Through Time, For You.

There was something awfully wrong about today. And it was not an “end-of-the-world” wrong. It just felt off… The kind of off that felt like your chest was tightening, and your stomach kept twisting. Like the universe was playing a sick joke on you. The sky was a stormy gray. My blouse didn't wrinkle like it always did after getting out of my car. And Tammy – even Tammy – barely said a word to me like she normally did whenever I passed her desk. Even her smile had dimmed a little and her signature slick ponytail was a little undone – like she had redone it too many times under stress. Weird. The elevator music was too loud – too cheerful and the air smelled faintly of lemon – not the usual peppermint-sanitizer blend. I carried the two cups in silence – one mocha and the other plain black coffee – just how he liked it. The cups jostle as I make my way to my office, but my hands don't shake, at least not yet. My inbox has been hauntingly empty today. No word from him and that same feeling of unease settled in my chest when I passed his office. The lights turned off. Still, I had the coffee – and for now, that was enough. Our routine always went like this: I brought him coffee. He always acted like he didn't notice, and I always acted like I didn't care. It was our unspoken thing. “You don't have to keep doing that, you know,” Tammy had said once. “He can get his own coffee” But he never did and I never stopped. I drop off my coffee and bag at my desk and make a beeline to his office again – coffee in hand. It's unusually quiet as I step in. The cup was trembling in my hand. His chair is slightly turned toward the window, like he’d just stepped away. Sunlight spills across the floor from his floor-to-ceiling window, too bright for a room that felt so empty. I let my hand drift across his polished desk as I made my way around it. There's not a single piece of paper out of place and his mug is gone as well as his laptop – like he'd never been here before. Swallowing, I set the cup down. It looked ridiculous sitting on that huge, untouched desk. I stared at it a little longer before leaving the room, my throat tightening. I don't know why, but I don’t drink mine. You're being dramatic, I tell myself as I go through some files on my laptop. He probably stepped out for a call. Or a meeting. Or something. It's almost ten in the morning when Gina comes by my office. Her chestnut curls are in their usual messy bun, but the smile she throws my way doesn't quite reach her eyes. “Hey. Meeting today at noon.” “Be right there,” I say, unease already creeping up my spine. Still no email from Mr. Harrington. My thoughts drift to Mira, and that ache in my chest deepens. She once told me that people often left silence behind when they were gone – not just absence. But that gut-wrenching silence – the type that clung to walls and made you doubt your own heartbeat. I hated how she was always right about things like that. I still did. This, like most things she said, often stuck with me, drowning me when days like this rolled around. That afternoon, we were all sitting in a too-bright conference room, a buzz of whispers in the air. “Do you know what this meeting is about?” Gina mutters, slipping into the seat to my left. She's in a bright red blazer, probably thrift, probably on purpose. “If it's layoffs, I call dibs on your office chair”, Troy says, without missing a beat. His blue tie is loose, and his legs are stretched out – at least one of us was at ease. She throws him a glare, and he chuckles, knowing that he would get away with it. My thoughts were in a mess by the time William – Mr. Harrington's cousin and CFO walked in. His presence quiets the room. He stands tall, black circles framing his brown orbs. His dark suit is impeccable, fingers curling around the folder he's holding. His eyes do a quick sweep of the room – like he's scanning for expressions. “If I can have your attention please,” he starts – hand sliding into the pocket of his black pants. His voice is soft but somehow, it carries across the room. “I thought Will was in London” Gina whispers, surprise lacing her voice. “Yeah, no shit.” There's an edge to Troy's voice now. “And I don't see Mr. Harrington around either” My chest tightens. Guess it wasn't just me who noticed then. “Thank you all for being here under short notice,” his usual calm seems… forced. "Mr. Harrington passed away early this morning. His eyes scanned the room once more until they landed on me, “The circumstances are… private for now, but we'll update everyone when it's appropriate.” There's a subtle ringing in my ear, but I don't react. It's like I've been shoved underwater – muffling everything. Like my body hadn't gotten the memo yet, even though my mind was screaming at me to breathe. One second. Two. When Gina squeezes my fingers, I gasp – quick, shallow, useless breaths. But the words didn't stop echoing in my head. They echo louder, again and again – Dead. Mr. Harrington is dead… And his coffee still sat on his desk – untouched.