Page 117 of The Secretary Volume II

There’s a coffee shop I stop by most mornings.It’s new—tiny, tucked into the corner of an old building.The barista knows my name.He even remembers how to spell it right.

This morning, I’m waiting for my order when I see her.

Gillian.

Hair longer.Skin pale.Dressed like someone who shops in quiet places.She’s sitting alone, stirring cream into a cup that looks too hot to drink.She’s not looking at anyone.Not reading.She’s just…there.

My heart stops like I’ve seen a ghost, like I’ve been stabbed in the chest and left breathless for a second.I’m frozen, unsure if I want her to see me, but somehow, I need her to.

She doesn’t.

Or maybe she does.

For a second, her eyes drift up.They land near me.Through me.

No recognition.

Just a shift.It’s a flicker.Like she heard a song once, and forgot the words, but the melody stayed lodged in her ribs.She goes back to her coffee.But when my name is called, her head lifts.

Just for a second.Our eyes meet.

I want to walk over.I want to say something.But what would I say?

The ache is sharp, quick, all at once—for her and for everything.

A pain that doesn’t want to leave but can’t figure out how to stay.

My phone buzzes

You still want takeout and bad documentaries?Or should we pretend to be healthy adults and cook?

I exhale.The ache doesn’t go away, but it shifts—less sharp now.I text back:

Surprise me.

I walk out of the shop.Into the morning.Into a day that doesn’t ask for anything but my presence.

The ache doesn’t leave me, but it shifts.It’s not just for her—it’s for everything, all of it.I didn’t save her.Maybe I couldn’t.But I’m here.

He’s waiting.

And maybe that’s enough—for now.

68

Gillian

The woman across the shop is staring at me.

I don’t know her.

But she looks like she knows me.

Her hand trembles when she picks up her drink, just slightly.She covers it well.

Her hair’s pulled back the way corporate likes it, but her eyes don’t match the rest of her—too alert, too knowing.

Her eyes skim the room like she’s cataloging exits, escape routes, witness angles.I can’t place her face, but something in my chest shifts sideways.Like I used to know her name.Or maybe just how she made me feel.