The Real World

The fluorescent lights overhead cast harsh, white beams on the scattered documents and half-empty coffee cups sprawled across the conference table.

It was nearly midnight, yet Dyana Boche still sat there, tapping her pen against a thick project binder, her eyes bleary from days of intense work. Across from her, an attractive coworker—Thomas—clicked through slides on his laptop, muttering adjustments under his breath. "We should refine the introduction for tomorrow's presentation," he murmured, not looking up. "Sure," Dyana replied softly, forcing her tired eyes to focus. She flipped through her own notes, the motion automatic.

She'd been collaborating with Thomas for numerous months on this project, pouring her heart (and frankly, her hopes) into every detail. Despite the exhaustion, she felt a quiet sort of excitement—a warmth in her chest when she glanced up at him.

She'd begun to suspect he returned her interest. Subtle gestures—like grabbing her favorite coffee or complimenting her new blouse—had felt promising, each moment nurturing the idea that this time, she wasn't just the "brains." But tonight, she'd felt a deeper electricity in the air. They were on the cusp of finalizing their project, side by side, burning the midnight oil; And, a part of her longed to see if there was more between them than just shared deadlines.

"When you highlight the cost-benefit analysis," she said, her voice unsteady in spite of herself, "make sure to emphasize how the savings are projected over three years, not five. That's the sweet spot for the Board."

Thomas offered a small grin, nodding as he keyed in corrections. "Thanks, Dy. I swear, your brain is a goldmine—couldn't have done this without you." That small praise made Dyana's heart flutter. She smiled back, fingers nervously drumming on the binder. "I'm happy to help."

He saved the file, leaning back in his chair with a weary sigh. "Think that's everything for tonight," he said. "We'll impress them for sure."

Silence settled, the hum of the air conditioner filling the void. Dyana swallowed hard; This was it—her chance. She felt the urge to say something, to cross that line. Her entire life, she'd been passed over, disregarded, unwanted; But Thomas was different… wasn't he? She mustered her courage.

"I—" Dyana inhaled shakily, then pushed her chair back and moved around the table, heart pounding in her chest. Everything they'd shared these past months, the late nights, the lingering conversations, the cups of coffee he always seemed to know exactly how she liked—she'd been so sure it meant something more. She mustered her courage, letting her actions speak: she leaned in, tentatively seeking a kiss.

But it all happened in a blur. Thomas's eyes widened, and he turned aside, gently but decisively placing a hand between them, halting her forward motion.

"Whoa—Dyana." His voice was calm but firm, and he sounded almost apologetic. "I'm sorry if... if I gave the wrong impression."

She froze, breath catching in her throat, heat flooding her cheeks. Time seemed to slow as she tried to process his words. The echo of 'wrong impression' battered her senses. Another rejection; Another reminder that she'd been unwanted all along.

"But you—" She swallowed hard, unable to finish the thought. Her eyes darted away. Did I just imagine everything?

He ran a hand through his thick hair, exhaling. "Listen, I—really value you, okay? You're amazing at what you do. You're brilliant. But I'm... I'm just not looking for anything else right now." Her heart sank further. I'm just not looking for anything else... right now. Echoed through her mind. She'd heard variations of that line more times than she cared to remember.

It always meant the same thing: You're not the one.

She took a shaky step back, forcing herself to stay composed even as her insides twisted sharply. "No, it's... it's fine." Her voice trembled despite her best effort to keep it steady.

He reached out, not quite touching her but close enough that she felt the warmth of his hand. "Dyana, I hope we can still, you know... work together?" He offered a half-smile that aimed for reassurance but landed hollow. "You're such a great partner on these projects. I didn't mean to... lead you on." She lowered her gaze, fingers tightening around the edge of the table.

"Yeah. Sure. Work." It came out flat. The moment felt like a slow-motion car wreck—every detail excruciating. She could sense him wanting to fill the silence with consoling words, but it was too little, too late.

"I'm really sorry." He stepped forward, as though to pat her shoulder or something equally meaningless, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, he gave a helpless shrug. "I just... I didn't realize you felt that way." Dyana let out a breath that felt more like a surrender; How could he not have known? The signs were all there—or so she'd thought. Maybe I just wanted to believe.

