~Karla's Pov~
The city feels louder when I'm late.
My sneakers slap against the pavement as I race down the block, backpack bouncing on my shoulder, iced coffee in one hand, regret in the other.
My first university class of the semester—and I'm already twenty minutes late.
Figures.
I finally reach the building, breathless and sweating, taking the stairs two at a time because the elevator is apparently on strike.
Room 4B. Communications Theory.
Supposedly a foundational course. Essential. Easy to fail if you don't show up.
I push the door open as quietly as possible, which means it creaks like a horror movie prop, and everyone turns to look at me.
Fantastic.
The professor barely glances up from his notes. "Miss…?"
"Smith," I mumble, eyes locked on the nearest empty seat in the middle row. "Karla Smith. Sorry. Subway delay."
He nods once, uninterested. "See me after class."
I nod back and sink into the chair, opening my laptop with fingers that still feel stiff from writing campaign notes until almost 1 a.m.
The lecture drones on—something about McLuhan and media as extensions of the self—but my brain's already juggling two worlds.
Half here. Half back at Vale & Co.
Half student. Half intern.
All tired.
By the time I get home later that afternoon, I drop my bag with a dramatic flop onto the couch and collapse next to it like I've just returned from war.
Tessa's in the kitchen, pouring cereal into a bowl like she's hosting a midday cooking show.
"Hey, brainiac," she chirps. "How was your first class?"
"Disaster," I groan into a pillow. "Walked in mid-lecture. Got hit with the disappointed professor look. And I think my brain gave up halfway through and started composing its own funeral playlist."
Tessa plops next to me, cereal in hand. "That bad?"
"No. That's not even the worst part."
I sit up, rubbing my temples.
"It's Dominic."
Her eyes light up. "Oooooh. Finally. Spill."
I pull the pillow onto my lap, hugging it like a life vest. "He caught me in the hallway yesterday after the pitch. Alone. Totally out of nowhere. And he—he complimented me."
Tessa gasps. "Dominic Vale? Complimented a human being? Are we sure it wasn't a deepfake?"
I shake my head. "No, it was real. But then he said this cryptic stuff about people tearing me down once they stop underestimating me. And then—boom—vanished. Back to being all broody and unreadable."
She chews thoughtfully. "So he's scary... but also kinda wise?"
"And hot. Which makes it worse," I say, collapsing back into the couch. "I can't tell if he's being intimidating or trying to prepare me for the corporate version of war. Or both."
Tessa smirks. "You've got a crush."
"I do not."
"You do," she sings, shoveling another spoonful of cereal into her mouth. "You've got it bad."
I groan. "This is not helpful."
She shrugs. "I'm just saying—maybe he sees something in you. Something real. You shook up his perfect little empire. That's gotta mess with a guy like that."
I go quiet for a moment, letting her words sink in.
Maybe she's right.
Or maybe I'm just tired, overwhelmed, and vulnerable to attention from a man with impossible cheekbones.
Either way—this city, this job, this life—it's not going to get easier.
But if I'm going to survive it, I can't let a look—or a compliment—throw me off course.
Not now.
Later that night, the apartment is quiet—just the steady hum of the fridge, the occasional car horn below, and the tapping of my fingers against the keyboard.
I'm curled up at the dining table in sweatpants and a hoodie, hair thrown into a messy bun, surrounded by a chaotic blend of textbooks, sticky notes, highlighters, and half a mug of reheated coffee.
Assignment number three for the night:
"Define and analyze the significance of Marshall McLuhan's media theory in modern communication structures."
I've already deleted my opening paragraph four times.
My brain is tired. My shoulders ache. But I can't afford to fall behind—not with everything stacked on top of everything.
I finally get a sentence down that doesn't make me cringe when there's a soft knock at my door.
I glance up. "Yeah?"
Tessa pokes her head in. Her hair's still black from her last dye session, but now she's got it in a sleek braid, face fresh, eyes wide with something unreadable—nervous energy.
She's dressed in jeans, a cropped hoodie, and boots. Her bag's already slung over her shoulder.
"Hey," she says. "Don't freak out."
I straighten. "Okay, now I'm freaked out."
She comes in fully, shifting her weight like she's unsure how to say what she came to say.
"I'm heading out. I'll be back in like, two days."
I blink. "What? Where are you going?"
Tessa gives a small smile. "Just… out of town. A little spontaneous trip. Friend of mine invited me upstate. Her family owns a cabin. Needed to breathe, clear my head."
"Is everything okay?"
"Yeah," she says quickly. "Promise. I just needed to get away for a second. Sometimes the city crawls into your head, you know?"
I nod. I do know.
"You need anything while I'm gone?" she asks, suddenly all big-sister energy. "I can leave you extra noodles. Emergency wine?"
I smirk. "I think I'll survive. Just… let me know you get there safe?"
Tessa nods, serious for a second. "Of course."
She turns to go, then pauses at the door again. "Also… Karla?"
"Yeah?"
"I know it's a lot. School. Work. Life. But you're kind of killing it. Even when it doesn't feel like it."
I freeze.
That quiet affirmation hits harder than I expect.
I nod once. "Thanks, Tess."
She winks, then disappears with the soft click of the front door.
And just like that, I'm alone in the apartment.
The silence settles heavier now. Not in a bad way—just full. Like the quiet after a storm.
I stare at my half-written essay, then back at the door.
Two more days without distraction.
Two more days to prove I can hold this all together.
I take a breath and return to my keyboard.
One word at a time.