This is… new.
For most of my adult life work has been easy to focus on. Books have always been the one thing capable of holding my attention for hours. But today my mind keeps drifting. Back to the house. Back to the small kitchen. Back to the way Divya laughed when the cake actually turned out edible.
I shake my head lightly and reach for my coffee mug.
It’s empty.
Of course.
I stand and step out of my office toward the small pantry area down the hallway. The office is more alive now. People are moving around, exchanging notes about upcoming releases and marketing deadlines.
Someone waves at me as I pass.
I nod back.
While the coffee machine slowly fills my mug, I hear footsteps approaching behind me.
“Good morning, Aditya.”
I turn slightly.
It’s Ketki Sharma, our senior editor.
She has worked here longer than anyone else in the building. My mother hired her years ago, and she stayed even when my father stopped paying much attention to the publishing house.
Ketki is in her early fifties now, sharp-eyed and impossibly perceptive.
The kind of woman who can read both manuscripts and people with uncomfortable accuracy.
“Good morning,” I reply.
She studies my face for a moment while stirring sugar into her coffee.
Then one eyebrow lifts. “You look unusually cheerful today.”
I pause mid-sip.
“Do I?”
“Yes,” she says calmly.
“You’ve been smiling at your laptop for the last ten minutes.”
I frown slightly. “I was not smiling at my laptop.”
“You absolutely were.” She leans lightly against the counter, watching me with mild curiosity.
“Usually when you read a manuscript you look like you’re solving a philosophical crisis.”
I can’t help the small laugh that escapes me. “Maybe today I’m feeling optimistic.”
Meera tilts her head slightly. “That’s suspicious.”
“Is optimism suspicious now?”
“It is when it appears suddenly.” She studies me a moment longer.
Then something in her expression softens.
