15. ARIA
15
ARIA
T he journey to the office is a blur, the cityscape passing by my window a reflection of my internal disarray. The streets are crowded; the world moving on indifferent to the turmoil that grips me. I find myself envious of the oblivious passersby, their chests presumably unburdened by the heartache that currently occupies mine.
Arriving at the office, I’m instantly relieved to find Brendan’s desk empty. The usual barrage of forced pleasantries or that irritatingly cheerful smile is the last thing I can handle right now. Skipping the need to pull myself together for a casual “Good morning,” I slip through the lobby unnoticed.
The contrast between my usual put-together self and the person I am today is painfully evident. The hushed greetings of my colleagues, their glances both curious and concerned, only serve to heighten my sense of dislocation. I am an actor out of step with her role, the facade of competence and confidence I've so carefully constructed now cracked by the force of my emotional upheaval.
I’ve come into the office looking like a total mess—sweatpants, an oversized university hoodie, my hair piled into a messy bun, and not a stitch of makeup. The dark circles under my puffy eyes betray my lack of sleep and the tears I've shed.
This rough morning is more than just a departure from routine; it’s a manifestation of the internal conflict that has left me raw and exposed. Last night, I texted Pedro to see how the mediation session with Jessica went, but he never responded. I figured maybe the session just ran long. But when I texted him again this morning and he still hasn’t gotten back to me, I'm convinced I've either freaked him out with my declaration that I need to talk to him about something important, or he made up with Jessica, leaving me out in the cold yet again—just like when he dumped me four years ago in the middle of the pandemic lockdown.
The common area at Full Circle Consulting looks pristine as usual, all sleek Scandi-minimalist furnishings and soft-focus lighting, the kind of place where every surface glows and every chair is perfectly positioned. It’s a place meant to project quiet confidence—the very things I seem to be losing .
I walk past the sleek walnut coffee table and glance up at the digital leaderboard. The glow from the screen casts a harsh light, and there it is: Mallu’s name at the top, above mine.
The sight stops me in my tracks, but I don’t feel the sharp sting of surprise. No. What I feel is resignation, the kind that wraps around me like a wet blanket. Maybe I’ve been living a lie all along. I was never cut out for the cutthroat game of rebounding. A game where Mallu clearly thrives, while I’ve been scrambling, pretending to be someone I’m not.
At the sound of distant laughter, I quickly duck into the bathroom, needing a moment to compose myself before I completely unravel in front of the entire office. Closing the door softly behind me, I lean over the sink, staring into the mirror, hoping the cool water I splash on my face will do something to snap me out of it. But it doesn’t.
The reflection that stares back at me isn’t the Aria who could handle anything life threw at her. It’s someone lost, someone who feels like she’s fighting a losing battle—at work, in love, with herself. A tear slips down my cheek before I can catch it, and I wipe it away angrily. This isn’t who I am. I don’t break. I don’t crack. Not here.
A knock on the door snaps me out of my thoughts. I quickly swipe at my face, straightening up just as the door creaks open. Of course, it’s Mallu. The sight of her is like salt in the wound after seeing her name above mine on the leaderboard.
She steps in, brows raised slightly. “Are you okay?” Her tone isn’t as sharp as usual. It’s cautious, and that alone is unsettling. She’s sizing me up, but something’s different.
“Fine,” I mutter, turning away from the mirror. The last thing I need is for Mallu to see me like this.
Mallu, usually so poised and put together, leans against the counter, her gaze lingering on me longer than usual. She doesn’t say anything for a moment, just watches me in that unnerving way of hers, as if she’s peeling away the layers. “It’s just that I’ve never seen you like this.”
There’s no sarcasm, no challenge in her voice. I’m not sure what to make of it, but my pride flares up anyway. “Like what?”
“Like you’re falling apart.”
My fingers grip the edge of the sink, knuckles turning white. I take a deep breath, forcing out a dry laugh. “I’m fine.”
She doesn’t budge, doesn’t believe me for a second. And then, in a way that surprises the hell out of me, she softens. “You don’t have to pretend, you know.” She pauses, glancing at the floor for a split second, and when she looks up, her face is serious. “This job…it’s not always as glamorous as it looks on the outside. I get it.”
I frown, confused by her sudden shift in tone. “What are you talking about? ”
Mallu lets out a sigh, crossing her arms, her usual guarded expression faltering for just a moment. “You ever feel like no matter how hard you push, there’s always something—or someone—ready to knock you back down?”
