It’s been a couple of weeks since I entered the large building of Starlight. Starlight was located near Brooklyn Bridge. There were days my dad would bring me here when he was responsible for picking me up from school. He’d forget about his job, and we’d walk to the bridge. Bilal, an older man, would be selling ice cream from his personal cart as we’d walk on. Dad would always ask him what flavour the best was. Bilal would always answer that he only had one flavour. Dad would laugh and say something around the lines of one flavour is always the best, then proceed to buy us mango ice cream and a pack of nimco, a popular savoury snack in Pakistan and India.
To this day, I carried a bag of it with me everywhere. Itreminded me of my dad and tasted like a sweet reminder that even when he wasn’t here, parts of him still were.
Dad made sure the space wasn’t colourless. Pale yellows with orange inspirational words written in big bubble letters throughout the walls.
Something felt different as I walked through the lobby.
I felt like a changed woman.
It was busy as usual. People rushed in and out of the building. Some came back from their lunch breaks, others’ started. People said their congratulations to me on their way out, some giving me a firm handshake and an apology for assuming wrong about me.
Having a powerful man behind me had its privileges.
After our little…accident, we kept our distance.
Touching Christian was a portal into the past and no doubt, it felt amazing to connect with him like that again.
But when your love language was physical touch, it was a smart idea to stay away from people you once fell in love with.
Touch was a manipulator, and I couldn’t deal with all those feelings on top of the company’s stress. Touching someone was allowing yourself to accept them. Just because I was nice to him, allowed the spaces between us to grow closer, didn’t mean I’d allow myself to fall for him.
You might be a little too late.
I only had half of my broken heart and that chunk wasn’t the effective half.
A shoulder sharply bumped into me; papers flew everywhere.
“I’m so sorry!” The young man got to his knees and hastily collected the documents.
“Don’t worry about it.” I got down to help him.
When all the papers were back in his hands, he blanched. “You’re Ms. Mikael.”
There was something amusing about him being scared of me. No one found a five three blondie intimidating.Ever. I was the equivalent to a capybara—it’d be weird running away from them when they looked like the squishiest animals to exist.
“And you are?” He was a tall, lanky guy. A stubble across his chin and an awkward tilt to his nose. He alternated between standing on his left and right foot. His discomfort oddly reminded me of my own.
“I’m… Arun Klahan.”
“You must be a new intern,” I smiled. “Where are you going with all these documents?”
“To Mr. Rasool.”
He was headed in the wrong direction, but I didn’t have it in me to tell him that. “Let’s get these to him then.”
“Do you like working here?” I asked after getting into the elevator.
“Um… yeah, I do.” He hugged the papers around his chest.
“What do you like most about it?”
He turned his head, studying me. “I don’t think anyone’s asked me that before.”
“Starlight’s inclusive with their products. Which is rare for a company this big. Most businesses focus on their selling point and expand it, but Starlight doesn’t have a core like that. Instead, it focuses on importing smaller brands to promote them worldwide.”
It’s been a long time since I saw someone passionateabout the business. Dad always said Starlight’s goal was never fame or money, it was affordability and inclusivity, the rest happened from hard work and luck.
“Is that why you like working here?”
