Matio Rodriguez
It had been five days since I left Akika.
Five days since, I walked away from Sara without touching her, without saying anything real.
Five days since I let her look at me with those eyes and gave her nothing in return.
Paris had become background noise.
I showed up to meetings. I nodded when needed. I stared out of windows like the answers were hidden in the skyline.
They weren’t.
The answer was 5,700 miles away, probably brushing flour off her hands, baking muffins no one was eating but her.
And I missed her like hell.
But I didn’t call.
Because Paris wasn’t just a business trip.
It was my excuse.
My escape.
From her.
From myself.
Samir was the only person who could read it on my face.
He slammed the folder down during our lunch meeting and said, “Are you
