Memories.

Esmeray

High school was a night mare and I'm not just talking about a fleeting unsettling scary dream that disappears the moment you open your eyes. I'm talking crazy dead ass nightmare that'd make you so insane just breathing becomes a nightmare.

Usually high schools have diverse categories: the jocks, the goths, the gamers and so on. But my high school had only two categories, the bullies and the victims or as they sugarcoated it the popular and the regulars. Guess which I was. The popular stroke bullies? Ye…nope I was a victim.

I was literally the type of girl even the "loser of losers" thought of as a loser. Typical short, chubby, messy hair, kid with clothes that seemed to swallow me whole. That was me, was not is. I buried all that, the memories, the pain, including myself from then, every single thing, even though it hurt, I actually forgot about them… until he showed up.

Noah rises from his chair with an infuriating, casual and even confident smile as if he's unaware of the emotional landmine he's walking into.

How dare he smile so easily?

"Miss Adams," he says too casual for my taste.

I narrow my eyes at him but thankfully my legs begin to function. I feel a sharp pang of irritation as my legs feels like their wading through thick mud. Each step towards my seat seems to take an eternity. My hands clench into a fist and I can feel the tension coiling in my chest. I have to remind myself to breath, to maintain my composure, I can't let him see how much his presence is affecting me.

When I finally reach my chair and sink into it, I can feel my body trembling slightly despite my calm façade.

I hate this. I feel pathetic.

I cross my arms, trying to shield myself from the torrent of emotions threatens to surface.

He sits back down, though he is no longer smiling and just staring at me so intensely as if trying to gauge my reaction, he still seems so relaxed but I can tell he can feel the undercut of hostility in the room.

I take a deep breath trying to control the irritation that's bubbling beneath the surface and focus on the task at hand. Despite my best efforts to keep my voice steady and professional it comes out colder than I intended. "You must be the new CEO?"

Noah raises an eyebrow, with a look I can't quite tell, but it goes as fast as it came. He nods. It's infuriating that he can act so nonchalant when I'm struggling to keep my composure.

"Noah Black," he introduces himself extending a hand, a gesture that almost seems too casual for the weight of our shared history. I can't help but wonder if he has actually forgotten everything.

For a moment I just stare at his hand. The act of shaking hands, touching him, just feels loaded, like a bride between our past and present. My hand suddenly feels impossibly heavy, as though weighed down by the past. Finally, I take his hand, but the moment our skin meets, I pull away as if burned. My gaze snaps back to his face. "Esmeray Adams" I reply, my voice clipped and controlled, despite the storm brewing inside me.

Silence settles between us, the awkwardness, tension and variety of emotions dancing in the air above us. Every glance, every slight movement, seems to echo the past, making it difficult to focus on the present.

His phone rings snapping me from my thought. He glances at the screen, then back at me with an apologetic look before and cutting the call. As he switches of his phone I can't help but wonder who it was. Was it someone I knew back then? Was it her?

I clear my throat, refusing to delve deeper into those thought and open one of my drawers. I retrieve a folder and hand it to him. The tip of his fingers brushes mine as he takes it, I refuse to think of any effect it had on me. "This is everything Mr. Black and I discussed concerning the new company, though it's not much."

He flips through the documents, his eyes scanning each page with an intensity that draws my attention. I find myself studying him in turn—his thick black hair, dark as the night sky on a rainy, styled in a mullet, the way his lips move as he silently reads each words. Without realizing it, I'm lost in the details. The way his lips part and the slight furrow of concentration on his brows. My heart clenches, and before I can tear my gaze away, he closes the folder, and looks up, catching me staring.

Heat rushes to my cheeks, embarrassment and anger twisting together Embarrassment because I had been caught, anger because I actually let myself stare at him. . How long has he been watching me stare at him? I quickly plaster on a neutral expression, though on the inside I'm seething. "You must be done reading them? What do you think?"

He doesn't answer immediately. His eyes lingering on mine, searching for something I can't define but then he offers a small smile and nod. "It's not bad, though I have a few suggestions."

Not bad? Suggestions?

