Chapter 158: Maybe That’s What Love Does
You know, I thought when Val went back this time, I’d feel empty again, like the first time she left. That quiet kind of emptiness that creeps into the corners of my apartment, where her laugh used to echo. I thought I’d feel that same ache in my chest when I rolled over in bed and reached for her, only to find cold sheets.
But I didn’t. Not this time.
I actually felt... calm. Maybe even content.
Maybe it’s because she made sure I wouldn’t have room to miss her, not completely. Not with all the little memories she left scattered everywhere: She’d gone full "perfect wife" mode before she left, waking up earlier than she normally would, padding around the kitchen in my shirt and her messy morning hair just to make me breakfast. Pancakes one morning, omelet the next. Coffee exactly the way I like it. She’d hum while cooking, sometimes stopping to look over her shoulder at me, pretending to scold me for watching instead of getting ready.
Or maybe it’s because she kept showing up at the office at noon, smiling that kind of smile that made Derrick whistle from across the floor, carrying a lunch bag that always had something homemade inside.
Or maybe it’s because of that day with Tasha.
Yeah... that one.
Val didn’t make a scene. She didn’t need to.
She handled it in her own way — calm, confident, and just dangerous enough to make her point. She didn’t raise her voice or act territorial, but somehow, everyone in that room knew exactly who I belonged to.
That was the thing about Val. She didn’t have to fight for her place, she was the place. And she reminded everyone of it without ever losing her grace.
And yes, Tasha had smiled back, but that smile didn’t reach her eyes.
She’d acted unfazed back then — calm, composed, like Val’s presence hadn’t rattled her in the slightest. But now, whenever Val’s name came up, when Derrick teased me about her during lunch breaks, or when my phone buzzed with her call, I could see it in Tasha’s eyes. That flicker. That quick, almost invisible shift she tried to hide.
It still stung. Maybe not like before, but enough that I could tell she hadn’t quite let it go.
So maybe it was all of that. How Val found little ways to take up space in my days before she left, so much that even after she was gone, her presence lingered.
Or maybe it was the way she looked at me before boarding the flight.
We didn’t say much at the airport. We never did, not when goodbyes were involved. She just stood there in front of me, her fingers tracing the edge of my jacket like she wanted to memorize the feel of it. Then she looked up, that look that could melt through every layer of calm I’d built up. The kind of look that said "I love you more than you’ll ever understand" without needing words.
That look stayed with me.
So yeah, maybe it was all of it put together.
But whatever it was, when she left this time... I didn’t feel alone. Not really. Just quieter.
That was October.
She was supposed to be back on the 13th of December, just in time for Christmas and New Year. But then, life had other plans. Something came up at LSE. A last-minute academic conference, apparently. Something about presenting part of her dissertation to a panel of visiting professors. I didn’t pretend to understand the details — Val had a way of making things sound both simple and complicated. All I knew was that it mattered to her future, so she stayed.
Me? Well, I’m here. Three days past the 13th. It’s December 16th.
The office feels slower now. The holiday lull has everyone half working, half counting down the days until break. Reports are lighter, emails fewer. The end-of-year silence that settles over Gray & Milton has its own kind of peace.
In less than a month from now, I’ll hit six months at the company. Six months of learning to navigate client budgets, late submissions, and Derrick’s questionable jokes about accounting.
Speaking of Derrick — the guy hasn’t changed one bit. Still sarcastic, still the kind of coworker who notices everything you’d rather keep private. He has this annoying radar for moods. Like earlier this week when he leaned over my desk and said,
"You’ve been smiling at your phone too much, Tanaka. Val send you a picture or a paragraph?"
I didn’t even look up from my spreadsheet. "Neither. Just an emoji."
He snorted. "Uh-huh. The emoji of love, no doubt."
Then there’s Priya. She got moved to another department — client relations, I think. Replaced by Jared, who’s the exact same person but male. Quiet, steady, almost too calm. The kind of guy who talks like every word is measured. We get along fine. He’s sharp and doesn’t overstep.
Tasha’s still around. Still the same, in a way — just less obvious about... well, everything. These days, her "friendly" moments are hidden behind professionalism. The kind of smiles that last one second too long. The kind of compliments that sound casual but aren’t.
So far, I’ve survived.
Mostly by pretending not to notice.
I keep my focus on work, the numbers, the charts, the quiet hum of the office, and on Val’s messages that pop up on my phone between meetings.
She still calls every night. Sometimes she looks tired, dark circles beneath her eyes, the kind she pretends aren’t there. She’ll say things like "I’m fine, it’s makeup. The latest trend." and I’ll pretend to believe her because that’s how we work. Because she’s there, on the screen, smiling like she’s home even when she’s miles away.
And when the call ends, when the room goes quiet again, I’ll sit there for a bit — thinking about how far we’ve come, how this distance doesn’t feel like an ending anymore.
It’s strange, really.
The first time she left, I couldn’t sleep for days. Now, it’s like we’ve both learned how to hold on — without holding too tight.
Still, there’s a small part of me that’s counting the days.
Not because I’m lonely.
But because when she walks through that door again, I’ll get to see that look — the one that says she’s home.
And honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it.
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To be continued...