Just Friends

Thirty-Two

A week of coldly ignoring Kylo when he tried to call. Texts. Emails. Talks at work. It killed me inside, but I couldn't bare to see him. How did he not tell me? After everything I told him about.

My nights consisted of laying on the couch, eating cookies, and watching movies. It took my mind off of the hell I had to endure on Friday, when I had to turn in an assignment. To see him in person and discuss my work. I wanted nothing less.

I didn't hate him. No, I never could. I was simply hurt. This man of mystery I thought I had cracked down enough still had more layers of steel to break through. I needed my space from him. To figure myself out.

Would I be willing to fight for him? Or was it a lost cause.

On Friday morning, I stepped off the elevator at my floor and began towards my desk. I smiled and waved at Rose, who just gave me a small nod in return. After our night at the bar, they hadn't said anything to me. Rey knew me better. When I was ready to talk, I'd go to them.

I stopped in my tracks when I looked at my desk. A wrapped up sandwich and a coffee with a note on top of it. Before I even touched it, I swung around to Rose who was already looking at me with desperate eyes. "Did you do this?" I croaked out, feeling the heaviness in my voice.

She shook her head.

With a sigh, I put my things down and lifted the small piece of paper addressed to me. Except, it didn't say Aria.

Angel —

Cream, no sugar.

Forgive me, please. I miss you. I love you.

Ky

I felt tears brimming my lash line as I stared at his penmanship. His words written into the paper. Words I had seen and heard more than 100 times this past week alone. My heart raced as I thought of him. I missed him and loved him still, there was no denying that.

My gaze turned down to the food. A peace offering of sorts. It made me smirk, lightly chuckle even. Placing the sweet note to the side, I sat down and began my work. Taking bites and sips out of my gifted breakfast.

There was still a twinge of hurt I felt, but I was willing to look past it, as long as he was willing to talk. I knew he was broken, I couldn't fix him. I wanted to be there for him while he fixes himself, though.

My decision seemed so simple in that moment. I would forgive him. Look past it and help him. The excitement to see him later filled my heart.

——

My assignment for that week was something I was used to. Simple magazine article based on a famous celebrity. Compiling the paragraphs into well-edited format was the easy part. The research was the work I dreaded. I hardly knew anything about this person, so my week was filled with learning about someone I didn't care about.

I found myself becoming distracted during the day, writing on a small notepad next to my desk. It started off with ideas here and there, but then turned into a whole outline for a novel. Editing and reading books all day long will do that to you. The storyline was one of fantasy and romance, something I had little experience with reading or writing. But the more I stared at the outline and my scribblings, the more I became fond with the thought of becoming an author.

It was a fleeting thought in my sea of ideas, but it was stronger than all the others. Maybe this was my calling instead of editing other people's work. I took the paper, filled with nonsensical paragraphs and words, and folded it up to put in my bag. Keeping it away from any prying eyes.