Can't get over you

Chapter 6

Sunday morning rolled in soft and slow, with a kind of gentleness I hadn’t felt in a long time. The sky was pale blue outside my window, the sun slipping in like it was being cautious not to wake me too harshly.

My fingers hovered over greys and blacks until they landed on a mustard-yellow wrap dress. It felt brave. Like I was inviting joy. I paired it with gold hoops, soft curls, a swipe of gloss, and low heels. Something about putting effort into myself again made me feel less like a ghost.

I stood in front of my wardrobe longer than usual. Today mattered. I wanted to feel like I was becoming myself again.

Layla: Bloom Garden Café. 11:30. Come hungry. And fabulous. Mimosas are callin’.

I grabbed my bag and headed out.

"Well, look who it is!" Layla stood at the café entrance, arms wide open, grinning like I was sunlight.

I laughed and walked straight into her hug.

"You look like a damn goddess," she whispered, squeezing me. "This color? On you? Obsessed."

"You look amazing too," I said. "I missed this. I missed you."

"Of course you did," she winked, dragging me inside. "Come. Let’s drown our trauma in syrup and bottomless mimosas."

We ordered like queens. French toast, eggs, avocado, pancakes, everything.

My phone buzzed.

"Okay," I muttered to no one. "Let’s not overthink it."

"So," she leaned forward, chin in hand, eyes mischievous. "How’s your heart?"

I raised a brow. "You’re really starting with that?"

"Obviously. You’ve been dodging me for weeks."

"Yeah, but she’s back. Even if she’s limping a little."

She grinned. "But seriously. I missed this version of you. The sarcastic, beautiful one who doesn’t apologize for taking up space."

"My eyes softened. "She kind of disappeared for a while."

"Thank you."

"It’s... tired. Not broken. Just worn."

She gave me a look. "You crumbled. You didn’t break. That’s a difference."

We burst into laughter.

"Don’t get soft on me," she warned, tossing a piece of croissant at me.

"I actually wanted to ask you something."

"Honest answer. I like it."

"Remember when we used to sit behind the library, talking about our dream lives?"

"Yes! Paris, art galleries, mysterious men with emotional intelligence."

I smiled. "What about you? Still pretending to like that guy who writes poems about clouds?"

I choked on my mimosa. "Stop!"

"Girl, I dropped him two weeks ago. I need a man who can talk about healing trauma, not just weather metaphors."

"And we got bills, burnout, and men who ghost after three months."

"Deal. Just logistics. Thank you, Farah."

"There’s this charity fundraiser I’m working on. Women recovering from domestic abuse. I could really use your help."

"You’re not going to make me do a PowerPoint, right?"

"I know. I know. But you’re organized, and I need someone who doesn’t crumble under pressure."

I sighed. "Fine. But I’m not doing any speeches."

"Exactly. Let’s get started."

Monday. First day.

I adjusted my blouse in the mirror and tried to calm the jitters crawling under my skin. I whispered to my reflection, "You’re not an imposter. You’re ready."

When I walked into the office, Leon was already by the elevator.

"There she is! You clean up well."

He shot me a quick wink before weaving through the rows of desks, walking until he was completely out of view.

"Here’s your desk. You’ll be sitting near Maya and Josie. Josie handles media buying; Maya’s in charge of graphics. Don’t let Maya’s silence fool you. She’s savage."

"Good to know," I said, logging into my system.

"You’ve got a few campaigns to observe this week. Mostly onboarding. Oh, and if you ever need to cry, the third bathroom stall is the official sob chamber."

I snorted. "Thanks for the heads up."

"You’re just happy to have someone else to blame things on now."

Lunch came, and Leon joined me, sipping coffee, sorting through documents.

"Doyouvolunteeroften?" he asked.

"Yeah. My friend’s organizing it. It’s for women rebuilding their lives."

"That’s amazing. Events like that make a real difference."

"Can’t. I’m already helping with one this week."

"I’m just helping behind the scenes. Definitely not a spotlight kind of girl."

"I sighed. Spoke too soon. Looks like I’ve got a prep meeting."

Layla: Reminder: team meeting tonight. 6:30. Come meet your fellow stress buddies.

"There’s a fundraiser happening next week. Might be cool to attend."

"Why?"

"Tickets, I’m your guy."

"Really?"

"Have fun!"

The hall was warm with soft lighting and familiar chaos. People were gathered around tables, the group moved on quickly, diving into logistics. I answered questions, made notes, forced my brain to stay present.

"Farah!" Layla waved me over. "Over here."

I slid into the seat beside her.

"There’s one more person coming. Sponsor guy. He owns some tech firm."

"No. Maybe. We’ll see."

She leaned in closer, her voice just above a whisper. "Aaron’s handling the finances. Should be here soon."

I swallowed, trying to sound casual. "Aaron who?"

The silence stretched.

My fingers stilled over the paper. My breath caught just for a second.

And then I heard it.

The words cut through the background noise like a siren.

‘Sorry’.

Layla glanced at me for the briefest second—just long enough for her to mouth the words.

The door clicked.

I turned instinctively, eyes fixed on the entryway like I could will the universe to spare me.

No. It can’t be him. There must be a dozen Aarons in this city. Maybe more. It’s a common name. A coincidence. Just a coincidence.

But my chest tightened anyway, the sudden weight of dread setting low and heavy. My focus was scattered, nerves humming beneath my skin from everything else going on.

Then.

He looked around. Then his eyes landed on me.

"Aaron."

And just like that, my past walked right through the door in a tailored suit.

Of course it was that Aaron.

"Layla," he said. "Good to see you."

She straightened, her voice switching effortlessly into her polished, professional tone.

"Ah, Mr. Radcliffe," she said, offering a graceful smile. "Nice of you to join us."

"Aaron’s our main sponsor."

"Farah," he said, low.

I looked up slowly. Forced a polite smile.

"Inodded. "Yeah. It’s... been a while."

"You two know each other?" someone asked.

He didn’t look away. "We go way back."

But I could feel him. Watching me.

And every time, I looked away first.

Haunting my new beginning.

And I wasn’t sure if I could bear it.