A Kiss to Remember

Chapter 11 — The Things Left Unsaid

Daniel’s POV

Sleep didn’t come easy that night. It never did when she was near.

I stood by the window, the city lights painting streaks of gold across the glass. Somewhere out there, she was probably doing the same..staring out at Paris, pretending she wasn’t thinking about me.

I told myself it was ridiculous to wonder. We were professionals now. Adults. Years apart from who we’d been. But then I’d hear her laugh in my head — soft, a little shy, and every wall I’d built around the past would start to crack.

I built Extra International through hard work, attention to detail, and focus. Those were the things that kept me from falling apart after she left. I’d poured everything into the company. The dream we once talked about. Because it was the only way I knew how to hold on without admitting I still cared.

And now she was here, walking the same halls, breathing the same air, asking questions she didn’t know the answers to.

When she looked at the wall in the office earlier..at our old words, “Someday, words won’t just translate, they’ll connect people,” I saw it hit her. The realization. The memory.

I’d told her she was the reason I started this, but that wasn’t the whole truth.

I wanted to tell her then. That I hadn’t stolen the words. That it was always ours. That I’d built

everything on what we’d dreamed together.

But I couldn’t. Not yet.

Because how do you tell someone that the biggest thing you’ve ever achieved still belongs to them?

I turned away from the window and sat down at the desk, opening my laptop. A dozen unread messages blinked on the screen, but I didn’t read any of them.

Work didn’t matter tonight.

Instead, I opened the old folder I’d kept buried in my drive. Project E. The original logo designs. The early sketches. Notes written in her handwriting from a decade ago.

I scrolled through them slowly, as if they were old photos of someone I wasn’t supposed to miss anymore.

One of the files was still named “Blueprints for Later.” I remembered her laughter when she’d typed that name.

“We’ll build it later,” she’d said, “when we’re older, smarter, and not broke.”

Well. I’d done it.

Older, maybe smarter. Definitely not broke.

But none of it felt complete.

I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my temples. The world thought Extra International was mine. But if Lana ever asked me the truth, I didn’t know if I’d be able to lie.

There was a knock on my door — light, uncertain.

I froze. It was late. Too late for anyone to be visiting.

When I opened the door, no one was there. Just an envelope on the floor, slid under the frame.

I picked it up. The paper smelled faintly like her perfume.

Inside was a note, written in neat handwriting:

You once said the hardest thing in life is staying silent when you have something to say. I think I finally understand what you meant.

No name. No explanation. But I didn’t need one.

I held the note for a long time, the words blurring a little. Then, quietly, I folded it and placed it on the desk, next to the first logo we’d ever sketched.

Ten years, and the story wasn’t finished.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t want it to be.

I leaned back again, the city lights flickering against the window.

Tomorrow, I’d find her. Not as her boss. Not as the man behind the company she thought I stole. Just as Daniel — the boy who once believed in building something that would last.

I opened my laptop again. The cursor blinked in the empty message box of her contact, the same number I hadn’t deleted all these years.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Are you awake?

Three simple words. But I didn’t press send.

Instead, I watched the screen glow softly in the dark until it faded to black.

Sometimes silence says enough.