Chapter 4
Just as I’m about to run past the breakfast plate, my mother’s voice rings in the back of my head about wasting food, so at the last second, I screech to a stop.
I pick up the plate and eat as fast as I can.
I choke a little on the toast but quickly wash it all down with the orange juice.
I dump the dishes in the sink and then speed out the door.
Emily might give me another lecture about not loading the dishwasher, but I can use my birthday as an excuse.
I lock the front door behind me, then shoot off a text to Stella to let her know I’m going to be late.
In all my years of working at the firm, I’ve only been late twice: one time the subway broke down, and the second time my sister had gone into labor, so I waited at the hospital with her until her husband arrived.
As a result, whenever I’m late, my coworkers know something must have exploded in my life.
When I get on the subway, I squeeze through the thick crowd until I find a free spot. I touch my forehead to the back of my hand, willing the panic rising in my body to cool down.
It wasn’t real, right? Maybe I made breakfast without remembering it. Maybe Emily parted the curtains before she went to work. And maybe my parents had a typewriter delivered as a birthday gift. And maybe…my vivid hallucination just happened to feel real.
I shake my head, blinking a couple of times to push away the thoughts.
I forgot my headphones again in the chaos of this morning, so that leaves people watching to keep me entertained until I get to work.
My gaze sweeps along the length of the car; I usually leave the apartment around seven forty-five so I can guarantee myself a seat before the nine o’clock rush, but after…
everything that happened, I didn’t leave until almost eight forty-five, so while it’s not nearly as crowded as peak time, it’s still pretty full.
A woman stands next to me, her elbow practically digging into my side.
She’s in a smart pantsuit ensemble, her hair is blow-dried to perfection, and her flawless makeup somehow increases the aura around her.
The only thing that stands out is her shoes: instead of dress shoes or sharp heels, she’s wearing a pair of Birkenstocks.
I’m not sure what could have possibly possessed her to pair such a fancy outfit with sandals, especially as the temperatures continue to drop every day.
But maybe she has a pair of fancy shoes in the tote bag hanging off her shoulder.
Maybe her last pair of good high heels broke this morning and the Birks were all she had left.
This would be a really good detail for a protagonist, and it could lead to an adorable meet-cute, and—
I shut those thoughts down. There’s no reason for me to be thinking about characters or meet-cutes. I shift slightly forward and turn my back to the woman before any more of her outfit inspires writing thoughts. I’ve given up writing.
“No, that’s good!” Aashiq’s voice suddenly exclaims. “Keep thinking about how you could include these details in a story.”
I jump, nearly falling into the old man standing next to me.
He gives me the stink eye, and I dip my head in apology before turning to my right.
Impossibly, there’s Aashiq. His hand rests above my own, gripping the subway pole.
He’s taken the spot of the woman with the sandals, and she’s shifted a couple of paces away.
I don’t know if she moved because the subway car emptied a little at the last stop, or if it’s because she sensed something there that shouldn’t be, but either way, Aashiq is standing next to me.
I give him a once-over, my brows rising to my forehead.
“How the hell did you get here? I thought I hallucinated you!”
He shakes his head. “Nah, I’m still here! I told you I’m here for as long as you need me, and you clearly need me right now.”
“I don’t—” I start, but at the ogling from the other people around me, I cut myself off.
I don’t know why they’re staring at me; someone talking to themselves certainly isn’t the strangest thing to ever happen on a New York subway.
Once I saw a guy dressed completely in black step onto the car with a crow sitting on his shoulder.
The bird actually seemed very well trained, but I got off two stops early just in case.
I fish my phone from my purse and pretend to answer it, holding it up to my ear.
“And I told you I don’t need you here,” I reiterate, staring at Aashiq so he knows I’m talking to him.
“I’ve given up on writing, and that’s it. ”
“Okay, fine,” Aashiq relents. He nods once, then tilts his head to the side and relaxes his eyes. “You’ve given up on writing. Can you tell me why?”
His even tone and softened brows reminds me of when an adult tries to calm a child down when they’re angry, and while it’s kind of annoying, I have to admit it works.
“Because stories like mine are a dime a dozen,” I grumble, my mind drifting back to Rachel’s email.
