'Dry your tears now, don't you cry

I'm by your side, at least for a while

I know I do this every time

I walk the line, yeah, I play with fire.'

*ALTHEA'S POV*

November 2, 2023.

"If you want to only be partly inclusive, it will be without me."

Upon these words, I walked out, and I would have loved to say it was as confident and freeing as Andy getting away from Miranda Priestly. However, the only thing that felt assured were the thumps of my heart against the papers I clutched with shaky hands, while the doubts crept under my skin like the outraged looks and indiscreet whispers I passed by, and the second I closed the door, I tottered against the wall with a trembling sigh.

I couldn't even trust my hazy eyes as I pulled the phone out of my bag, blindly searching for something, someone to cling to, though my fingers slipped on the ending call button when a voice echoed from behind me.

"Althea? Althea? Are you okay?"

I turned to meet Linda's worried frown, or at least, the blur of creased shadows I could decipher, which was enough to take in the reality of it all.

I'd just given up the position of creative director and with it, my current job too.

"I... I don't know."

"Aw, come here." Linda pulled me into her arms, surely sensing my unstable state—in more ways than one. "Are you sure of what you did? I know it's been your dream since you're little and..."

The thumping of my heart was still certain though, as I leaned away to meet her hazel gaze.

"No, my dream was to design clothes for every kid."

It had been the reason why I'd first picked up a sewing needle, and the young girl, who'd kept trying despite the many pricks on her fingers, wouldn't have wanted any disabled kid to feel left out. I had felt the same determination during my presentation, and maybe it hadn't only been the image of Gracie's disappointed face that had pushed me to this decision.

I'd done it for the young girl full of dreams I'd been, and I hoped that if she could have seen me right now, she would have had the same glimmer of pride as the woman in front of me had in her wrinkling eyes when she smiled at me, wiping the tear that slipped down my cheek.

"It's a beautiful dream. Don't ever give up on it."

"Yes... if someone ever wants to hire me after what I just did." I winced towards the door I'd stepped out of, knowing that in this field, I would surely meet a lot exactly the same: closed and filled with powerful, narrow-minded people who all knew each other.

"Why not become your own boss then?" Linda suggested, and the casual wave of her shawl, her light tone, and the craziness of the idea made me believe she was trying to pull me a laugh, at first.

However, I quickly took in the seriousness in her gaze as she glanced around the hallway, making sure we were alone, and the drop in her tone as she continued in a whisper,

"Listen, in one month, I won't be working here anymore, and I have lots of contacts in the industry from the manufacturers to the distributors, and even investors who will love your designs. So I can help you."

"You would? But what about your plans to travel and do nothing once you're retired?" I asked, breathless, and I wasn't sure if it was because of what she was ready to sacrifice for me or just the fact I was considering the crazy idea.

"We both know I can't get away from fashion completely, and nowadays, we can work from anywhere in the world with some good wifi. If you still want to put up with me?"

"Of course! I love to work with you."

The real question, however, was could I create my own business and succeed?

The more it swirled through my head, the crazier it appeared, yet what had bubbled inside my chest as disbelieving laughter slowly grew into something else, as light, though much more serious and powerful.

"And I think I like this idea."

"Great, we'll talk about it when you've recovered from your emotions. You probably want to tell everything to your man right now."

She pointed to the phone I was still clutching with my designs over my chest, its vibration echoing so perfectly the thrumming of my heart that it took me an instant to realize someone was calling me, and by the time, I looked down at the screen, Linda's knowing smile was already disappearing behind the meeting room door, leaving me alone to answer... the man on the other side.

"You called me?"

Well, I didn't let out more than a shallow breath, sounding even more surprised at the question than he was as I realized my shaky fingers had instinctively found his name through all my contacts minutes ago.

Then again, the toneless AI voice didn't hold many emotions, since Asher was using his text-to-speech application, like he always did for his phone calls because the words traveled more easily and faster through the line, according to him.

So easily and fast that I didn't get to explain as the robotic tone continued,

"So are you the new creative director already? Told you they would be convinced in no time by your idea."

