Sixty hearts blue 8

Lisa couldn't shake Stephen's words from yesterday. They clung to her, heavy and unshakable, as she slipped into her gray suit—one of many she'd bought after landing this job. At her father's company, no one cared what she wore. She could get away with casual outfits, oversized sweaters, and jeans. But here? Everything felt rigid. Formal. Hollow.

She styled her hair slowly, her chest tight with unspoken heartache. I wish I didn't love him. Then she wouldn't be up this early, dressing for a job she didn't even need.

Last night, she'd called Daniella, spilling everything. Her best friend had told her to give up. To move on. But how? She had wanted Stephen for so long. Needed him. As she reached absently for her phone, her thoughts darkened. What did Roselle have that I don't?

Her fingers hovered over his contact—Heartthrob.

A hesitation. Then, a decision.

She tapped the screen. It rang. No answer.

Her stomach twisted. She tried again. Still nothing.

Lisa exhaled sharply. He was ignoring her.

Frustration bubbled in her chest. She scrolled down and hit Michael's name instead.

"Make it quick, I'm driving," Michael answered over the thrum of loud music.

"Why is Stephen being so rude to me?" Her voice cracked. The words felt pathetic, but she had to ask.

Michael barely heard her. "What?" A shuffle. The music lowered.

She swallowed hard. "Stephen's rude to me. I don't understand why." She sat on the edge of her bed, gripping the phone like it could tether her to something solid.

Michael sighed. "He's rude to everyone lately. He misses his girlfriend—what's her name again? Roselle."

Lisa flinched. The name cut deeper than she expected. He shouldn't be missing her. Not now. Not like this.

"Hey," Michael continued, oblivious, "we're having lunch today. Join us. Maybe ask him what's up."

Lisa hesitated. Could she even face Stephen? Could she pretend she wasn't hurting? But she found herself nodding, answering before she could think better of it.

"Yeah, okay. Where?"

"At a spot downtown. I'll text you the address." A pause. Then, teasingly, "And cheer up. You sound awful when you're sad."

Lisa forced a weak laugh. "Shut up."

The call ended. She glanced at the time—and cursed.

She was an hour late.

Shit.

The manager was going to kill her. Or worse—scold her.

Snatching her phone, she shoved it into her bag, pushing her hair from her face as she rushed for the door.

•

Roselle sat with her friends on the bench beneath the big tree, the breeze teasing their hair as they chatted. The conversation had inevitably drifted to Stephen—because she'd brought him up, of course. She described him as adorable, casually slipping in a remark about his kissing skills, which sent the girls into a fit of giggles.

"Call him," Justina urged, eyes bright with excitement. "Let's hear his voice!"

Roselle laughed, shaking her head. "We talked all night until morning. I think I'll give him a break." She waved off the idea, legs crossed, her red dress flowing elegantly over her lap. The scarlet bow in her wavy hair caught the sunlight.

"That's so romantic," one friend sighed dreamily.

"But love takes sacrifice," Arianna added, squinting at a passing couple who walked hand in hand, laughing as if nothing else in the world mattered.

Roselle smirked, amused by their antics, but the truth was—she wanted to hear Stephen's voice too. Badly.

She sighed, catching their expectant stares. Fine.

"Alright, alright, I'll call him." She caved, pulling her phone from her handbag.

As she tapped his contact, she made a mental note to keep it brief. He's probably busy

•

Stephen wasn't busy. Not even close. He sat in the passenger seat of Michael's car, arms crossed, staring out the window as Michael cracked joke after joke. Normally, Stephen would at least smirk, maybe roll his eyes. Today, he didn't bother.

"Can we just drive in silence?" he muttered after a particularly bad one.

Michael raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No comedy hour." He turned the key, the engine rumbled to life, and the car rolled smoothly out of the parking lot.

When they arrived at the restaurant, Lisa was already there, sitting stiffly at a table near the entrance. She'd been checking the time every few seconds, nerves frayed from both their lateness and the growing anxiety of facing Stephen. The moment she spotted them, her heart plummeted. He wouldn't even look at her.

"I got here a few minutes ago. I'm starving," she said, forcing a smile as they approached.

Stephen brushed past her without a word.

She swallowed hard and followed, her pulse quickening. Michael shot her a glance but said nothing.

At the table, Lisa made sure to sit directly across from Stephen, hoping to catch glimpses of him, hoping for something. But he stayed glued to his phone, uninterested, as if she weren't even there.

Michael, ever the buffer, nudged him. "Man, order something. You can't live on coffee."

Stephen barely looked up. "Something simple," he muttered, setting his phone on the table without care.

Michael scoffed. "Since when do you eat simple?" He grinned, trying to ease the tension.

Stephen exhaled and finally settled on fried rice. But when the food arrived, he barely touched it.

"You've been moody lately," Michael noted, breaking the silence. "Where's my old friend gone?"

Lisa jumped in before Stephen could answer. "He's just stressed. Work's been tough, right?" She turned to him, hopeful, offering him an easy way out.

Stephen didn't even acknowledge her. Instead, he wiped his mouth, stood up, and walked away. "I've lost my appetite. I'll be back."

Lisa's heart sank. He hadn't even touched half his meal.

"Why is he like this?" she muttered, more to herself than Michael.

Michael leaned forward, a knowing look in his eyes. "Do you like Stephen? I mean, really like him—not just as a friend."

Lisa's pulse kicked up. "No, we're just friends," she said quickly, taking a sip of her drink to steady herself.

Michael raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. But before he could push further, his phone rang. "I'll be back," he said, slipping outside to take the call.

Lisa exhaled, leaning back into the silence. And then she heard it.

A ringtone.

Not hers.

Her gaze shifted across the table, landing on Stephen's phone, partially hidden under his plate. It kept ringing, vibrating softly against the wood.

Curiosity won.

She reached for it, fingers hesitating just before flipping it over. The name on the screen made her stomach twist.

"My Rose."

Roselle.

Lisa's chest tightened. Of course.

Before she could stop herself, she answered.

"I've been calling you for ages! Where was your phone?" Roselle's voice was soft, sweet—annoyingly perfect. She sounded upset, like she missed him.

Lisa's grip tightened. The girl had everything. Stephen's heart. His attention. The reason behind his silence, his mood, his distance.

Something snapped.

"Who do you think you are?" Lisa bit out, venom lacing every syllable.

Silence. Then a hesitant, "Who is this? Where's Stephen?"

Lisa's pulse roared in her ears. "He's busy," she snapped. "He's having lunch. With me."

And before Roselle could respond, Lisa ended the call and carefully slid the phone back under his plate.