Beyond The Fine Line

Chapter LXXIV - Through The Motions

Soft recessed lighting cast an even glow over the office, its refined minimalism interrupted only by the weight of work pressing in from every corner. Panelled windows framed the grey surface of the river, stirring in the mild summer breeze. Dark wood and sleek furnishings reflected the authority of the space – elegant, composed – but the sheer volume of case files, neatly stacked yet relentless, made order feel like an illusion.

Suddenly, a reminder from the calendar popped on the screen, pulling Jay's attention away from a spreadsheet with neatly organised cross-examination points. He rubbed the bridge of his nose to chase off tiredness, yet his eyes remained fixed on the notification. Since when did something as natural as having dinner together have to be scheduled just for one of them to cancel it at the last minute? He couldn't remember, but it seemed to become their new norm.

He sighed and pushed his thoughts aside, muting any bubbling feelings that could resurface. After all, it was a busy period for their careers, a last push to get where they wanted to be. It wouldn't last forever, so there was nothing to worry about.

Me

Are you still okay for dinner?

Sean

Sorry

We just got notified that the client's deportation is scheduled in a few days

And now I'm in the middle of drafting an urgent injunction to stop it

Me

Damn, sounds rough

Sean

Tell me about it 😑

Me

You got this

I will see you later at home

Sean

I should be back around midnight

Same?

Me

Yeah

If Sean was busy, there was no need for him to leave sooner... but still, there was this faint thought that maybe they should slow down and refocus. Unfortunately, it faded almost instantly as Jay ordered a takeaway from his favourite Vietnamese restaurant and lightly tossed his phone on the desk, his attention already back on files for tomorrow's trial.

The sky outside darkened to an inky blue, and the building became even quieter as most lingering employees left for the day. Suddenly, a knock at the door pulled him from focus, followed by a familiar voice.

"Your dinner, sir."

Jay leaned back in the chair, massaging his neck. "Thanks."

The security guard stepped in, setting the neatly packed order with bún riêu on the edge of the desk before nodding in thanks for the usual extra – this time, bánh mì. It was a tacit arrangement cultivated over the years: they would bring his food up whenever he worked late, and in return, Jay always made sure there was something for them.

Jay unsealed the container with steaming broth, and the sharp tang of tomatoes and crab instantly filled the room. The noodles and toppings sat neatly in a separate bowl – silky bún, soft tofu, and delicate clusters of minced crab, pork, and egg – waiting to be bathed in the deep, golden-red liquid. Once he poured the broth, its warmth awakened the dish. The surface glistened with hints of chilli oil, promising sweetness, acidity, and umami in every spoonful.