front of her, and soon forgot about the time. For the moment, that was enough. She had an article to finish, a friend who cared about her, and a quiet determination to make something of herself.