“Nobody wants to read them. One of the biggest agents in the romance world said that.”
“That’s just one agent’s opinion,” Aashiq points out. “It doesn’t mean you throw in the towel completely.”
I huff. “Please. I get enough talk like that from the people around me. I don’t need to hear it from my hallucination.”
“I’m not a—” he begins, but he stops when he sees me drop my hand from the pole and move toward the exit. I pocket my phone and wait for the doors to open, and when they do, I step out.
As I emerge onto the street, I check behind me to see if Aashiq is still following. My eyes flit over the crowd of commuters, but I can’t see the top of his head. With a relieved sigh, I turn back around.
Just as I do, my chest bumps into another one, and I stumble backward.
An insult hangs on my tongue, but I force it back when I recognize Aashiq.
He stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Maybe you don’t like hearing what me and everyone else in your life have to say because you know we’re right,” he suggests.
I roll my eyes and go around him. “You’re not right,” I insist.
I hear footsteps trailing after me, so I quicken my pace. “Come on, Ziya!” Aashiq calls. He falls into step next to me. “Can’t you entertain the idea that you’re doing the wrong thing in giving up?”
There’s a hot dog vendor on the corner, so while I wait for the light to turn green, I step toward him. “Excuse me,” I say to get the vendor’s attention. He makes eye contact with me and nods for me to go on. I point my thumb backward at Aashiq. “Can you see the guy following me?”
He peers over my shoulder, then furrows his brows. “There’s someone following you? Do you need me to call somebody?”
I drop my hand. “No, it’s okay,” I say. “Thanks anyway.”
The streetlight turns green and the little white stick man glows, so I cross the street. Aashiq is still on my heels, and when we reach the other side of the street, he asks, “Where are we going?”
I side-eye him. “Work,” I reply.
“What do you work as?”
“If you’re a part of me, shouldn’t you know what I do for work?”
“You’d think so, but when it comes to you, I only know about your artistry,” he explains. “Everything else is fuzzy in there.” He points to my head.
I frown at the action and push his hand away. “I’m a legal secretary at a law firm.”
He wrinkles his nose. “That sounds boring.”
I grit my teeth. “Well, it’s how I earn my living,” I say. “It’s the only thing I’m going to focus on from now on.”
“But what about writing?”
“I was never a full-time writer before I decided to give up,” I answer. “I live in New York, and I need money to pay my bills. Writing was always something I did after work.”
Maybe writing distracted me too much and that’s why Colin won’t fund my JD.
I always finished my work within the nine to five hours, but perhaps I could arrange to do more, and that’ll really show Colin that the firm should fund my education.
At this point, between getting published and getting a law degree, the latter seems more likely. I just have to work harder.
We reach my building, and as I wrap my fingers around the handle, I turn to Aashiq. “Now, will you please leave me alone? This is my workplace, and I can’t have anything go wrong here. The last thing I need after being an emotional train wreck last night is to lose my job.”
I head inside without waiting to hear an answer, but as I enter the elevator and turn around to face the door, relief washes over me when I realize I’m well and truly alone.
My spine rests against the wall, and I tip my head back.
When I reach my floor, I savor one last moment of serenity before I scurry out.
I pull the door to the office open and run in. All the lights are on, and Stella sits behind my desk, fiddling with something on the computer. My shoulders relax a touch; at least it’s Stella and not Colin. If it was my boss, I might as well kiss my education goodbye.
My heels screech along the hardwood floor as I throw my hands on top of the desk. Stella startles but raises her head. “I am so sorry I’m late!” I apologize before she can say anything. “I forgot to set my alarm last night and I’ve had a weird morning—”
Stella waves me off. “It’s fine, Ziya,” she assures me.
“You’re always on time so I figured if you were late, there had to be a reason.
It’s not even that much past nine.” Her long bleached platinum hair swishes as she stands up from the chair.
“Plus, Colin’s not due to come in until the afternoon, so you’re good.
No one’s called in, and I sat at the desk in case anyone needed help.
” Stella walks around the desk and heads to the hallway that leads to the offices.
“Unless you need anything else, though, I’m gonna get back to work. ”
“No, I’ve got it.” I peel my coat off. “Thanks, Stella. You saved me.”