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Chapter 3 - Chapter 3

The bus ride feels endless… or maybe it just feels that way on an empty stomach. I still haven't completed this ritual of commuting to work without eating. When I arrive at the office in the early morning hours, my stomach refuses anything. The same cycle, every morning. My eyes land on my desk, and the familiar unease returns. I always leave it messy, yet somehow I always manage to find the document I need right away. Are messy people really unsuccessful? Maybe it's not about the clutter but about a scattered mind. Because if you can't focus on one direction, you can't grow. That's what all the self-help books keep saying anyway. But honestly, this repetitive order has started to feel disturbing.

Still, there's one detail on my desk I love—a mousepad with my favorite anime character. It calms me. Just a glance takes me out of this dull world and into another universe. "When will this desk ever get organized?" you might ask. For me, there are only two answers: either I take on less work and stop saying yes to everything—including tasks outside my role—or I quit. But I can't do that right now. The harsh truths slap you in the face like cold water.

I'm in my forties. If I leave my job now, finding another won't be easy. These days, being automatically rejected because of your age is just part of the cycle. How sad it is… this life closing in on you without giving you real choices.

The office is quiet. The day hasn't truly started yet. I work in the finance sector, in a job most would consider successful or intellectual. I live among people and numbers. But when it comes to myself, the picture is blurry. Every time I turn inward, there's always something missing in my pocket. It looks like I have things, but I don't. I have a little savings, that's all—built on the confidence of youth that thought it would never grow old. Now I understand why older people value money more. Ironic, but true.

Still, I've started breaking old habits. Slowly, but with determination. Maybe this time it'll last. Maybe this time, I'll actually do myself some good. First for me, then for my child. I know now—I have a reason.

I'm not afraid to revisit the past anymore. We'll talk again. How did such a long relationship fall apart? Where did that connection snap? One day, I'll think of you again. Either we'll meet and fall in love all over again, or I'll honor our memory and leave it where it belongs. I'll make space for a new kind of love.

The day goes on. The young boss walks in. A simple man: fair skin, dark hair, hazel eyes. Everything seems to be in place. A happy marriage, a stable life. The kind of life people admire. But to be honest: I don't care. I don't even try to relate to him. My story is far from his.

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