I glanced at my calendar. The Thursday sync had been moved to 3 PM—Ocean's request. I opened the stakeholder deck, updated the time, and added a note for the team:
"Please confirm availability for Thursday's sync."
It was a small change, but it felt like a shift. I wasn't just reacting to tasks anymore—I was steering the day.
I saved the deck, uploaded it to the shared drive, and dropped a message in the team thread:
"Stakeholder deck updated. Please review before Friday. Feedback welcome."
It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to keep momentum.
The reminder popped up right on time. I toggled to the calendar and scanned the invite list.
Ocean had accepted. Theo was still marked "Maybe." Ravi hadn't responded.
I opened Viber and sent a quick message:
"Hey Ravi, just checking—are you good for Thursday's 3 PM sync?"
He replied almost instantly:
"Yep, just confirmed. Sorry, missed the invite earlier."
I updated the RSVP tracker and turned back to the deck.
I opened the slide preview and ran through each section:
Overview: Done
Timeline: Synced
Metrics: Verified
Client Feedback: Added
Next Steps: Still blank
I paused. What were the next steps?
I flipped open my planner and scanned the rollout checklist. Four items stood out:
Final QA pass
Client approval on mobile mockups
Internal training session for the support team
Launch announcement draft
I added them to the slide and color-coded them by owner:
QA → Ocean
Client approval → Ravi (pending)
Training → Theo
Announcement draft → Me
opened a blank doc and started typing:
"We're excited to roll out our Q4 updates, including enhanced mobile features, improved load times, and a streamlined user interface…"
I stopped. It sounded like a press release.
I deleted the paragraph and tried again:
"Thanks to your feedback and our team's hard work, we're launching a set of updates designed to make your experience smoother, faster, and more intuitive…"
That felt better—warmer, more human.
I saved the draft, dropped it into the shared folder, and messaged Theo:
"Drafted the launch note. Feel free to add flair or edit tone. I kept it friendly but professional."
He replied with a thumbs-up emoji and a GIF of someone typing furiously. I smiled.
The rollout doc was nearly complete. I added a comment:
"Pending Ocean section. Otherwise ready for review."
Ocean posted in the team thread:
"FYI, I'll be offline after 5 today. Dentist appointment. Will review doc tonight if needed."
I replied:
"Got it. Hope it's a quick one. Thanks for all the edits today!"
Then Ravi messaged me directly:
"Hey Kaia, sorry for the delay. Just sent another section. Had a tech issue earlier."
I checked my inbox. His file was there.
I opened it, reviewed the content, and dropped it into the master doc. It was clean, well-written, and matched the tone perfectly.
I added a comment:
"Thanks! Just integrated this. We're good to go."
I updated the doc status to "Ready for Review" and sent a final message to the team:
"Rollout doc finalized. Please review by EOD tomorrow. Stakeholder deck also uploaded. Let me know if anything's missing."
I leaned back, stretched, and checked the time: 4:42 PM.
My dating apps were still muted—HER, Bumble, Taimi. I hadn't checked them since lunch.
I debated. Just a glance.
I opened HER. The girl with the matcha voice note had messaged again:
"Hope your day's going okay. Still at the boardwalk if you're around."
I hesitated. I wasn't sure if I wanted to go. But the idea of fresh air, a walk, and maybe a casual chat was tempting.
I replied:
"Hey! Just wrapped up work. Might swing by in a bit. What part of the boardwalk?"
She responded instantly:
"Near the mural wall. I'm the one with the green jacket and iced matcha."
I smiled. Of course.
I toggled back to Zoom. No new messages. No surprise meetings.
I updated my status to "Away" and closed the laptop.
I grabbed my wallet, checked for Solene's note—it was still there, folded neatly. I tucked it back in. Not today.
Shoes on. Keys in hand. Out the door.
The boardwalk was just a ten-minute walk. The sky was streaked with late afternoon light. I passed a jogger with neon headphones, a couple laughing as their golden retriever tugged at the leash, and a kid balancing on a skateboard, arms outstretched like wings.
The mural wall came into view—bright swirls of color and layered tags. She was there, just like she said. Green jacket. Iced matcha. Sitting cross-legged on the low ledge, scrolling through her phone.
She looked up and smiled.
"Kaia?"
I nodded. "That's me."
"Glad you came."
We sat on the edge of the boardwalk, sipping drinks and watching the waves. The conversation was easy—books, music, the weirdness of dating apps, the chaos of remote work.
At one point, she asked:
"So what do you actually do?"
I laughed:
"Today? Mostly fixing documents and chasing down colleagues. But officially, I'm a product strategist."
"Sounds fancy."
"It's mostly meetings and spreadsheets. But sometimes I get to write things people actually read."
"I like that."
We talked until the sun dipped low.
She stood, stretched, and said:
"I should head out. But this was nice."
I agreed. "It was."
She handed me a napkin with her number:
"Text me sometime. Maybe next time I'll bring two matchas."
I pocketed the napkin, smiled, and watched her walk away.
Back home, I reopened my laptop. One last check.
The planner lay open, a pen resting diagonally across the page. I scribbled a quick note beneath Friday's column: "Follow-up with Theo. Final QA check."
Then I flipped to next week and jotted down: "Draft client recap. Schedule post-launch retro."
I whispered:
"Okay, Kaia. Tomorrow's another day."
And I logged off.
Then I opened Spotify, queued up a gayest playlist—Fletcher, Hayley Kiyoko, Khelani—and let the music fill the room.
I poured a glass of water, turned off the overhead light, and lit the small desk lamp instead. The soft glow made everything feel calmer, more intentional.