Entangled Fates: SaMo

Chapter 12

[SANA'S POV]

Surrounded by the dim lights in my office, I found myself alone, the rhythmic sound of the janitor's cleaning echoing through the empty corridors. The late hour seemed to merge seamlessly with the shadows that clung to the walls. It had been an insane couple of days, the pressure I placed on myself like a relentless tide, threatening to engulf me.

The weight of expectations pressed heavily on my shoulders; a burden born not just from running the best-selling fashion magazine but also from being the daughter of Minatozaki Minho. Every decision, every success, every failure felt magnified under the spotlight of my heritage. As I stared at the designs scattered on my desk, a noticeable sense of drowning in my own expectations embraced me. The pursuit of excellence, the unabating drive to be better than anyone else, had become both a motivation and a persistent torment. The relentless pursuit of perfection had me teetering on the edge.

The sound of the janitor's mop against the floor served as a stark reminder of the time ticking away. It was in these late hours that I questioned the path I'd chosen. Was this incessant need to prove myself worth the exhaustion? The silence around me only amplified the internal turmoil. Yet, in the midst of the chaos, a flicker of determination burned within. I couldn't let the Minatozaki name define me; I had to define it. The best-selling fashion magazine had to be a testament to my own merit, not just a reflection of my lineage. Summoning my resolve, I delved back into the work, the clacking of the keyboard a rhythmic cadence in the silent office. The pressure remained, but with each decision, I affirmed my capability. The janitor's cleaning persisted, a steady reminder that even in the quietest moments, life moved forward.

As the night wore on, and the pressure continued to mount, I couldn't help but acknowledge the paradox–I was both the architect and prisoner of my own aspiration. In the quiet solitude of the office, I forged ahead, determined to prove that Minatozaki Sana was more than a name; she was a force to be reckoned with, driven not just by legacy but by an unyielding passion for success.

The stern tone of my father's voice sliced through the air, and I knew that this conversation wouldn't be a casual one. He looked at me, concern etched on his face, as he mentioned that someone had voiced worries about my relentless work habits. I instinctively defended myself, insisting that I was doing just fine, that overworking was not an issue. His gaze remained steady, a mix of authority and genuine worry. "Sana, I've heard enough. You can't keep up this pace. Your health is more important than any success or recognition," he admonished. I tried to maintain my composure, asserting my capability to handle the workload. But his words resonated, and a pang of guilt seeped in. The weight of his concern pressed on me, and I found myself nodding silently.

"I want you to go home and get some rest," he continued, his voice softer but unwavering. "Take care of yourself. You don't have to prove anything to anyone. We're here for you, Jihyo and I. Lean on us when you need to." The sincerity in his words struck a chord and I felt a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability. In that moment, the facade of everlasting strength crumbled, and I nodded again, acknowledging that perhaps it was time to heed the advice of those who cared for me. As I left my office, the weight of his words lingered.

Arriving home, I was met with the comforting routine of domesticity. The thought of cooking dinner seemed like an insurmountable task, so I approached one of the maids, politely asking if she could take charge of the evening meal. Grateful for the assistance, I left her in the kitchen and headed upstairs to change into something more comfortable. As I stood before the wardrobe, the array of clothing choices felt overwhelming. Selecting an outfit became a therapeutic process, a small distraction from the chaos within. I settled on a loose-fitting dress, an attempt to ease the tension that lingered beneath my composed exterior. The idea of relaxing by the pool with a good book sounded like the perfect escape. I yearned for moments of tranquility, away from the demands that continuously tugged at my consciousness. With the book in hand, I made my way to the pool area, the gentle breeze promising a reprieve from the suffocating weight of responsibilities.

Lying on the poolside lounger, I immersed myself in the world of words, the narrative providing a shelter from the turmoil within. It was in these moments that I sought solace, a temporary respite from the anxiety that threatened to unravel beneath the surface. As I lost myself in the pages, the aroma of dinner wafted through the air, carried by the breeze. Unbeknownst to me, the maid had prepared a meal, and she called me, but my mind remained ensnared in the narrative. The struggles I faced were concealed behind a veneer of composure, I grappled with the fear of exposing the vulnerability that lingered within.

Eventually, the realization of the dinner call pulled me back to the present. Folding the book shut, I made my way inside, appreciating the effort put into the meal. As I sat down to eat, I couldn't help but ponder the delicate balance between the facade I presented to the world and the silent battles waged within, hidden behind a carefully constructed smile.

Lying on my bed, the weight of grief settled heavily on my chest, and I found myself lost in thoughts of my mother. The ache of missing her gnawed at my heart, and the question of why she had to leave lingered, a haunting refrain with no clear answer. I replayed the memories of her courageous battle against cancer, the determination in her eyes as she fought against an insidious adversary. She endured the pain, the treatments, and the uncertainties with a strength that inspired everyone around her. Yet, despite the valiant struggle, she slipped away, leaving a void that seemed impossible to fill. Recollections of happier times flooded my mind, moments when laughter echoed through the house and her comforting presence wrapped me like a warm embrace. We were more than mother and daughter; we were confidantes, partners in crime, and the closest of friends. The memories were bittersweet, both a salve to the wounds and a reminder of what I had lost.

As I curled into a ball, tears flowed unchecked, a cascade of grief and longing. The pain was raw, the absence palpable, and the unanswered questions echoed in the silence of the room. I yearned to understand why life had taken her away, why the strength she exhibited in the face of an adversary hadn't been enough to grant her the victory. The room felt emptier, the echoes of my sobs reverberating against the walls. In the quiet darkness, I clung to the fragments of her memory, hoping to find solace in the love we once shared. The world seemed colder without her warmth, and I grappled with the unfairness of a reality that had snatched her away too soon. As I wept, memories of her resilience and the bond we forged wrapped around me like a delicate cocoon. In the vulnerability of that moment, I acknowledge the depth of my sorrow and the enduring love that would forever connect us, transcending the boundaries of life and death.

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Sana is definitely going through it ya'll. How are you liking the story so far ONCE? If you have any recommendation, feel free to let me know and I might just add them to the story. Thank you so much to everyone who has been voting. I appreciate you all! :)