The week after finding the notebook was strange.
Not bad strange. Just strange. Like walking into a room and forgetting why you went there, except the feeling lasted for days.
I carried the notebook everywhere. Not because I was still reading it. I had read it three times already. Every page. Every word. Every crossed out line and messy scribble. I carried it because it felt important. Like a anchor. Something to hold onto when the world felt too big and too confusing.
The woman who wrote those words was me. But she was also a stranger. Someone I did not recognize but somehow understood. Her pain was my pain. Her broken heart was my broken heart. But I did not feel it the way she felt it. I felt it like an echo. Distant. Fading.
Lucas noticed I was carrying the notebook everywhere. He did not say anything. He just looked at it sometimes, then looked at me, then looked away. His ears stayed normal-colored for most of the week. I missed the red.
"You are staring at me," I said on Thursday. We were in the car, driving to the office. The notebook was on my lap.
"I am not staring."
"You are glancing. Repeatedly. That is staring with extra steps."
He sighed. "You are very observant when you want to be."
"I am a CEO. Observing is my job."
"You are a CEO who forgot she was a CEO."
"I remembered yesterday. For about five minutes. Then I forgot again."
"How do you forget you are a CEO?"
"The same way I forget I own a building. And three gyms. And a plant that is dying."
"The ficus is not dying. Sophie has been watering it."
"Sophie has been overwatering it. Now it is drowning."
Lucas looked at me. "There is no winning with that plant."
"That plant has been through a lot. It was named after my ex. It has trauma."
"The plant does not have trauma."
"The plant absolutely has trauma. It witnessed things. Terrible things. Like me yelling at it."
"You yelled at a plant."
"Repeatedly."
He shook his head. But his mouth twitched. That was basically a laugh from him.
---
The office was busy when we arrived. People moved faster than usual. Phones rang louder. Someone was stress eating in the break room. I recognized the sound of Sophie crunching on something.
"Busy day?" I asked Maggie, who was waiting by the elevator with her tablet and her worried face.
"The quarterly reports are due," she said. "Everyone is panicking."
"Why are they panicking?"
"Because you used to yell at people who turned in reports late."
"I do not remember that."
"The rest of us do."
I looked around the floor. People were avoiding eye contact. Typing faster. Walking faster. It was like watching a nature documentary about scared office workers.
"Tell everyone I am not going to yell," I said.
Maggie raised an eyebrow. "They will not believe me."
"Then tell them I forgot how to yell."
"They will not believe that either."
"Tell them I am wearing banana socks and people who wear banana socks do not yell."
Maggie looked at my feet. I had pulled up my pant leg to show her. The socks had little bananas on them. Bright yellow. Very cheerful.
"Those are ridiculous," she said.
"They are Sophie's gift."
"Sophie has questionable taste."
"Sophie has excellent taste. She gave me cupcakes yesterday. They were purple."
"What flavor?"
"Grape."
"Grape cupcakes?"
"They were weird. I ate three."
Maggie sighed. But she was smiling. "You are very strange now."
"I am very strange now," I agreed. "But I am also very happy. I think."
"You think?"
"I am still figuring it out."
---
Sophie found me in my office after lunch. She had a stack of papers in one hand and a cupcake in the other. The cupcake was blue. Very blue.
"What flavor is that?" I asked.
"Blueberry."
"Why is it blue?"
"Because blueberries are blue."
"Blueberries are purple, Sophie."
"These blueberries are blue."
I took the cupcake. It was delicious. "You are a menace."
"I am a baker."
"You are a menace who bakes."
She sat on the edge of my desk. The stack of papers wobbled. I caught it before it fell.
"Have you read the whole notebook?" she asked.
"Three times."
"And?"
I looked at the notebook. It was sitting on my desk, right next to the photo of my father. "And I still do not remember writing it. But I feel like I know her. The woman who wrote it. I feel sorry for her."
"She was in a lot of pain."
"She was."
"But she is not in pain anymore."
I looked at Sophie. Her face was serious. No jokes. No laughter. Just kindness.
"How do you know?" I asked.
"Because you smile now. You laugh. You wear banana socks and eat my weird cupcakes and apologize to plants." She paused. "The old you never did any of those things."
"The old me sounds exhausting."
"The old you was exhausting. But the new you? The new you is my friend."
I felt something in my chest. Warm. Full. "You are my friend too, Sophie."
"I know." She grinned. "That is why I keep bringing you cupcakes."
---
Lucas came to my office at the end of the day. The sun was setting outside the windows. Orange and pink and gold. The city looked almost pretty.
"Ready to go?" he asked.
"Almost."
I was looking at the photo of my father. The one from the shoebox. He was standing in front of the Chen Group building, smiling, proud.
"I never thanked him," I said.
"Thanked who?"
"My father. For building this company. For giving me something to fight for." I touched the photo. "I do not remember him. But I feel like I should thank him anyway."
Lucas walked to my desk. He stood beside me, looking at the photo.
"He knew," Lucas said.
"How do you know?"
"Because he wrote it on the back of the photo. Built for you, Vivian. He did not build it for himself. He built it for you."
I looked at the photo again. The words echoed in my head. Built for you, Vivian.
"I want to be someone he would be proud of," I said.
"You already are."
I looked at Lucas. His face was soft. His eyes were soft. His ears were pink.
"You are nice to me," I said.
"I am your assistant. It is my job."
"It is not your job to be nice. It is your job to bring me coffee and schedule meetings."
"I do those things too."
"Badly."
"I do them adequately."
"You do them adequately," I agreed. "But you are nice to me. Nicer than you need to be."
He did not answer. He just looked at me. The sun was setting behind him. Orange light filled the room.
"Lucas," I said.
"Yes?"
"Thank you. For being nice to me. Even when I did not deserve it."
"You always deserved it. You just did not know how to accept it."
I stared at him. "You are very wise for an assistant."
"I read a lot of books."
"In your apartment below mine?"
"In my apartment below yours."
"That is still creepy, Lucas."
"I know."
He smiled. A real smile. Small. Soft. But real.
I smiled back.
The ficus watched us from the corner. It had one leaf left. One tiny green leaf clinging to life.
"You are still alive," I told it.
The ficus did not respond.
"Good job," I said.
Lucas shook his head. "You are talking to a plant."
"The plant has been through a lot."
"The plant is a plant."
"The plant is a survivor."
He sighed. But he was still smiling. "Let us go home, Vivian."
"Let us go home."
---
We walked to the elevator together. The office was quiet. Everyone had gone home. Just the two of us and the dying ficus.
"Lucas," I said as the elevator doors opened.
"Yes?"
"I am glad you waited."
He looked at me. His ears turned red.
"Me too," he said.
The doors closed. The elevator carried us down. Fifty floors. Forty. Thirty.
I watched the numbers change. Each floor felt lighter than the last.
"Lucas," I said again.
"Yes?"
"Your ears are very red."
"I know."
"Why?"
He looked at me. The elevator was small. Close. His hand was by his side. Mine was by mine. Not touching. Close.
"Because you are smiling," he said.
"I smile a lot now."
"I know."
"Is that why your ears are red?"
He did not answer. The elevator doors opened. The lobby was empty. Quiet.
"Come on," he said. "Let us go home."
He walked out. I followed.
His ears were still red.
I smiled all the way to the car.