Aria Vale hated mornings.

Far from the teary fuss folks make when their morning buzz cuts through sleep.

She hated mornings because mornings meant reality.

And reality meant:

•            Her mother reminding her she was 24 and “still confused.”

•            Her father asking when she would apply for government exams.

•            Her aunt telling her writing wasn’t a career.

Worst thing? There’s that new suggestion just sitting there, marked “to review.”

That morning, her mother spoke: "One meeting is all I ask." .

“I don’t want to marry someone who thinks poetry is a waste of time,” Aria replied.

“You don’t even publish poetry.”

“That’s not the point.”

Folding her arms, her mother spoke up - what good was there in that?

Aria stayed silent. After all, the reason was clear enough. Hers had to be a life she recognized. Never bargained away. Never signed off by someone else.

Hers. That moment led her straight to stand before the tall glass walls of Orion Advertising Agency, right there two hours after.

________________________________________

Out of place, she stood where she never meant to stand.

Out of nowhere, her closest friend mailed the résumé without telling her. Then came the push from her mom - show up for the meeting or else.

She meant to wreck everything. Then came the opening of elevator doors. Into mess she stepped.

________________________________________

Inside the creative department:

•            Designers arguing loudly.

•            Phones ringing.

•            A woman in heels yelling about deadlines.

•            Coffee spilling.

•            A projector flickering.

Something wild beat inside her chest instead of a boardroom. The air moved differently now. For once since sunrise, Aria felt near something light. Her mouth nearly lifted at the corners.

Footsteps stopped short. She collided with a person. Forceful enough to jolt her back. Standing before her - someone tall. Wearing dark fabric on their arms, rolled up past the elbow. His gaze locked onto hers without delay. Papers slipped from her hands. The folder landed flat on the floor.

Papers scattered. He didn’t move. Didn’t apologize. Just looked at her. Not annoyed. Not impressed. Just… assessing.

“Fresh?” he said. Quiet tone. Steady. Held back.

Aria swallowed. “Yes.”

“Wrong floor.”

The moment faltered, her sureness splitting open without warning.

“I - what?”

“This is creative strategy. “He bent slightly, picked up one of her scattered pages.

Read it.

It wasn’t her résumé. It was a short story she’d accidentally printed behind it. His eyes paused. Then flicked up to her.

“You wrote this?”

Her face burned.

“That’s private.”

Not right away did he give it back. Another line caught his eye. Once folded. Slowly. Back it came.

“You’re not here for accounting.”

It wasn’t a question.

She blinked. “I… don’t know why I’m here.”

For a second -

Something unreadable crossed his expression. Then someone shouted from behind:

“Kael! The client’s here!”

Kael.

This was the man. People said he turned down big-money projects like it meant nothing. He moved out of the way. Passed by her slowly. Stopped short. Spoke while facing forward:

“Interview room three.”

“How do you - ?”

“You won’t survive accounting. “And he walked away. Leaving Aria standing there. Heart racing, confused and strangely…excited.

________________________________________

Two Hours Later

She sat in Interview Room Three alone, No HR no interviewer, just silence. Was this a joke?

Could she have gotten it wrong? Maybe he was laughing at her. Up she rose, ready to go. Then - movement at the entrance. In came Kael. The exit shut with a quiet thud. One click of the lock. A twist deep in her gut.

“I don’t work in HR,” he replied, voice steady.

“I know.”

“Good.”

He placed her short story on the table.

“I don’t hire people who want stable salaries.”

She frowned.

“Then why did you call me here?”

Back against the edge of the table, he watched her closely. Her every move held his attention.

“Because I want to know why someone who writes like this applied for a job she clearly doesn’t want.”

Her throat tightened.

“That’s none of your business.”

“It is if you work for me.”

Work for him? Her brain froze. “You’re hiring me?”

A small shift moved his head to one side.

“That depends.”

What about it? Her throat tightened. What now?

Closer now, his steps quiet. Not a threat, yet near - close enough for her to catch it: coffee, yes, but underneath, a deeper scent lingered.

“You kissed someone at midnight once.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“It’s in your story.”

Stillness filled the room. His face showed no trace of a grin.

If writing pulls from what you’ve lived, he said quietly, it becomes a threat

Her pulse thundered. “That was fiction.”

“Is it?”

The air shifted. This wasn’t a normal interview. This wasn’t even professional. It felt like something else entirely. He stepped back finally.

“You start Monday. “And walked out.

Leaving her stunned, breathless, and unaware - That the midnight kiss in her story…Was about to become very real.