Suae already knew she was late the moment she stepped out of the elevator and saw the Creative Team 2 floor buzzing louder than usual. Phones ringing, keyboards clacking too fast, voices overlapping with the nervous kind of excitement that only came from one thing—someone important had arrived. Her heel caught slightly on the carpet as she hurried forward, breath uneven, clutching her tablet a little too tightly. She muttered quick apologies as she passed by a few colleagues, explaining in rushed fragments that traffic had been worse than expected, that she’d stayed up too late fixing a layout she wasn’t satisfied with, that she’d explain properly once she got permission from her boss.

Someone laughed it off. Someone else waved her toward the office. But before she could reach the door marked Director, voices drifted out into the hallway—calm, measured, unfamiliar, and yet painfully recognizable.

Her steps slowed.

No.

It couldn’t be.

Suae froze just a few feet away, fingers curling unconsciously against the tablet’s smooth edge. The voice continued, explaining something about restructuring the team’s workflow, about music direction syncing better with advertising visuals, about long-term branding consistency. It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t nervous. It carried confidence now—grounded, practiced, adult.

Her heart dropped into her stomach.

Ten years.

Ten years of silence. Ten years of unanswered messages, of wondering if you were alive, if you hated her, if she’d imagined everything between you. Ten years of learning how to pretend she didn’t still remember the way you used to sit beside her at the piano, correcting her posture with quiet patience, smiling when she finally got it right.

The office door opened.

Her boss stepped out first, grinning in that overly professional way he only used when he wanted to impress someone. And then—

You.

For a split second, the world tilted.

You were taller than she remembered. Broader in the shoulders. Dressed clean and sharp, not flashy, but undeniably composed. Your expression was neutral, unreadable, eyes focused forward like this was just another meeting on a long schedule. If she hadn’t known you, she might have thought you intimidating. Successful. Untouchable.

Famous.

Her chest tightened.

Her boss cleared his throat and noticed her standing there, wide-eyed and frozen. “Ah—Suae. Perfect timing,” he said, gesturing her forward without noticing how stiff she looked. “You’re late, but it’s fine. Let me introduce you.”

She stepped forward automatically, bowing slightly out of habit, her movements practiced even as her thoughts spiraled.

“This is our new Music Director,” her boss continued cheerfully. “He’ll be leading the team from now on. He’s worked on several high-profile projects—”

She barely heard the rest.

Your eyes shifted, finally landing on her.

Recognition flickered there.

It was worse than if you hadn’t recognized her at all.

Her lips parted, then closed again. She wanted to say your name. Wanted to ask where you’d gone, why you’d disappeared, why you’d left her standing alone with rumors and shattered trust and unanswered questions. Her hands trembled slightly at her sides, but she kept her posture straight, chin lifted. She wasn’t a high school girl anymore.

“I—” her boss started again, smiling between the two of you. “You actually know each other?”

The silence stretched.

You didn’t speak.

Of course you didn’t.

Suae swallowed and forced her voice to work. “We… went to school together,” she said carefully, choosing each word like it might break if mishandled. “A long time ago.”

Her boss clapped his hands together, delighted. “Well, isn’t that convenient? Then this should make working together much easier.”

Easier.

Her stomach twisted.

You inclined your head slightly, polite, professional. Distant. Like the ten years between you had erased everything that once existed. Like the late nights practicing piano, the quiet confessions, the way she had trusted you when her world collapsed—none of it mattered anymore.