She forced a tight smile, nodding once. "Don't worry about it," she managed, and the corporate chill in her tone made her own skin crawl. She hated how practiced that dismissal sounded, like a tape she'd played every time this happened. She gathered her notes in jerky hurried movements, hoping to hide the sting of tears threatening to well up.

Thomas attempted a final reassurance. "I really respect you, Dy. You know that, right? You're... incredible at what you do, and I'm grateful—"

"Right," she cut him off with a tremulous smile. "Thanks." Her eyes flicked away, focusing on stuffing papers into her binder and then into her portfolio bag. She just needed to get out of there before she broke completely.

After a moment, he sighed, stepping aside to let her pass. "Please don't let this ruin our friendship or the project. We present tomorrow, and—"

"I won't," she said softly, cutting him off, feeling her face burn. "I'll see you tomorrow." She didn't wait for an answer. Clutching her bag to her side, she hurried out of the conference room.

Every step felt heavier as she headed down the corridor, the fluorescent lights casting unforgiving reflections on the polished floor. His attempted apology echoed in her head again, but none of the words could erase the fresh ache in her heart. Each step she took echoed loudly, like a march towards freedom.

But when she finally stepped outside into the pouring rain, it felt like each drop was a physical manifestation of her anger and frustration, hitting her face with force and drenching her hair until it clung to her skin. The sound of the rain was almost deafening, drowning out any other noise and matching the turmoil inside her.

It genuinely felt refreshing for Dyana to experience, despite being caught in the rain without a proper jacket or umbrella during the month of April.

Her body had flushed from the feeling of shame and rejection being thrown at her, so she felt too hot in the moment and just wanted to stand in front of an electric fan to cool off. This worked just the same.

As she walked she dug for the keys that were at the bottom of her bag. Her hand wildly pushing and shoving objects until she could feel her fingers touch the metal keys. Gripping it, she pulled them out and started clicking the 'unlock' button rapidly. She fumbled with the door of her aging sedan, tossing her portfolio bag onto the passenger seat. Slamming the door shut, she exhaled in shaky bursts.

"What a night," she muttered, pressing her forehead to the steering wheel for a moment.

Everything felt so… futile.

Thomas's rejection, the emptiness inside her—it all reminded her of that stupid novel she'd picked up recently, The Rose of Avalon, the one that promised a sweeping romance, conversely to kill off the only character she found compelling. I can't believe that I spent nearly thirty dollars on this stupid book. It all felt like brain-rot except for the true 'Villain' of the story. Another reminder not to get swept up in the hype of a new novel. Might as well throw it in the trash when I get home, she thought briefly.

"Why do I keep doing this?" She breathed, chiding herself and focusing on what was at hand, turning the ignition. Headlights cut through the downpour. "First the only character I like dies, and now…" She couldn't finish the thought, her throat tight.

As she pulled out onto the slick road, her mind replayed Thomas's cool rejection, the pity in his eyes. Her chest cramped with an ache she tried to smother with logic: he was never hers to begin with. She let out a humorless laugh.

"Guess it was all in my head." Rain hammered the windshield. Visibility was poor, but she was too wrapped in her own thoughts—her own misery—to slow down properly and watch the roads. She remembered the book's half-read storyline: a villainess doomed from the start, overshadowed by a naïve heroine. And then her favorite character, Zypher, snuffed dead abruptly with a few words.

Suddenly, that felt far too personal, as if she too, was always destined for an anticlimactic end.

Lightning flashed, and the steering wheel jerked beneath her hands. Dyana's heart raced. Tires skidded on the wet asphalt, hydroplaning. She gasped—bringing herself back into the moment, fighting to regain control, but it was too late. Headlights from an oncoming truck flooded her vision; The world pitched sideways, metal screeching and glass shattering.

In those final seconds, her life's regrets swirled in her mind: the unrequited hopes, the relentless feeling of being cast aside, and an unfinished novel that she loathed for taking away the one interesting character.

She barely registered the impact—just a roar of sound, a blinding pain—then darkness.