The Picture
664 Words
Sebastian sat behind his heavy oak desk, the late afternoon light slanting across the room in streaks of gold and shadow. His hand moved absently through the drawer, searching for an old contract, but instead, his fingers brushed against something different — cool, worn paper. He paused, pulling it out.
A photograph.
He blinked. It was old, edges curling, colors faded. In it, a boy stood beside a girl with wild hair and bright eyes. Himself and Emily Rivera, years ago, before the weight of the Castillo name had settled on his shoulders, before the careful polish of adulthood had buried who he used to be.
Sebastian stared at the picture far longer than he meant to. There was something about it — about her — that pulled at him. He couldn’t remember everything from that time, not clearly, but the feeling was there. A strange calm, a peace he rarely knew these days. For just a breath, the mask of power slipped away, and he was simply Sebastian. Not the Castillo heir. Not the boss. Just a boy who once had a friend.
He let out a quiet laugh — almost bitter at how easily one picture could undo him — and carefully tucked it back, as though afraid the memory might vanish if he wasn’t gentle with it.
---
Emily Rivera pushed her way through the crowded halls of her college, a stack of notes pressed against her chest. The semester was winding toward its sharpest edge — final exams in two weeks, graduation in two months. The pressure hung over everyone like a storm cloud.
Beside her, Morenike adjusted her backpack straps with a dramatic sigh. “If I see one more anatomy chart, I might scream.”
Emily smiled faintly. “That’s not a good sign for future doctors.”
Morenike laughed, but then her eyes lit up with something else. “Oh! Guess what? I got invited to a gala. The Castillo Gala. Can you imagine?”
Emily froze mid-step. “The… Castillo Gala?” The name dropped into her chest like a stone.
“Mm-hm,” Morenike said, grinning. “I know it’s not really our kind of scene, but come with me. It’ll be fun.”
Emily shook her head quickly. “I’m not really the type for… those things.”
“You’re not the type for anything,” Morenike teased. “That’s the problem.”
Emily tried to laugh, but the word Castillo lingered in her mind, stirring something she didn’t want to touch.
---
“Ladies!” A voice broke through the hallway buzz. Jonathan jogged toward them, law books tucked under one arm, tie hanging loose around his neck.
Morenike threw up her hands. “Finally! The last musketeer arrives.”
Jonathan smirked. “If you’re the brains, and Emily’s the heart, then what does that make me?”
“The trouble,” Emily said dryly, and Morenike burst into laughter.
The three of them fell into their usual rhythm — teasing, sharing stories of professors and deadlines, grumbling about exams. They didn’t have much, but they had each other, and sometimes that was enough to make the weight easier to bear.
---
Later, they slipped into a small restaurant just off campus. The kind of place with checkered tablecloths and steaming plates of food that always felt like home.
Over shared meals, their voices rose and fell with warmth. Jonathan argued about legal cases he’d been studying, Morenike described the guy she’d just met in her literature elective, and Emily listened, chiming in when she could, quietly grateful for the noise, the laughter, the simple comfort of belonging.
For a moment, she could forget about the Castillo name, about the gala invitation, about all the things that made her uneasy. For a moment, she was just Emily.
And somewhere else, in a quiet office filled with shadows, Sebastian held onto a photograph — remembering a girl who once made him feel the same.
- Writer