"I'm not, and... I don't even think I have my actual job anymore." I closed my eyes at the sound of it out loud, hoarse and feeble like the first crack of fire lighting up the fuse, and the detonation didn't wait long inside my chest and on the other side of the line.

"The fuck?!" He didn't use his tablet this time, his own gravelly voice carrying through the phone and surely the whole hallway too. "Are they blind or just plain dumb? You're so f'cking talented. They can't do that! That's d-discrimination. I'll make those bastards regret—"

"Asher, wait, it's fine." I found myself reassuring him as I stepped into the nearest bathroom to have some privacy, my voice, my legs, and my heart rate steadying under his angry outburst.

It was hard to explain, yet the frequency of his raw tone through the phone combined with the many curse words had a strangely soothing effect on my nerves. Or maybe it was because I could picture the sharp gestures of his right hand, the tight clench of his jaw, and the fire in his green eyes as if he were here with me.

"No, s'not f-fine. You've worked so hard on this collection."

"Yes, and it's the reason why I couldn't give it up just for a promotion. I'd rather create my own brand and be able to make it fully inclusive. Linda even offered to help, and I don't know... maybe it could work?"

Although Linda had just assured me about it, all her arguments, her years of experience in the fashion industry, and the oxygen around vanished during the long seconds of silence as I waited for his reaction.

After all, he was the expert in crazy ideas. If he believed it was possible, anything was, and if he didn't...

"No, not maybe. It's sure. You're gonna show the world how mad talented you are." He let out a stunned breath, the oxygen seeming to travel straight from his chest to fill mine, even if it was just for a split-second before he exclaimed, "That's my peachy!"

With those words, we both lost our breath.

"I mean..."

"I know what you mean," I murmured, following the trail of his voice that was leading us back to seven years ago, when I'd stood, lost and terrified too, in a room full of judging glares, and he'd appeared in front of me, the confident sparkle in his jade eyes drawing me to take the biggest step into the unknown I had ever.

We don't have to do like everyone. You can be my Peachy, and I'll be your—

"You just gave me an idea for the name!" I jumped back into the present, almost literally as I bounced excitedly on my derby shoes.

"Yeah? Tell me."

"What do you think of the name..."

The moment of silence that surely echoed my words on the other side of the line wasn't to build the suspense when the bathroom door opened, and instead of a drum roll, it was my heart that thrummed loudly at the sight of the woman walking in with a haughty gaze I'd already met across the board table.

"Um, I'll tell you later." I turned back to my phone as the woman stepped in front of the mirror. "You probably have better things to do anyway, like... going back to sleep."

"No, can wait 'til you're away from whatever snob of the board just walked in. I was doing facial PT, but you helped me exercise already."

Indeed, his pronunciation of curses was perfect, and thankfully, I hadn't put him on speaker, although the woman probably caught my muffled giggle, judging by the appalled glance she threw me before I walked out.

She must have thought I was crazy for being this light-hearted after losing my job, and she was surely right.

***

"Don't you think it's a little..."

"Crazy?"

Even hours later, it was still the first word that came to my mind as I recalled what had happened at the board meeting, and if anyone had seen me at this instant, kneeling on my bedroom floor, surrounded by old notebooks and boxes covered in dust as I scribbled ideas and plans for a future brand, they would have surely agreed.

But I was alone, luckily.

"I was going to say 'abrupt'," Jordon noted, as always putting it smoothly. Well, as smoothly as it could be through the crackling of the line. "I mean, couldn't you start with a few designs like they wanted, and then suggest more once it was a success?"

"You know it's not how it works with this kind of board members. They won't change their mind until decades," I replied almost mechanically, the arguments imprinted in my brain from all the times I'd thrown them at my conscience today, even though in the end, what silenced it the best were the strong thumps of my heart as my gaze drifted back to my designs, the new and the old ones.

"Besides, it's every fashion designer's ultimate dream to have their own brand. So maybe it's my chance to make it come true."

"Yeah, why—You're talented, and you have a new profitable idea. They'll surely regret to have—go, and I—you—" He encouraged me, or at least, I guessed he did as his voice grew more and more faraway under the statics' echo.

