Dreams Whispers

Sunlight crept through the narrow slit between the curtains, pale and unforgiving. Emma groaned as the alarm pierced the quiet, its insistence dragging her from a dream she couldn’t quite remember—only the lingering sense that someone had been there with her. She silenced it with a slap of her hand and lay still. Her eyes traced the cracks in the white ceiling. The room was pristine, almost sterile. Nothing out of place. Nothing unnecessary. It was the kind of order she relied on, the kind that kept her thoughts from wandering too far—especially to places that hurt. “Emma! Are you awake?” her mother’s voice cut through the hallway. Emma swallowed. “Yeah. I’m up.” The door opened without waiting for an invitation. Her mother stepped inside, arms crossed, gaze sharp and assessing. “You should’ve been up fifteen minutes ago. You know how important punctuality is,” she said. Her eyes flicked to the white blouse draped over a chair. “And don’t wear that one. The navy blouse is much more professional.” Emma pushed herself upright, rubbing her temples. “I was going to iron it.” “No. Navy,” her mother said, lips pressed thin. “You want your boss to take you seriously, don’t you? And please eat something real today. Not just coffee. Oatmeal. Fruit. You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Emma nodded, the familiar tightness settling in her chest. She didn’t argue. She rarely did. Once the door closed, Emma let out a slow breath. She dressed automatically, buttoning the navy blouse as if it were armor, then stepped outside into the crisp morning air. The city moved relentlessly around her—heels clicking on the pavement, coffee cups steaming, conversations half-heard and forgotten. Emma blended into it all, another woman on her way to work. But her mind lagged, tethered to a single name she hadn’t let herself say out loud in days. Adam. By the time she reached her desk, her phone was already beside her keyboard, the screen dark. She didn’t unlock it. She already knew there was nothing there. She scrolled through project boards and material samples, trying to focus. Colors blurred together. Patterns lost their meaning. Maya, Emma's coworker and friend, leaned against the cubicle partition. “Have you finished the design yet?” Emma nodded absently. “Almost.” Maya studied her for a moment. “You okay?” “I’m fine,” Emma said quickly—too quickly. Her leg bounced beneath the desk as her eyes flicked to the doorway, then back to her phone. Every buzz from nearby desks made her heart stutter. Every minute that passed without a notification tightened something painful in her chest. She hadn’t meant for it to happen—this quiet obsession. Adam had simply been there that night, long after everyone else had gone home. Calm. Kind. Willing to stay. He had sat beside her, sleeves rolled up, pointing out alternatives, listening to her ideas like they mattered, without asking for anything for himself; he had helped the brunette deliver her design before the deadline. Emma bought him his favorite chocolate as a thank-you; the way he smiled at her had stayed with her longer than it should have. Their messages had come easily after that. Teasing. Comfortable. Intimate in a way that didn’t need grand gestures. When he asked her out for breakfast, she had stared at her phone for a full minute before answering, afraid her excitement would somehow leak through the screen. The date itself had been awkward—sweetly so. Nervous laughter. Avoided eye contact. Fingers brushing by accident and lingering just a second too long. Emma remembered the warmth of his presence at the small café table, the way the world felt quieter around him. She had walked away that morning feeling hopeful. Open. Dangerous things. Now, two weeks of silence stretched between them like a bruise, as if the past month had been nothing for Adam, no text or call, “He’s not going to call,” Maya said gently, breaking into her thoughts. Emma looked up. “You don’t know that.” Maya sighed. “I just don’t want you waiting for someone who isn’t waiting for you.” Emma turned back to her phone, jaw tight. She hated how true it sounded. Hated how much it hurt anyway. Her phone rang suddenly. Her breath caught—hope flaring instantly—only to collapse when she saw the name. Ray. “Could you come here for a moment?” her boss asked. “Yeah,” Emma said, forcing steadiness into her voice. She stood, smoothing her blouse, her heart already racing for an entirely different reason. Ray had always been the kind of manager Emma respected without fear. He never raised his voice, never hovered over shoulders, never made authority feel like a threat. Instead, he paid attention—in ways that mattered. Ray’s office door closed behind her with a soft click that sounded far too final. His office was warm and orderly, sketches and framed designs lining the walls. He looked up when she entered, offering a small, reassuring smile—one he always gave before conversations that mattered. “Have a seat,” he said. Emma did, nerves creeping in despite herself. “Is everything okay?” Ray leaned back slightly, hands folded. “First, I want you to know this isn’t a conversation about effort. Or talent.” Her shoulders eased just a fraction. “You’re one of the most consistent designers on my team,” he continued. “Your eye for balance and your attention to detail are exceptional. I’ve said that before, but I want to be clear.” Emma nodded, the tension in her shoulders loosening beneath Ray’s steady reassurance. Work, at least, followed rules she understood. It asked for clarity, commitment, precision—things she could give without hesitation. Whatever unraveled elsewhere, she refused to let it seep into this part of her life. The thought of asking for time off surfaced briefly, then dissolved. Ray was watching her with quiet confidence, the kind that assumed she would rise to whatever came next. She didn’t want to disappoint that faith—or admit how easily distraction could slip in through an unanswered message. “I’m not sure what to say,” Emma said, a soft, uncertain laugh slipping out. Gratitude felt too small for the space his words occupied. “Thank you.” Ray nodded once, then continued, as if this trust were already settled. “There’s something else. A new project.” The effect was immediate. Emma straightened, interest sharpening her focus like a lens pulled into alignment. New work always did that—gave her something solid to build, something that responded when she reached for it. “Mr. Collins came to me this morning,” Ray said. “Asked for the best designer we have. I told him it was you.” “Mr. Collins?” Emma repeated in disbelief. “Yes.” Her eyes drifted to the wall behind Ray’s desk, to the company name displayed in bold, deliberate lettering: Collins for Designs.