Often (Book 1)

Chapter 20

Hanni

Director Cheng and the other members of the scholarship board filed in, greeting me amiably before finding seats. I checked my notes, triple-checked the connection between my laptop and the projector system, and waited for the last few stragglers to make their way into the conference room. Ice clinked in glasses as people poured themselves water. Colleagues spoke to each other in low voices, the occasional louder laugh breaking through the quiet.

Colleagues.

I had never felt so isolated. Mr. Yang hadn't even bothered to show up to the presentation to support me. Big surprise.

This room was so much like another boardroom, in a building seventeen blocks away. I had stood outside Kim Media Tower earlier that morning, silently thanking everyone inside for making me who I was. And then I walked, counting the blocks and trying to ignore the twisting pain in my chest, knowing that Minji wouldn't be in the room with me today, stoic, fondling her cuff links, eyes penetrating my calm exterior.

I missed my project. I missed my coworkers. I missed Minji's ruthless, exacting standards. But mostly, I missed the woman she'd become to me. I hated that I'd felt the need to choose one Minji over the other, and ended up with neither.

An assistant knocked, poking her head in and catching my eye. To Mr. Cheng she said, "I just have a few forms for Hanni to sign first. We'll be right back."

Without question I followed her out the door, shaking my hands at my sides and willing my nerves to disappear. You can do this, Hanni. Twenty measly slides detailing a mediocre five-figure marketing campaign for a local pet food company. Piece of cake.

I just had to get through this, and then I could get the hell out of Chicago and start over somewhere hundreds of miles away. For the first time since I moved here, Chicago felt completely alien to me.

Even so, I was still waiting for the thought of leaving to feel like the right decision.

Instead of stopping at the assistant's desk, we moved on down the hall to another conference room. She opened the door and motioned for me to go in ahead of her. But when I walked in, instead of following, she closed the door behind me, leaving me alone.

Or not alone.

She left me with Minji.

It felt like my stomach evaporated and my chest sank into the hollow space. She stood at the wall of windows at the far side of the room, wearing a navy suit and the deep purple tie I got her for Christmas, holding a thick folder. Her eyes were dark and unreadable.

"Hi." Her voice broke on the single syllable.

I swallowed, looking away to the wall and begging my emotions to stay bottled up. Being away from Minji had been hell. More times a day than I could count, I would fantasize about going back to Kim Media, or watching her walk into my new cubicle Officer and a Gentleman–style, or seeing her show up at my door with a La Perla bag hanging from a long, teasing finger.

But I wasn't expecting to see her here, and after not seeing her for so long, even that one crooked syllable almost wrecked me. I'd missed her voice, her snark, her lips, and her hands. I'd missed the way she watched me, the way she waited for me first, the way I could tell she had started to love me.

Minji was here. And she looked terrible.

She'd lost weight, and although she was neatly dressed, her clothes hung all wrong on her tall frame. She looked like she hadn't slept in weeks. I knew that feeling. Dark circles were carved beneath her eyes, and gone was the trademark smirk. In its place was a mouth fixed in a flat line. The fire I'd always assumed was just ingrained in her expression was completely extinguished.