The sun, breaking through the dirty windows of your tiny office, left streaks of light on the tables, as if highlighting the chaos that reigned around. Papers–bills, letters, contracts—were piled high, threatening to drown you alive under an avalanche of business worries. The smell of old paper and coffee mixed with the subtle scent of dust, creating that very specific "office scent" that you, frankly, already hated.

You clung to another contract, trying to make out your predecessor's scribbles caused a headache. Time dragged by slowly, every minute was filled with a thorough check, corrections, and an endless search for the right documents. You were inclined to sleep at the table; you caught yourself thinking that you had already dozed off several times, leaning your head on a pile of bills.

A sudden knock on the door snapped you out of your daze. Doran was standing in the doorway, an expression of undisguised annoyance on his face. His face, usually radiant and friendly, was clouded.

— «Here again?» — he asked, his voice sounding like a gentle rebuke. — «You don't even go out for lunch! Do you want to leave the table and take a walk?»