A Year After Us

Episode 5

Cate’s POV

The smartest move I made this week? Avoiding the cafeteria.

Even though I was hungry, I grabbed crackers from my drawer and quietly munched on them between code reviews. I had a feeling that sixth sense women have — that if I went out, we’d run into each other.

And I was right to be cautious.

Minutes later, Ali poked her head into our room. “Girl. He’s outside.”

Boom. Confirmed. Karl Cavin Tan is somewhere within twenty feet of my digestive system.

“Nope,” I said, waving her off. “I’m not ready for eye contact and small talk.”

“Come on, aren’t you even a little curious—?”

“Nope. I’m productive.”

Ali sighed, but didn’t push.

I kept typing, focused on UI integration — or at least pretending to be.

Then the email arrived.

Subject: Project Milestone Phase 2 – Assigned Collaboration Pairings

From: Project Manager

Hello Team,

To streamline coordination and technical handoffs, the following pairings are assigned:

Cate Mante (Lead Developer) with Karl Tan (Field Engineer)

Paolo with Jerome

MJ with Lyra

I didn’t even finish reading the rest.

What. The. Hell.

Ali, who had just returned with iced coffee, looked over my shoulder.

Her eyebrows shot up. “Uhm... fate wants you to heal fast, I guess?”

“This isn’t healing,” I muttered, pushing my chair back. “This is... torture.”

I marched straight to our project manager’s desk.

“Sir... is it possible to reassign?” I asked, trying to sound composed.

He looked up from his laptop. “Hi Cate, I understand the concern, but based on field alignment and data protocols, it makes the most sense. It’s not permanent — just for this phase.”

“Right. Okay. Got it.” I forced a smile.

Inside, I was screaming.

Back at my desk, I slumped into my chair.

Karl and I.

One task.

One room.

One week.

And I could already feel the cracks forming beneath my calm exterior.

God help my professional boundaries.

We booked one of the mid-sized huddle rooms. Neutral ground. Whiteboard, two chairs, and just enough space to pretend we were fine.

I arrived early, opened my laptop, and plugged in the layout plans — praying he’d be late.

He wasn’t.

“Hey,” he said as he walked in.

I didn’t look up. “We have a lot to cover, Karl.”

He took the seat across from me in silence. Just the sound of his laptop booting and the soft clack of his keys joining mine. For a while, that was it. Two professionals working.

But the silence?

It wasn’t peaceful — it was charged.

I scrolled through the integration tracker, keeping my tone clinical. “So, the API endpoints for the sensor data — do you have the actual specs from the field?”

He nodded, not meeting my eyes. “Yeah. I’ll send it over.”

I waited.

“Now?” I pressed.

“Oh. Right.” He clicked quickly. “Sent.”

Our fingers nearly touched again when I handed him a printout. And just like before, I felt that quick sting in my chest — the kind that had nothing to do with paper cuts.

Karl cleared his throat. “You still use that pen,” he said, pointing to the old Parker pen next to my notebook. “The one we bought at—”

“I use what works,” I cut in, not blinking. “Can we go back to the endpoints?”

He didn’t speak for a second.

“Sure,” he finally said, his voice a little quieter.

We kept going. Code. Framework. Schedule. Review.

But at one point, he leaned forward and mumbled, “Cate... I—”

“Don’t,” I said instantly, eyes fixed on my screen. “Let’s just finish what we’re supposed to finish.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay.”

By the time the session ended, my brain was mush. Not from the work — from the effort of holding everything in.

I packed up, gave him a brief nod, and walked out of the room without looking back.

Work is work, Cate. Keep it that way.

But as I walked back to my desk, my hands were shaking.

I was halfway there when I realized — my Parker pen wasn’t in my bag.

Wait... did I drop it?

I went back to the huddle room, half-hoping it was still there. And it was — lying perfectly still on the table beside Karl’s empty coffee cup.

I reached for it slowly, as if it might burn me.

My fingers curled around it. Matte black body. Chrome tip. Still smooth, still solid. Still mine.

“Dream pen,” I once called it.

“When I get a Parker pen, I won’t just use it casually,” I once told him.

“Why?” Karl had asked, chuckling. “It’s just a ballpen.”

“It’s not just a pen,” I said, holding the box like it was made of glass. “It’s a milestone. For professionals. For writers. For... serious stuff.”

“Come on,” he teased. “When you land the job you want, we’ll buy this. But I’m using it.”

“Cocky,” I laughed, trying to snatch it. “It’s mine.”

That was months before we fell apart.

The pen stayed with me — even if he didn’t.

I started using it when I got this job — six months after the breakup. Ironically, it became my lucky charm. Every interview, every first day, every signed document — this pen was there.

So now, holding it again, I felt a tangled mix of pain and fondness rise in my chest.

Why does it feel like no matter where I go, pieces of us keep finding me?

I exhaled slowly and slipped it back into my bag.

Focus, Cate. It’s just a pen. A reminder. Nothing more.

But even I didn’t believe that.

I returned to my desk, dropped into my chair, and opened my laptop like nothing had happened. As if my brain wasn’t spiraling.

But my fingers hovered over the keyboard, unmoving.

Ali appeared beside me with iced coffee. “Giiiirl. You okay? You’ve got... ‘defeat vibes’ today.”

“Just tired,” I muttered, avoiding her eyes.

“Uh-huh.” She raised an eyebrow, then leaned on the edge of my desk. “Sooo... how was the legendary awkward collab with Mr. Mining Engineer?”

I gave her a deadpan look. “Professional. Productive. End of report.”

Ali snorted. “So cold, ma’am. Like AC set to 25.”

I couldn’t help but smile a little.

But then her eyes landed on the pen I’d just placed beside my notebook. Her expression softened. “Wait... you’re still using that?”

I glanced at it. “Yeah.”

“You once said you’d never use it unless it meant something,” she said gently. “So why are you using it now?”

I paused.

“I started using it when I got this job,” I said quietly. “Six months after the breakup.”

Ali didn’t say anything at first. She just watched me, no more teasing.

“I thought it would lose meaning eventually,” I added. “But even now... it still feels heavy sometimes.”

Ali reached out and gently squeezed my arm. “Because it’s not just a pen, right?”

I nodded. “It was hope. It was dreams. It was... him.”

Silence again.

Then she smiled softly and handed me the iced coffee. “Here. Soul rescue. On the house.”

I finally let out a laugh — short but real.

“Thanks, Ali.”

“Anytime, Catey. And hey... no matter what happens, I’m on your team. Literally and emotionally.”

That night, I found myself sitting at my small desk at home — lights dim, a single lamp lighting my notebook.

Not my laptop. Not system wireframes.

Just paper. And my Parker pen.

I hadn’t journaled in months. Maybe years. I always told myself I was too busy, too tired. But tonight... the silence needed somewhere to go.

I opened a fresh page and started writing:

Some things, it turns out, wait for you — even when you think you’ve already left them behind.

Like this pen.

Like Karl.

I paused, chewing the cap like I used to when I was deep in thought.

I don’t know why he came back now.

I don’t even know why I’m not angry.

Maybe it’s the shock.

Maybe it’s my heart... forgetting that it promised to forget.

I thought I was okay.

And maybe I am.

But there are still gaps.

Still questions.

And I don’t know if I’m ready for the answers.

I stopped writing.

Closed the notebook slowly, carefully — as if something might spill if I rushed.

Then I reached for the lamp, turned it off, and lay back on my bed.

Staring at the ceiling, I whispered into the quiet:

“Please, God... don’t let this be another beginning just to end again.”