Her words catch me off guard, but I manage a nonchalant shrug. “Yeah, that’s kind of the gig, right? The competition. The pressure. We all deal with it.”
Mallu tilts her head, studying me like she’s deciding whether to let me in on something. “Sure. But not everyone has as much riding on it.”
I lean against the sink, crossing my arms to mirror her. “What do you mean?”
She hesitates, her eyes flicking to the floor before meeting mine again. “You know how it is… you’re always fighting for that next step up. But for some of us, it’s not just about climbing the ladder. It’s about survival.”
There’s a weight in her words that makes me pause. “What are you saying? That if you don’t make partner, it’s over for you?”
Mallu’s lips press into a thin line before she responds, her voice softer. “Not over. But let’s just say, if I don’t make partner, I’m not just losing a promotion. I’m losing... a lot more.” She hesitates again, and I can tell she’s not used to being this open, especially with me. “My visa depends on this job. If I don’t stay here, I go back.”
“To Brazil?” I ask, trying to tread lightly .
She nods, her arms tightening around herself as if the thought alone is too heavy to bear. “Yeah. And… look, I love my country, but going back isn’t really an option. Not after everything.” Her voice dips, and I can hear the crack in it. “Especially not after my mom.”
I frown, the pieces starting to fall into place. “Your mom?”
Mallu’s gaze shifts to the side, her voice almost a whisper now. “COVID. She didn’t make it. Brazil was... bad. I don’t want to go back to that. to all those memories. I just can’t.”
The room goes quiet, and for the first time, I see her without the armor she’s always worn. There’s no rivalry in her eyes, no competitiveness. Just exhaustion.
“I didn’t know,” I say softly, unsure of what else to offer.
“Why would you?” she replies, her tone not unkind, just matter-of-fact. “We’ve both been too busy trying to win this race to notice what’s happening off the track.”
I swallow, feeling a strange mixture of guilt and understanding settle between us.
Her admission blindsides me. Mallu—Miss Perfect, Miss Untouchable—has been battling something far worse than the office politics we’ve been caught up in. I’m too stunned to speak at first, but when I do, the words come out softer than I intend. “I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t,” she replies, her voice tightening slightly. “And I didn’t know that you’ve been dealing with something, too. I just figured you’re Aria—unshakable, always ahead of the game.”
My laugh is bitter, and I run a hand through my hair, still feeling the sting of seeing her name above mine. “Yeah, well, turns out I'm not as unshakable as I thought.”
The air between us shifts, the tension that’s always been there softening into something almost...human. Vulnerable.
“I get why you’ve been so competitive,” I admit after a pause. “And honestly, I’ve been just as bad. I guess I’ve been afraid of losing too. But all I lost during the pandemic was a boyfriend and my will to open my Zoom app.” I shrug, attempting to lighten the mood, though the words still weigh heavily.
Mallu’s expression softens even more, and for the first time, I see her not as my rival, but as someone who’s been struggling just like me. “We all lost something,” she says quietly. “Doesn’t mean yours hurts any less.”
We stand there for a moment, the silence stretching between us, but this time it’s not uncomfortable. It’s a truce of sorts, an acknowledgment that maybe—just maybe—we’ve both been fighting the wrong battles.
“Listen,” she says, straightening up. “Whatever that leaderboard says, I don’t want us to hate each other. This job isn’t worth it.”
I nod, swallowing the painful mass in my throat. “Agreed. ”
With that, Mallu turns to leave, but just before she reaches the door, she glances back at me, her lips pulling into a small, almost awkward smile. “Take care of yourself, Aria. It’s a hard world out there...nobody’s unbreakable.” She pauses, then adds with a little shrug, “Just... don’t try to be the one holding every shoulder together all the time.”
As the door clicks shut behind her, I let out a soft laugh at her mixed metaphor. Maybe we’re not so different after all. It seems we’ve both been fighting our own demons in our own way.
Oddly enough, for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel so alone.
As I make my way to my desk, the physical and emotional distance I've traveled feels insurmountable. The stage is set for what I know will be a day of confrontation—not just with the tasks that await me, but with the unresolved emotions Pedro’s distance has stirred. The impending confrontation I've planned for today also looms large.
