Cercis

I stared at my screen, pretending to work while my mind floated somewhere between the caffeine haze and last night’s hangover. The computer’s glow wasn’t helping, just making my headache pulse in rhythm with my regrets.

Around me, my lovely coworkers were doing what they did best... whispering. Probably about me again. They always did, ever since I got promoted from intern to full-time. “She doesn’t deserve it.” “She must’ve bribed someone.” “Have you seen that creepy white hair? Maybe she’s cursed.”

Creative bunch, really. If they put that energy into actual work, we’d be a Fortune 500 company by now.

I kept my eyes on the screen, pretending their words didn’t sting, but today… yeah, they kind of did.

Then Mr. Park’s voice boomed across the room like thunder. “Everyone, gather up! Big project announcement!”

The whispering stopped. Suddenly, we all existed in the same world again. He went on about a new campaign, thanking me for suggesting a model. I barely processed it—until he dropped a name that made the air go still.

“Elysian Model’s…Shun.”

The room practically gasped. Phones came out. Lips whispered his name like a prayer.

And then he walked in.

It was like gravity got bored and decided to revolve around him instead. His presence filled the room, sharp suit, calm steps, that kind of beauty that doesn’t just catch your eye, it hooks it.

Everyone stared. I told myself not to. I failed miserably.

My heart did this stupid little skip when his eyes scanned the room and oh. Oh no. They stopped on me.

For a second, neither of us moved. His gaze locked with mine, that quiet intensity burning straight through the noise. Then he smiled. Just a small, knowing curve of his lips that made everyone else blur out.

And then he waved. At me.

Cue everyone’s heads whipping in my direction. My coworkers’ faces were priceless, pure confusion and a little bit of scandal.

I forced an awkward smile, waved back stiffly, pretending my heart wasn’t trying to escape through my chest. “Cercis…” he mouthed.

God, I hated how good that sounded.

But of course, reality hit fast. Shun got assigned to a different team, the “important” one. Mine? Not so much. Despite me being the one who pitched him for this campaign, I got bumped down the ladder, again. “Underperformance,” Mr. Park said. Sure. Translation: office politics.

So while Shun was busy dazzling everyone, I was running errands, fixing typos, and pretending not to care. The same people who mocked me before now treated me like a background extra in his spotlight.

Days passed. No real contact. Just fleeting glimpses of him surrounded by people who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air. I told myself it didn’t bother me, but it did. Not because of work. Because every time I saw him smile at someone else, a quiet, sharp little sting settled behind my ribs.

Lunch break came, and as usual, I stayed at my desk, sandwich in one hand, manuscript in the other. My coworkers were off being fake in the cafeteria. I preferred the silence. It was just me, the hum of the computer, and my half-finished novel.

Then came a knock. Soft, almost hesitant.

I looked up, and there he was. Shun.

He was holding a lunchbox, wearing that same calm expression that could melt concrete.

“This takes me back,” he said with a small smile, stepping inside. “You weren’t at the cafeteria, so I thought I’d check on you. Mind if I join?”

My brain short-circuited for half a second before I remembered how to speak. “Sure,” I said, gesturing to the chair across from me. “You’ve been busy lately.”

“Busy, but good.” He sat down gracefully, 'cause of course he did. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about your novel. That character you said reminded you of me… Giovanni, right?”

I blinked. He remembered?

“You really haven’t let that go, huh?” I said with a half-laugh.

He leaned forward a little, that curious look in his eyes again. “How’s the writing going?”

“Not much progress,” I admitted, trying not to sound embarrassed.

“I’m sure it’s going to be amazing,” he said softly. “You’ve got a way with stories.”

My heart did that annoying thing again.

“Thanks,” I said, trying to sound casual. “So, tell me, how did you even end up a model? Was that always the plan?”

He smiled faintly. “Not exactly. I joined a school pageant once, and someone uploaded photos online. My agency found me through that.”

“Wow,” I said, feigning nonchalance even though my brain was spinning. “So you’ve been everyone’s crush since forever, huh?”

He chuckled. “I guess. But popularity’s… complicated.”

I leaned in with a teasing grin. “Complicated, or just overwhelming? I bet you had a few obsessed fans.”

He didn’t answer right away, just looked at me, his eyes calm but unreadable. Then that small smile returned. “So, any new twists in your story?”

He was dodging. Smoothly. I couldn’t help but smirk.

“I’m working on one,” I said, tapping my pen against my notebook. “Some parts are inspired by real people. Makes it more authentic.”

“Real people?” he asked, tilting his head. “Anyone I’d know?”

“Maybe.”

His grin deepened. “I’m looking forward to seeing what happens to the guy with the teal eyes.”

I smirked. “He’s the villain. My favorite one, actually. He’s complicated, beautiful, dangerous, drives the story forward. I just haven’t decided how his ending goes yet.”

He hummed thoughtfully, gaze fixed on me in a way that made my pulse skip. “And Savannah? The main character... does she get what she wants?”

“I want her to,” I said, glancing away. “Justice. Answers. Maybe even a happy ending.”

The silence stretched between us again, comfortable, almost charged. I could feel his eyes on me even without looking.

After a while, he packed up his lunchbox. “You’ll figure out the ending,” he said with that soft smile again. “You always do.”

“Maybe,” I murmured, watching him stand.

He glanced at the wall clock. “Lunch is almost over. I should go.”

I nodded, forcing a small smile as he left. The room felt a little emptier once the door closed behind him.

I told myself it was fine. I didn’t need his attention. But as I watched from the window, I saw him outside, surrounded by fans, flashing cameras, and smiles that weren’t mine.

Something twisted in my chest. I couldn’t tell if it was pride, jealousy, or something worse.

I sighed, muttering under my breath, “Go ahead, everyone. Keep looking at him.”

Then, quieter, almost to myself... “He’s still mine to write about.”