Burning Hearts ✔️

Meet-Cute Chaos

Harper's POV

I was late. Again.

In my defense, New York traffic had been a nightmare, but really, when wasn't it? The cab had inched along for what felt like hours, and I'd cursed myself for not leaving my apartment earlier. Not that rushing would have made much of a difference; lateness was practically woven into my DNA. But this time, it wasn't just lateness. I was about to make my grand entrance at TalentQuest NYC, the week-long program that was supposed to totally change the trajectory of my life, or at least, help me figure out what the hell I was actually good at.

A career guidance program sounded, well, guided. It sounded safe, which was exactly why I hadn't wanted to sign up for it in the first place. But my best friend Abby had insisted.

"You're brilliant, Harp. You just need to focus."

The words echoed in my mind as I leaped out of the cab, tossing a crumpled bill at the driver. Focus. Easy for Abby to say, with her stable job at the ad agency and her perfectly planned-out life. I, on the other hand, had the vague notion that I probably belonged in PR or marketing, but so far, my career had been a scattered mess of internships, freelance gigs, and coffee runs.

Speaking of coffee, I was holding a half-empty cup, still warm from the deli around the corner. It was my third cup of the morning—a necessity when facing a room full of overachieving professionals who probably already had color-coded spreadsheets tracking their life goals. I could picture it now: Grayson from Finance, with his starched collar and smug smile, ready to nail the first challenge, while I slinked in late with caffeine stains on my shirt.

I pushed through the revolving doors, stepping into the enormous glass-walled lobby of the Skyline Conference Center, and immediately felt a wave of intimidation. The interior was all sleek lines and chrome, the kind of modern minimalism that screamed corporate success. People in sharp suits and tailored dresses milled around, chatting in groups like they'd known each other for years. I glanced down at my own outfit—a vintage Fleetwood Mac band tee under a leather jacket—and felt like an imposter. Maybe I should've worn something more...normal.

My phone buzzed in my hand as I stepped into the elevator, and I quickly opened the message from Abby.

You're late, aren't you?

Like you even have to ask.

She replied with an eye-roll emoji, and I could almost hear her groaning in exasperation.

Focus, I reminded myself again as the elevator doors slid open, revealing the conference floor. The whole thing was set up like an auditorium, with a sprawling stage at the front and rows of sleek black chairs facing it. My eyes darted around the room as I made my way in, hoping to blend into the sea of people who were already seated, listening intently to the welcome speech being delivered by a sharply dressed woman at the podium.

I spotted an empty seat in the back row and practically lunged for it, trying to avoid making eye contact with anyone who might notice my tardiness. The speaker's voice droned on about "unlocking potential" and "discovering hidden talents," but I wasn't really listening. My mind was already racing, trying to prepare myself for the day ahead.

And then, of course, disaster struck.

I had barely managed to sit down when I realized I'd forgotten one crucial thing—a notebook. Everyone around me was already scribbling away, jotting down notes and ideas, while I sat there like a deer in headlights. In a desperate attempt to salvage the situation, I fumbled with my phone, trying to open the notes app as discreetly as possible. But in my haste, my coffee cup—which had been precariously perched on the armrest—tipped forward.