Chapter 32
CALLUM
Maybe Tomorrow - Stereophonics
Numbers and migraine had become his worst nightmare, and his constant companion.
They pulsed together, relentless. He really didn’t care about the latest greenwashing case they’d encountered, or the last meeting in which Asma had excitedly announced they’d won yet another lawsuit.
He couldn’t bring himself to feel anything close to happiness, because that office in London was slowly, methodically sucking the life out of him.
His only spark of happiness was Alejandra, chatting with him whenever he wasn’t stuck in front of a computer screen—answering emails, filing cases, filling spreadsheets—or trapped in the middle of yet another meeting that could have been an email.
Every night since Ericeira, Alejandra and Callum had shared texts, and sometimes even late-night calls.
The no contact phase had disappeared, mostly because he’d all but begged her to end it, and she had complied.
Probably because making her come in a wooden stall during the USL finals, right before she spiraled into darkness, had proved to be an effective method.
He still dreamt about her kneeling in front of him, his cock in her mouth, her green eyes locked on his as he came. He could barely stand thinking about it without getting hard.
“Are you coming to the pub?” Leif asked, entering his office and dropping heavily onto the chair in front of his desk, destroying his fantasies and turning his dick limp in his pants.
He looked as drained as Callum felt. Maybe it was the white fluorescent light casting over them, bleaching everything into something dull and lifeless, or maybe it was just how Callum saw everyone now. If he was miserable there, surely everybody else had to be too.
“I don’t know. I might call it a day and head home. I have this never-ending migraine, and I just need to lie down… maybe watch an anime or something.” He pressed his fingers briefly to his temple, as if that alone might dull the ache.
“Are you going to call your girlfriend?” Leif smirked, raking a hand through his blond hair as he stretched.
“She’s not my girlfriend.” Callum sighed, cracking his spine before standing up and pacing in front of the window. Night had already fallen—ugh—and London was alight, glowing in a way he used to find comforting. Now it just felt distant.
“But you wish she was.”
“I’m working on it,” he admitted, loosening his tie slightly. The fabric suddenly felt too tight, like everything else in his life. “At least… it’s something good I can look forward to.”
When he turned, Leif was studying him—really studying him.
“What?”
“When are you going to tell Asma that you’re done with Lamina?”
Callum blinked, scowling. “How do you know?”
“You look miserable. The only times you didn’t were when we were in Tarifa… and then when you came back from Portugal.” Leif leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I see you every time I pass your office, or when I catch you in meetings. You clearly don’t want to be here, C.”
Callum let out a quiet breath. “And you?”
“That’s another story.”
Callum raised an eyebrow. “Are you tired of Lamina too?”
“Not in the same way you are.”
“Sometimes it’s really hard to understand you, Leif. What does that even mean?” Callum muttered, pressing the bridge of his nose, willing the migraine to recede.
It didn’t.
“I’d rather not talk about it. I came here to talk about you.” Leif gave him a small smile, trying to lighten the mood that had inevitably turned somber.
They both loved Lamina—what it stood for, what it did.
But at the same time, Callum had spent his whole life dreaming of training in swimming pools or open water, chasing something physical, something alive…
and instead, he had ended up seated in an office chair, staring at a screen for too many hours a day, watching his life flatten into spreadsheets.
“There’s nothing to talk about. What can I even do?”
“You could ask Asma and I for a sabbatical. Take some time off. You’ll be missed, obviously,” Leif said, shrugging, “but I’d rather know you’re out there actually living your life somewhere than watching you sulk here… or worse, burn yourself out completely.”
Callum stilled. Surprise flickered across his face. Did he really look that bad? Bad enough for Leif to worry about him like that?
“Don’t make that face,” Leif continued. “I don’t know if Asma’s noticed—or if she’s doing what she always does and pretending everything’s fine—but I have. And you’re not fine. Not even close.”
Callum looked away.
“So, as your friend—and yeah, as your business partner too—but mainly as your friend, I’m asking you to consider it. A sabbatical. Time off. You’ve saved money, you’ve invested well, and you’ve got that apartment in Victoria Park. You’ll be okay. Just… think about it, alright?”
“I—I don’t know, Leif.” The words came out weaker than he intended. “I don’t think Asma will be happy. She relies on me a lot for the accounting side.”
“And I do too,” Leif admitted, standing up. “But again, I’d rather be safe than sorry, Callum.” He hesitated for a second, then added more quietly, “I care about you, man. You didn’t go through a destroyed knee and the end of a ten-year relationship just to end up like this. You deserve more.”
“You do too,” Callum frowned.
“I know,” Leif said with a small, crooked smile. “And that’s why I’m going to the pub now to see if I can chat with a cute girl and stop killing myself over Asma.”
Callum almost smiled. Almost. He was fairly sure Leif wasn’t actually going to do it.
He waved him goodbye, but just before Leif reached the door, Callum stopped him.
“So… Asma doesn’t know?”
“That I talked to you about a sabbatical? No.” Leif shook his head. “I’ve no idea if she’s realized how miserable you are, but… I don’t know. I feel like she’s always been a bit self-absorbed.”
Callum nodded slowly. As much as he cared about Asma, he knew Leif wasn’t entirely wrong.
She was an only child, career-driven, an overachiever who had started building her company while they were still at Harvard, and turned it into something massive in just a few years.
Lamina was her world. Because of that, she didn’t really see beyond it.
And yet… he couldn’t blame her.
But the problem wasn’t Asma. Or Leif. Or even Lamina.
It was him.
The realization settled heavily in his chest, uncomfortable and inescapable.
And somehow, even though the idea of a sabbatical sounded good—tempting, even—he couldn’t stop the questions from creeping in.
Who was he without Lamina? Without accounting? Who was he, really? And strangely, he wasn’t as afraid of the answer as he thought he’d be. Not like Alejandra would be.
Still… he hesitated.