The office, usually a place of ambition and achievement, feels suddenly cold, the air charged with a tension that’s almost tangible. Gretchen’s office, adorned with flowers and candy—a thoughtful gesture from Tío Juan—stands in contrast to the gravity of the situation I'm about to face.
As I step into Gretchen’s office, the weight of my decision presses on my shoulders. The revelation that Pedro has basically been blackmailed by Jessica since before she even arrived at Full Circle has shaken me to my core. It’s a truth that not only alters my perception of the past but also casts a harsh light on the present, on the work I've been doing and the person I've become.
Gretchen looks up from her desk, her expression unusually light. There’s a subtle shift in her demeanor, a warmth that wasn't there before. I spot a bouquet of vibrant flowers and a box of fancy chocolates on her desk—undoubtedly from Tío Juan, who seems to have made quite the impression on her. “Well, well, well... If it isn’t my personal cupid.”
My stomach clenches as I realize she’s probably found out about my history with Pedro. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the words that are about to come. “We need to talk.”
She leans back in her chair, a smirk playing on her lips, but her eyes narrow slightly. “We certainly do need to talk. We need to talk about how on earth you believed you could get away with rebounding your own ex-boyfriend under my nose.”
“I made a huge mistake taking the Farrow case,” I respond, my voice wavering slightly. “But I think the biggest mistake I made was taking this position when I was still so freshly out of that brutal breakup with Pedro.”
Gretchen’s brow lifts, but there’s no sharpness in her gaze—just a flicker of understanding, and maybe even a hint of amusement. “I mean, rebounding your own ex-boyfriend? You were bound to hit a wall at some point. ”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “Yeah, well, I thought I could handle it,” I say, my voice steady despite the turmoil churning inside me. “But I’ve come to realize I can’t. It’s not just about Pedro, though. It’s everything—the manipulation, the way we blur the lines between what’s right and what’s profitable. The whole system. It’s eating away at me.”
Gretchen sighs, twirling a flower between her fingers, clearly in a different mood today—Tío Juan’s influence, no doubt. “Look, I get it. This job isn’t for everyone. But you've always been able to compartmentalize. What are you trying to tell me?”
I hesitate, the truth sticking in my throat. “The whole reason I took this job, the motivation behind everything I've done here, was based on a lie. The lie that I'd rather play the game of love than risk getting hurt by the real thing again.”
Gretchen’s concern is etched across her features, though softened by her unusually bright demeanor. “I'm not surprised you've come to this realization. In fact, I’ve had the same doubts many times myself over the years. But after seven divorces, this rebounding business is all I have left—and, thanks to Juan’s weekend deliveries, a little sweetness doesn’t hurt.” She gestures to the chocolates with a grin.
A bitter laugh escapes my lips. “I can’t keep pretending that I’m okay with how we do things here. It’s not me.”
Gretchen is silent for a moment, glancing at the flowers before giving me a resigned look. “So, you’re moving on, huh, kiddo?”
I nod, the weight of my decision settling on my shoulders. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, the opportunities you’ve given me. But it’s time for me to make things right... if it’s not too late for that.”
Gretchen leans forward, her expression softening, her fingers still lightly brushing over the flowers as though they’ve brightened her day. “Well then, go out there and be somebody, girl! Don’t let this place hold you back.”
Relief washes over me, mingling with the bittersweet sting of goodbye. “Thanks, Gretchen. For understanding, and for everything.”
As I stand to leave, Gretchen’s voice stops me. “Aria, for what it’s worth, I think you’re right. Maybe Juan’s right, too. I think it’s time Full Circle got a full-body makeover.”
I smile, a genuine warmth spreading through me at her words. “Just don’t let this place end up on Botched .”
Walking out of Gretchen’s office, I feel a mix of emotions—relief, uncertainty, and a strange sense of lightness. The decision to quit, to walk away from the world of manipulation and deceit, feels like a weight lifted, a chance to start anew. Gretchen and Tío Juan must have had one hell of a fun weekend together for her to react so warmly to my criticism of the company’s shady practices.
And as I step out of the office for the last time, the sun on my face and the city bustling around me, I know that whatever comes next, whatever challenges lie ahead, I’m ready to face them head-on, armed with the truth of who I am and the courage to forge my own path. Well, I’ll be ready as soon as I take a shower and put some heavy-duty concealer on these raccoon eyes.