Tuesday started earlier than Aubrey wanted. Her alarm went off at seven, but she didn’t move until seven fifteen. She lay there staring at the ceiling, already thinking about the work she didn’t finish the day before. Her boss had promised a “quick check-in” today, which usually meant a surprise meeting that wasn’t on the calendar.

She got up anyway, made coffee that tasted bitter, and dressed without caring if she looked tired. The bus ride to work was crowded, noisy, and exactly as irritating as any Tuesday morning in Ashford Bay. When she walked into the office, the lights felt too bright.

At ten o’clock sharp, Sandra appeared at her desk.

“Client wants a midday call,” Sandra said. “You’re presenting your new comp.”

Aubrey blinked. “I thought you were handling the call.”

“I have another meeting,” Sandra said. “It’s your work. You present it.”

There was no room to argue.

Two hours later, Aubrey sat in a conference room with her laptop projected onto a screen. A handful of coworkers joined, pretending to be supportive. The client’s faces appeared one by one on the screen—some bored, some confused, none familiar.

Sandra wasn’t on the call.

Aubrey took a breath, straightened her back, and started walking through her design. She kept her voice steady, tried not to over-explain, and pretended she didn’t feel her pulse in her throat.

About ten minutes in, one of the clients said, “We were expecting a different direction.”

Aubrey froze. “The brief was updated last week—”

“Not on our end,” the client replied. “We didn’t approve this change.”

The silence in the room felt heavy.

A coworker cleared his throat. “We can adjust—”

“No,” the client said. “We need a new version by Thursday.”

Thursday. Two days.

Aubrey forced a polite smile. “Understood.”

The call ended. The moment the screen went dark, she pressed her hands against her forehead. Her coworkers mumbled a few awkward comments before slipping out. No one wanted to stay in the blast zone.

She packed up her laptop and walked outside for air again. Same spot as yesterday—small plaza, same bench. She sat down, letting her shoulders drop.

A van pulled up across the street. A group of teenagers stepped out carrying tripods and cameras. She didn’t pay much attention until she heard a familiar voice.

“Aubrey?”

She looked up.

Caleb stood there surrounded by four students. He wore a school sweatshirt and looked slightly overwhelmed.

“Field assignment,” he said, motioning at the kids. “They’re doing a photo project for media class. I’m just supervising.”

One student immediately tapped his arm. “Coach, can we go shoot near the fountain?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Stay where I can see you.”

The kids scattered quickly.

Caleb walked toward her. “Rough day?”

“Getting worse,” she said.

He sat on the edge of the bench, leaving some space. “What happened?”

“Client didn’t approve the update,” she said. “I have to redo everything again.”

Caleb nodded slowly. “Your boss at least have your back?”

Aubrey laughed once, dry. “No.”

He didn’t push further. He just sat with her while the kids argued over camera angles a few feet away.

“Want to walk for a minute?” he asked.

She hesitated, then stood. “Yeah, okay.”

They walked across the plaza, staying within sight of the students. Caleb seemed good at splitting his attention—watching them without hovering, talking to her without making her feel like a burden.

“You ever think about switching jobs?” he asked.

“Every day,” she said.

“Then why not?”

“Rent. Bills. Health insurance.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Makes sense.”

They stopped near a vending machine while one student took a photo of a pigeon like it was a masterpiece.

Caleb crossed his arms. “You know, you don’t look like someone who quits easily.”

Aubrey snorted. “Feels like I do.”

“Feels isn’t facts,” he said.

She looked at him. “You’re very sure of your opinions.”

He smiled. “Only when I’m right.”

She shook her head, trying not to smile back. Somehow, her chest didn’t feel as tight.

After a few more minutes, the students regrouped.

“Coach! We’re done!”

“Pack up,” Caleb said. Then to Aubrey, “I should get them back.”

“Thanks for talking to me,” she said.

“Anytime.”

The word landed differently today—like a quiet promise, not a casual line.

He left with his students, and Aubrey headed back to the office. She didn’t feel better exactly, but she felt… steadier.

Work dragged on. She reworked her design from scratch, rechecked every color, and fought the urge to scream at her screen. By the time she looked up, it was past seven.

No one else was in the office.

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown number again.

She didn’t bother pretending she didn’t know who it was.

“Yeah?” she answered.

“You alive?” Chase asked.

“Barely.”

“That’s close enough,” he said. “Look out the window.”

She stood, walked to the glass, and looked down.

Chase was across the street again, this time holding takeaway noodles.

“You didn’t have to come,” she said into the phone.

“I know,” he said. “But guess what? I did.”

Aubrey sighed. “Why?”

“You sounded dead yesterday,” Chase said. “I figured today wouldn’t be better.”

She didn’t argue.

“Come down if you can,” he added. “If not, I’ll leave this by your door later.”

She hesitated only a second before grabbing her bag.

Downstairs, Chase handed her the food container like it was part of some routine they’d already established.

“You look terrible,” he said, not unkindly.

“I feel worse.”

He leaned against the brick wall. “Want to talk about it?”

“No,” she said.

“Want to sit for a bit?”

She exhaled. “Yeah.”

They sat on a low concrete ledge, her food warming her hands.

Chase nudged her with his elbow. “You know, most people would’ve quit that job already.”

“I know.”

“So you’re either tough,” he said, “or stubborn.”

“Probably stubborn.”

“I like stubborn,” he said. “Means you don’t fold.”

She didn’t answer. But she didn’t pull away either.

For a few minutes they just sat there listening to traffic. It wasn’t a dramatic moment. It wasn’t romantic. It was just… real.

And real felt rare lately.

When she finished half her food, Chase stood. “Walk you home?”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m offering.”

She didn’t say yes, but she didn’t say no. She just stood with him, and they started walking.

Something about the day felt too full—too many emotions, too many conversations, too many people seeing her in ways she wasn’t used to.

But none of it felt wrong.

It just felt like her life wasn’t stuck anymore, even if she didn’t understand why yet.