The words grate against me like sandpaper. This plan is perfect—Mr. Black and I spent over a year refining it. We're both geniuses; there are no mistakes. "Suggestions?" I manage to say, the word clipped as I force down a scoff. "What are they?"

He pauses, holding my gaze for a moment before he stands. My eyes follow him in confusion. "That's a discussion for another day. I'm only here today to introduce myself and see you." The words hang in the air and I frown. See me? What exactly does he mean by 'see me'? See me in the aspect of his new colleague or see me in the aspect of our history? I want to ask but I don't.

He hands over the documents back to me. "I already have these." With that he walks to the door but comes to a stop his hand on the door handle. He turns to me and my heart unwantedly and stupidly skips a beat at the warm expression he gives me and I see the guilt. "And Ray, you've done an amazing job." With a smile that doesn't reach his eyes he walks out, closing the door softly behind him. Leaving me, the weight pressing harder now that I'm alone.

Hours pass, but I remain rooted to my chair, my head buried in my hand, as the memories crash over me

High school wasn't just about being a loser, being bullied. There was also Noah—the one secret I guarded with everything I had. The popular perfect golden boy Noah Black and the nerdy invincible loser Esmeray Adams. It's the kind of cliché you see in bad teen movies except this one didn't have a happy ending.

It was spring, my sophomore year, and his senior year. He was the epitome of everything I wasn't—popular, perfect, adored by everyone. I hid in oversized hoodies, buried myself in books, while he effortlessly ruled the school. Our worlds should never have collided.

But they did.

We were paired together for a chemistry assignment, an ironic twist considering the spark that ignited between us. From awkward meetings poring over equations to late-night conversations and stolen glances. We saw each other in ways no one else did, peeling back layers we didn't even know existed. To me he was more than a golden sparkling trophy and to him I was more than invincible and unwanted. With him I felt valued and cherished.

But, our relationship only existed in shadows and secrecy. Noah insisted we kept us a secret said it'd only make things hard for me. I agreed of course, blinded by affection and the intoxication of feeling wanted not wanting to lose what we had despite knowing deep down he was just worried about his reputation and status I convinced myself otherwise. To me what we had was real and worth protecting.

Until that day…

My breathing becomes more erratic, each gasp sharper than the last as the memories tighten their grip on me. The room begins to spin, the walls seemingly closing in, suffocating me under their weight. My vision blurs, and I can feel the familiar grip of panic clawing at my chest.

Desperately, I fling open the top drawer of my desk, my trembling hands fumbling through the contents. Papers scatter and pens clatter against the wood as I dig through the mess, searching for the small container that holds my salvation. My fingers brush against something cold and smooth, but it's just a stapler. I shove it aside, my frustration mounting as I reach deeper into the drawer, heart pounding harder with every second that passes.

Where is it?

My mind races as I force the drawer further open, yanking it with more force than necessary. I'm shaking now, my breath coming in short, ragged bursts. I shove aside a notebook and a tangle of charging cables, my fingers finally grazing the familiar shape of the pill container. Relief floods through me, but my hands are trembling so badly that when I try to grasp it, it slips from my grasp and falls back into the clutter.

"No, no, no," I mutter, my voice trembling as I dig deeper, finally pulling out the container. My hands are shaking so violently that when I pop open the lid, a few pills spill onto the desk, bouncing and rolling away. I manage to catch two between my trembling fingers and quickly shove them into my mouth, barely able to swallow them with the water I grab from my bag.

I lean back in my chair, closing my eyes as I wait for the medicine to take effect. My breath slowly steadies, the tightness in my chest beginning to ease, but the tears come anyway, blurring my vision as they trail down my cheeks. A bitter laugh escapes me, echoing through the empty office. You can't blame me, when you think of it all it's just so absurd and hilarious. After all the efforts I put in moving on, he just waltzes back into my life and here I am losing my mind over an incident that happened eight years ago.

I shake my head, as I pick my bag and wipe away the tears away, getting up my feet. The laughter still echoes, hollow and broken, as I grab my bag and head for the door. Lucy approaches, concern written all over her face, but I wave her off, unwilling to let her see just how close I am to the edge. I stride down the hallway, my footsteps ringing out in the silence. Work is over, so there's no one to witness my unraveling, no one to see the cracks in my façade.