Whispers of the Heart

The elevator chimed, signaling that I had reached the tenth floor. I straightened as the doors slid open, adjusting my black necktie and smoothing down my sleeves. Taking a quiet breath, I stepped out into the hallway, my shoes echoing softly against the floor. This is it. I have a meeting today with the CEO of SHINE Corporation. They’re considering hiring me as the makeup artist for their new boy group, set to debut next month. I immediately noticed the tall figure leaning against the railing. His hair was longer than I remembered. I paused for a moment, as if every memory I had buried came rushing back all at once. Each strand of his hair seemed to reflect the years that had passed, the time we could never take back, and the words left unsaid. Stop it, Lei. You’re here for work. You won’t let yourself fall into that darkness again. I lifted my chin and walked straight toward him, the sound of my heels echoing with every step, reminding me why I was here. “Good morning, Mr. Anderson,” I said as I stopped in front of him. His expression remained unreadable as he lowered his gaze to meet mine. “Good morning, Ms. Ashford. It’s been a long time.” “Should we start the meeting?” I asked, ignoring his comment. He looked away before walking past me. I shook my head slightly and forced my feet to follow him. It may sound cold, even rude, but I don’t want to talk about anything beyond work. It’s not easy to bring together two people carrying the wounds of the past. Maybe silence is the only way we can survive being in the same room again. We walked down the long hallway in quiet. I followed behind him, keeping my distance. His height loomed over me, and his presence felt heavier than I remembered. He had always been composed, but now something about him seemed different, sharper, more defined. I stopped suddenly when we reached the end. He opened the gray door and glanced back, silently signaling for me to go in first. I nodded and stepped inside without a word. I looked around the office. It was neat, exactly his style. Black, gray, and white dominated the space, the same colors that seemed to follow him everywhere. “Please, sit down,” he muttered, gesturing toward the chair without looking up. I sat quietly, my back straight and hands tucked into my lap. “Thank you.” “So, I guess you don’t want to talk about anything aside from work. Let's start, then,” he said, his voice flat as he stared at his laptop. I nodded, matching his tone. “Yes. That’s better.” He didn’t respond right away. He clicked something on the screen, the soft sound filling the space between us. When he turned it, the light hit a row of faces—seven boys, all styled differently, like they’d been pulled from separate concepts and forced into one frame. “They will have their debut in two months,” he said. “As mentioned in the email, we want to bring you on as one of their stylists. You won’t be handling all of them. Just one.” I leaned in slightly, eyes moving across the photos. “How old are they?” I asked. “1997 to 2002.” A small smile slipped through. “That’s good to know.” I looked back at the screen, studying them more closely. I’m a 1999. Close enough to understand where they’re coming from. Close enough to know what would actually suit them. “Alright,” I said, my voice steady. “I’ll do it.” He looked at me for a long moment, expression unreadable, then nodded. “Good,” he said. He swiveled the screen slightly, pointing at the boy I would be focusing on. “This is your responsibility. Make him stand out, but make him belong. He’s the oldest, so balance everything. That’s your job. Nothing else.” I leaned closer, resting my elbows on the desk, eyes scanning the boy’s picture. He shifted slightly, tilting his head, looking unsure in his ill-fitting outfit. I traced the lines of the clothes with my finger over the screen, imagining how they could flow better. “I understand,” I said, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’ll make sure he looks right, like he belongs, but also like himself.” He nodded once. “I’ll send you the full profile tomorrow, and also the concept. Start thinking and sketching. We’re on a tight schedule.” I straightened in my seat and flexed my fingers, feeling the weight of responsibility settle into my chest. My heart picked up pace, a mix of nerves and excitement buzzing through me. I was still staring at the screen when a sharp knock echoed through the office. “Come in,” he said without looking up. The door opened slowly. A familiar blonde woman stepped inside. My chest tightened, and my fingers curled slightly around the edge of the desk. It was her, the girl who had been part of our breakup years ago. Her eyes widened for a moment when she saw me, then she quickly dropped her gaze and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I’m here to remind you about the meeting in thirty minutes,” she said, her voice calm but tight, like she was holding something back. He glanced up briefly. “Noted. I’ll come after this,” he said, returning his attention to the screen. She lingered for a heartbeat, her hand brushing the door frame, then stepped back, closing the door softly behind her. Her presence left a faint echo in the room, and I couldn’t stop my mind from replaying it. I exhaled slowly, forcing my attention back to the screen. He denied the rumors about her, but what was this really about? Maybe it was true. Time will tell. I felt his eyes on me. I looked up and met his gaze directly. “If that’s all, I should go now,” I said, my voice even but firm. He looked away for a moment, hesitation crossing his face. “She’s my secretary,” he finally muttered. “That’s not my business, Mr. Anderson,” I said, standing and sliding my bag over my shoulder. I took a step toward the door, then glanced back once. “Thank you. I’ll work with you soon.”