"Jordon, it's hard to hear you. Where are you?"

Probably in the 'busy' 'subway', from the snatches I could catch, and when, with a few other words, the call was cut, I was left to put them together like a riddle to deduce it was 'fine', and we would 'wait' for 'dinner' to talk more.

And indeed, the same sentence, along with a few more words, flashed on my phone screen seconds later.

Texts were easier to communicate, and it was actually the only way we'd talked to each other in the past days—which, along with my long phone call of this morning and my many Google searches, explained why the battery icon on my screen was now bright red—as he'd flown out to Chicago for an express business trip just when I'd returned to New York.

To think we were in the same city right now was almost strange, and in less than two hours, we would be in the same room, sharing a dinner, which I had to start cooking.

Time had flown faster than I'd expected, looking through my old lessons about branding, marketing, and management to reassure myself that this crazy idea of creating my own business was possible and to not leave too much room for the doubts to creep in. It hadn't left much space on my bedroom floor either.

How had all these folders, notebooks, and boxes even fit into my closet before?

It was what I asked myself as I battled to push the doors closed, and a small cobalt and orange box tumbled on the floor.

I hadn't seen it in so long, I'd almost forgotten about its existence. Yet the moment I opened the lid, it was the rest of my existence I had trouble remembering, traveling through the few items I uncovered inside and the millions of memories that opened with them...

A unique one-dollar bill... a shapeless drawing, in which I still couldn't find any resemblance with a Summer fruit... Thankfully, the round pendant I grabbed next was more realistic... A keyring carved with the word 'home'... many colorful pictures, and... a stack of unsent letters.

These were the last things before I glimpsed the bottom of the box, the end of the journey in a place I'd rather never have gone back to. However, it was too late as my hands unfolded one of the crinkled beige papers, and my gaze landed on the words 'Dear Asher'.

'Dear Asher,

It's been a while since I haven't written you. I don't think any of the advice in that guidebook works, and talking to you only intensifies this impression that you're still here... with me... on this earth... The last time, I even bought a stamp.

Anyway, today is different. I graduated, and since it was a videoconference, the dean told us to celebrate with our families afterward. So here I am.

I realized my dream, like you asked. I hope, wherever you are, you're proud and happy, enough for the both of us because I can't feel anything else except this suffocating emptiness—

I dropped the letter, not needing to read more as the sensation already invaded my lungs, making me gasp ragged breaths and shake my head like someone waking up from a bad dream.

It was what all of this had been: a bad dream.

Asher was alive. He'd never died. I'd talked to him just this morning over the phone for an hour.

Nevertheless, when you jolted awake from a night terror in damp bedsheets sticking to your cold skin, there was always a moment's hesitation where the fine line from reality to fearful imagination blurred between the racing thuds of your heart, and I wasn't sure what was the dream as I instinctively reached for my phone again.

The easiest would have surely been to just skim through my photo gallery or read his previous texts, yet my fingers were trembling too much for that as I pressed the phone to my ear, seeking a familiar 'Peachy', a scratch of his gravelly voice, or even a robotic 'hi'... Anything but not the breathless, feminine 'hello?' that met me at the last ringing tone.

"Asher?" I blinked down at the name on the phone screen, the only thing appearing clearly at this instant.

"No, it's Sarah," the girl replied, and I would blame the lack of oxygen—hers or mine, I didn't know—for how long it took me to place the young gothic woman from the clinic.

Even so, no sooner her almond eyes and long black hair had formed into my hazy mind than they morphed into Paxton's figure, standing restless in a cold hospital waiting room, and the line between nightmare and reality disappeared as my heart stopped with her next words.

"Asher can't talk to you right now. He's in the ER because he fell during PT and hit his head."

Author's note: An abrupt cliffhanger again... 😱😱

I warned you the chapters would be intense from now on, though. So do you think Asher is okay? And Althea?

Who cried too reading the unsent letter? Share your tissues with a 🤧 emoji!

And I promise I'm only torturing you because I love you! 🥺😘💗

Don't forget to vote ⭐ and comment if you can't wait to read more! 😘