A few days have passed since the conversation in Kevin's office. Nothing obvious has changed. Mia and Ben still argue over layouts and font sizes. He still drinks his coffee black. She still rolls her eyes at him at least once a day. But beneath the surface, something is different. The air between them holds a quiet weight, like smog that refuses to clear even after the rain.
The silence that followed Kevin's question lingers—not just between Mia and Ben, but around them. Ben hasn't brought it up. Neither has she. Still, the question hangs unspoken in the background, like static.
Mia doesn't have time to dwell on it before a voice jolts her back to the present.
"Ms. Dela Cruz."
"Sir?!" She shoots up from her chair, startled. Kevin stands beside her desk, unreadable as always. His presence feels too sudden, too quiet—unsettling in its precision.
He checks his watch without acknowledging her startled reaction. "Today's the shoot for the new ad. You'll come with me to oversee the photos."
"Me?" she asks, blinking. "But usually the senior graphic designer handles the shoot… I'm just the assistant."
Before Kevin can answer, Ben steps in. His voice is clipped, steady. "I'll go with you, sir. This is my task, not Mia's."
The air shifts. Jella pauses mid-typing, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. She glances at Jay, who raises an eyebrow in silent question. Jella only shrugs, but her attention remains fixed on the three of them.
Kevin's gaze doesn't leave Mia's face. It lingers a second too long before turning to Ben. "I specifically requested Mia this time. I want her perspective."
Ben hesitates. His jaw tightens, but he doesn't argue.
Kevin turns and walks out of the office without waiting for a response.
Mia gathers her sketchpad and tablet, her hands steady but her steps less certain. As she follows Kevin, she feels Ben's gaze on her—like a presence she carries with her down the hallway.
When she turns to look back, Ben is still standing by his desk. His eyes remain fixed on her. There's no trace of the usual frustration. Instead, something softer flickers there—muted and difficult to place. Concern, maybe. Or disapproval. Or something else entirely.
Her brow draws together as she watches him. This isn't her job. Ben had been right—this isn't what she's usually asked to do. She's used to creating drafts, refining other people's ideas, following directions.
She catches one last glimpse of Ben's face before turning away again. There's a tension in his expression—like he's trying to work something out, like words are caught behind his teeth. But none come.
The hallway feels longer than usual as Mia trails behind Kevin.
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The studio is already alive when they arrive. Lights flash, camera shutters click in steady rhythm, and the smell of food styling products fills the air. A controlled kind of chaos unfolds around them.
"Good morning, Mr. Garcia," the team greets in unison.
"How's the shoot going?" Kevin asks, his tone calm and composed.
"It's going smoothly, thanks to our model," the photographer replies with a grin.
Model. The word catches in Mia's ears.
Before she can process it, a voice rings out—soft, feminine, unmistakably familiar.
"Kevin." The tone is warm, personal. "You're here. You came to see me?"
The woman approaches with a confident stride and wraps Kevin in an embrace—like it's something they've done a hundred times before. Her smile is bright, easy, practiced. She is effortlessly beautiful, with an elegance that demands attention. There's a calm authority to her presence, a familiarity that makes the room feel a little smaller.
Mia blinks. She recognizes that face—but not from here. From somewhere else. Somewhere far.
Kevin speaks, his voice light. "Daisy, so how's the shoot going? This is your first gig modeling for a food campaign, right?"
"I only said yes because you work for this company," she replies with a soft laugh, her gaze fixed solely on him.
And then the memory returns.
A beach. The golden blur of a sunset. Two silhouettes in the distance. A girl's voice: "Kevin!" A boy's surprise: "Daisy? You're here?" And a hug. The same kind of hug Mia just witnessed.
It's her. The girl from that summer. The girl from six years ago. Daisy.
And now she's here. Not in a memory. Not in a fleeting glimpse. But real.
Back.
Right in front of her.