Chapter Three — Words We Don’t Say
1319 Words
Lana’s POV
I used to think silence was peaceful. Now, it felt like a language I no longer understood.
The office was quiet except for the faint rhythm of my heartbeat that seemed to echo louder every time I caught sight of him. Daniel Hart, my new boss, my old almost-everything.
But no matter how much I tried to act unfazed, my heartbeat had other plans.
Every morning, I’d walk past his glass office, pretending not to notice the way he always looked up at the exact moment I passed. It was like a dance neither of us admitted we were still doing.
“Hey, dream girl,” said Harper — Daniel’s assistant — leaning on my desk with a teasing smile. “You’ve been staring at the same spreadsheet for twenty minutes. Should I call a therapist?”
I blinked, laughing nervously. “I’m fine. Just… processing data.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Data, huh? Is that what we’re calling the CEO these days?”
“Harper!” I hissed, glancing toward Daniel’s office. Thankfully, the door was closed.
She chuckled and lowered her voice. “Relax. He’s in a board call. But seriously, Lana..what’s the story there? You two look like you’ve shared a secret or ten.”
I forced a casual shrug. “We went to college together. That’s all.”
Her grin widened. “And now you work for him. Sounds like the setup for a workplace romance novel.”
If only she knew.
---
By the time the sun went out, the office had emptied out, leaving only the sound of typing and the low hum of air conditioning. I’d stayed late, trying to complete the presentation Daniel had requested. An idea for expanding Extra International’s online French program.
Funny how life worked. I learnt French to forget him. Now, I was using it to impress him.
I was packing up my laptop when I heard the sound of his office door open. My breath stopped — a ridiculous, instinctive reaction I hated myself for.
“Still here?” he asked, his voice warm but calm, like the years hadn’t touched it.
I turned to face him. “Just finishing the slides for tomorrow’s meeting.”
He nodded, stepping closer, the dim light catching the edges of his face. “I was just about to review that presentation myself. Mind if I take a look?”
There was no reason to say no. But my heart gave me a thousand reasons to hesitate.
“Sure,” I managed, pulling the file back up on my screen.
He moved behind me, leaning over slightly to see the monitor, close enough that I could feel the quiet steadiness of his breath. His cologne was faint, familiar which brought back memories.
“You used the frameworks we created in college,”
I froze. “You remember that?”
His tone softened. “You really think I’d forget the night we came up with it? You drew that ridiculous mind map on a pizza box.”
I laughed before I could stop myself. “You said it was genius.”
“It was.” His voice lowered. “So were you.”
The air between us was thickened, intensed and shaky.
For a moment, it wasn’t the sleek New York office that surrounded us. It was the old campus library, the quiet hum of aspirational warmth running across every late-night study session.
I took a slow breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “You’ve done amazing things with Extra International, Daniel. You built something real.”
He smiled faintly, eyes on the city outside. “It started with a dream. And with you.”
My heart stuttered. “You mean… with us.”
He didn’t answer right away. His gaze met mine..soft, searching, dangerous. “You left, Lana.”
There it was. The sentence that had lived between us for a decade.
“I had to,” I whispered. “You know that.”
He nodded slowly. “I know. But knowing doesn’t make it easier to forget.”
Silence stretched again.
I wanted to tell him everything, how Paris had been lonely without him, how I’d tried to fill the empty spaces with words that never quite fit. But all I said was, “Some things aren’t meant to be forgotten.”
He took a step closer, his hand brushing mine on the desk that sent a shock of warmth up my arm. “You still think in French when you’re nervous.”
My eyes widened. “How—”
He smiled. “You used to whisper vocabulary lists under your breath during exams. You’re doing it again.”
I hadn’t even realized I was. Mon cœur, calme-toi (My heart, calm down)
“I should go,” I said quickly, closing my laptop.
“Lana—”
“Goodnight, Daniel.”
I walked toward the elevator before I could lose my nerve. The doors closed with a soft click, but his voice lingered — low, regretful, full of unsaid things.
“Goodnight,” he whispered, almost to himself.
---
The next morning, the meeting went flawlessly. Or at least, I thought it did.
Daniel stood at the head of the long conference table, composed as ever, while I presented the new French learning expansion plan. He didn’t interrupt once — just watched, his eyes giving nothing away.
When it ended, the board members applauded.
“Well done, Ms. Moreau,” said one of the directors. “You clearly understand the soul of the brand.”
“Thank you,” I replied, glancing at Daniel. His expression was unreadable — somewhere between pride and nostalgia.
After the room emptied, he stayed behind.
“You were brilliant,” he said quietly.
“Thanks,” I said, reaching for my notes. “I was nervous.”
“I could tell,” he teased gently. “You were speaking half in English, half in French.”
I laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Old habits.”
“Good ones,” he said softly. “They make you… you.”
That look again — the one that made me forget where I was.
He leaned against the table, folding his arms. “Can I ask you something?”
I hesitated. “Depends what it is.”
“Why now?” His voice was low, genuine. “Why come back?”
I took a deep breath. “Because I missed home. Because I missed… the language.”
He studied me for a moment, like he could see through the half-truth. “And that’s all?”
“Should there be more?”
His smile was faint. “Maybe there used to be.”
Before I could respond, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and sighed. “I have to take this.”
“Of course.” I gathered my things quickly, trying not to show how anxious I was.
As I turned to leave, he called after me. “Lana?”
“Yeah?”
He hesitated. “Don’t disappear again.”
My breath caught. “I’m not planning to.”
But as I walked away, part of me knew that staying would be harder than leaving ever was.
---
That night, I found myself on my balcony, city lights flickering below like restless stars. I opened my laptop, intending to work, but my fingers hovered over a blank document instead.
Dear Daniel, I typed, then deleted it.
I tried again. There’s so much I never said.
Delete.
I closed the screen and leaned back, staring at the sky. Paris had its lights, but New York had its ghosts — and one of them had brown eyes and a smile I still couldn’t forget.
I whispered into the night, a confession meant for no one.
“Maybe we never stopped speaking the same language after all.”
- Writer
