Forget Me Not

(-SYMMA-) Mia didn’t slow down—not for the revolving doors, not for the employees who scrambled out of her way, and certainly not for the anxious voice trailing behind her...Caroline, her secretary. “Ma’am, the investors are asking if the revised layout—” “Then give them the revised layout,” Mia snapped, not even turning her head. Her heels struck the marble floor in sharp, echoing beats, like a countdown no one else could hear. "No, Ma'am, they're asking if we're gonna change the—" “And tell them if they still have concerns, they can bring it up during the meeting. Not before.” Caroline sighed before nodding her head. “Yes, ma’am.” “Also,” she added, finally stopping just long enough to glance at her anxious secretary, “move the launch to Friday. I want everything finalized before anyone steps foot in our mall.” Caroline nodded quickly, already typing, already falling half a step behind as Mia resumed walking. Around them, the office buzzed—phones ringing, keyboards clattering, voices overlapping—but wherever Mia passed, the noise seemed to dip, like people were instinctively holding their breath. It had been like this for months. Ever since construction on the mall entered its final phase. Fortune Mall is the grandest mall Mia has ever built out of all the enterprises she has, and the most luxurious one. And Mia...doesn't do mistakes and imperfections. Everything, anything, has to be perfect. “Where’s the project manager?” she asked all of a sudden. “In Conference Room B.” “Good. Tell him to have the updated cost projections ready. If I see one more inconsistency—” “You won’t, ma’am.” Mia stopped walking and gave Caroline a short, humorless smile. “We’ll see.” She pushed open the glass doors without waiting, and started the meeting. There was no room for distraction. Not now. Not when everything she’d worked for was finally within reach. Not when failure wasn’t an option. "Let's start?" — At home, Mia's sister, Penny, stood in front of the stove, staring at the pan like it might tell her what to do next. The eggs were slightly overcooked....again. She sighed softly, sliding them onto a plate anyway. It didn’t matter. No one was going to complain. No one ever did. The silence in the house pressed in around her, thick and unmoving. It wasn’t new—it had been like this for a while now—but some mornings, it felt heavier than usual. Like today. Penny carried her plate to the small dining table, sitting in the same chair she always used. Across from her, Mia’s seat remained empty, untouched, as it had been for countless breakfasts before this one. She picked up her fork, hesitated, then set it back down. She sighed. She checked her phone if there's any message from her sister, but nothing came through. So she forced herself to eat a few bites, though she barely tasted anything. Her gaze drifted toward the window, where sunlight spilled in softly, warming the edges of the room but never quite reaching the center. It used to be different. There had been a time where her sister would sit across from her, wearing her pajamas, scrolling through her phone while reminding Penny not to skip meals or stay up too late writing. They were happy, living a simple yet joyful life. Now, the reminders were gone, and so was her sister's presence. Penny finished eating quickly, more out of habit than hunger, and carried her plate to the sink. She washed it in silence, dried it in silence, and left it on the rack where it would stay until tomorrow. Then, without lingering, she headed upstairs. Her room was the only place that still felt like hers. Closing the door behind her, Penny leaned against it for a moment, exhaling slowly. The faint click of the lock sliding into place was soft, but final. The curtains were half-drawn, letting in just enough light to illuminate the organized chaos of her space. Her bedroom was her safe haven...and a mess. Papers filled with scribbled notes covered her desk—some stacked neatly, others scattered in uneven piles, corners bent and edges worn from constant revising. Lines of dialogue, character sketches, plot twists—all fragments of a world she was trying to build. At the center of it all sat her computer screen, already glowing as if waiting for her return. Above her desk, taped carefully against the wall, was a poster she edited herself. "The Blood and the Sword." The title was written in bold, dark letters, surrounded by a fantasy-edited crown covered in edited blood and a blade pointed straight through it. Penny stepped closer, her gaze lingering on it. This is her fourth novel. Fantasy. Written out of her deep resentment for her sister's continual absence. A villain princess, engaged to a crown prince who despises her with every fiber of his being. Penny swallowed, her fingers tightening slightly around the edge of her desk. “It’s just a story,” she murmured, almost like a reminder. Yet she knew, deep inside, the princess is her sister and the prince...was her. She pulled out her chair and sat down, the familiar creak grounding her. Her hands hovered over the keyboard for a moment, hesitant—like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to continue where she left off. Then, slowly, she began to type. The soft tapping of keys filled the room, replacing the silence with something almost alive. Line after line appeared on the screen. The princess stood in the middle of a grand hall, eyes cold, lips curved into a smile that never quite reached her gaze. Around her, while other nobles were dancing, some stare at her unease, some bowed and some avoided her at all—not out of respect, but fear. And somewhere in the shadows, the prince watched silently. Penny paused for a second, staring at the words she had just written. Her reflection faintly stared back at her from the screen. Quiet. Unnoticed. Then she blinked, and it was gone. "Just a story...just a story." She whispered to calm her down as she remembered her sister's absence. She exhaled softly and kept typing. Across the city, Mia was already deep into her business meetings, her voice sharp, her presence commanding, her mind miles away from anything that didn’t involve deadlines and blueprints. Neither of them noticed the distance growing between them....Not yet. But it was there—quiet, steady, and widening with every passing day. And somewhere in that silence, something was beginning... ...something neither of them would be able to ignore for long.