UNREAD

3 ~ The Echo Between Us

Aimee smiled and nodded, but didn't explain. How could she explain a pain that had no title? A heartbreak that hadn't even started as love, but gratitude?

Except maybe... maybe it had grown into something else.

So on the eighth day,  She went again.

Not out of hope-out of instinct. Out of that aching, invisible string that seemed to tug her back to him no matter how far she tried to run.

This time, the familiar clerk who had sometimes collected her letters when he was on seat when she came around was standing behind the receptionist desk instead of the receptionist herself.

His eyes softened when he saw her.

"Miss Aimee," he said gently. "Mr. Carter has a lot on his plate today. But maybe... maybe I can do something. Give me a minute."

She nodded, heart thudding.

Finally?

A minute turned into ten, then fifteen. Then the clerk returned with a look she couldn't read.

"He'll see you," he said.

Aimee's breath hitched. "Now?"

He nodded once. "Take the elevator to the fifteenth floor.
Office at the end of the hallway."

She hesitated, eyes wide. "Is he... is he in a good mood?"

The clerk opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Just go.
He'll talk to you."

She should've known.

She should've asked more questions.

But she didn't. She stepped into the elevator with shaking legs and too much hope pressed into her ribcage.

And she didn't know she was walking straight into a storm.
The elevator ride felt like a prayer.

Aimee stared at her reflection in the mirrored walls, trying to steady her breath, trying not to overthink. She didn't know what she expected-maybe not a warm welcome, but at least civility. Maybe curiosity. Maybe... kindness.

She stepped out onto the fifteenth floor. The hallway was quiet, unnervingly so. Carpeted floors. Frosted glass. Dim lighting.

There was one door at the end, dark oak with a silver plaque.
Noah Carter, CEO.

She walked slowly, her heels muffled on the carpet. Her heart beat too loudly in her ears.

Just as she raised her hand to knock—

The door flung open.

Noah stepped out with such speed, the wind of it nearly pushed her back.

He didn't see her at first.

His face was thunderous, eyes hollow with something she didn't recognize-rage? despair? defeat? His jaw clenched.
His suit jacket was half off his shoulders, his tie loosened like a noose around his neck.

His assistant followed him out with a stack of documents.
"Sir, please. You might want to re-"

"I said I'm done!" he barked. His voice was sharp enough to make the assistant flinch. "If they want to kill the deal, let them. I'm not crawling back to people who change terms ten minutes before signing."

The assistant's mouth opened, then shut.

That scent got to him first before he even turned. Her scent.

Noah turned and that was when he saw her.

Aimee.

Standing just outside his office door, wide-eyed and unsure.

His entire frame went rigid. The storm in his chest shifted course, and now, it had a new target.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he snapped.

Her mouth opened, dry as dust. "I-I came to talk to you. I just wanted to—"

"Talk?" he laughed bitterly. "More letters? More drama?
More excuses to show up uninvited like some obsessed—"

"I'm not obsessed!" she said, stung.

His floor which had just very few key workers suddenly had persons peeling out of their offices.

People had begun to watch—employees slowing their steps, trying to look busy as they listened.

Noah didn't care. "Do you have any idea what kind of day this is for me? Do you think I want to deal with you right now?"

Her face paled.

"I've told you before—your letters are not a ticket into my life. You can't just appear when you feel like it."

"I just wanted to help," she whispered.

"Help?" His eyes flashed. "You don't know a damn thing about my life"

She took a shaky step back. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"But you did," he said, his voice lowering, colder. "Again and again. You don't know when to stop."

And then, with the finality of a slammed door, he turned.

He walked past her like she was invisible.

Like the girl he once saved had never mattered.

Aimee followed him without thinking. Down the hallway.
Into the elevator. To the ground floor.

She was trembling.

"Noah, wait-please—"

He turned around at the front desk, fury barely masked.

"You want a truth? Fine. You were a moment. An accident. A stranger I helped once. Stop trying to make it more than that."

Her chest caved inward.

"And for God's sake," he added, voice sharper than glass,
"stop writing. It's pathetic."

The security guard at the corner glanced up.

The receptionist looked down.

And Aimee?

She stood still for a moment—then turned and walked away, tears of shame and embarrassment burning down her cheeks as she left part of her soul in that lobby.

Days Passed.

She didn't write.

She didn't visit.

She didn't call.

She removed his contact from her phone, burned every unfinished letter, and folded into herself like a dying star.

Gratitude had once tethered her to him.

But now, silence buried her deeper than any goodbye ever could.

It was never his fault. It wasn't.

She understood how bizarre her actions were.

She was just too clingy, trying to grasp desperately a feeing she hadn't felt for the longest time in her life. That feeling of safety. Safety.