Keeper's POV (continued):
The moment she left, none of us spoke. The café felt too quiet — like the kind of silence that stays even after people are gone.
Stella was still standing, eyes locked on the door. Her lips parted like she wanted to say something, but no words came out. David ran a hand through his hair, muttering something under his breath before kicking the chair leg — once, hard enough to rattle the table.
I didn't move. Just watched the half-empty mugs and the steam fading off hers. She'd left her bracelet on the table — the black one I'd given her when she first joined us.
"Keep it," I said quietly when Stella reached for it. My voice didn't sound like mine.
We left after a few minutes — each step heavier than the last.
The car ride was silent.
Stella sat in the back, staring out the window, her eyes glossy but dry. David gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles went white. Every few seconds, his jaw twitched like he wanted to say something, then thought better of it.
I watched the city lights blur past, thinking about how something that felt so permanent could vanish in a single goodbye.
That night, none of us went home.
We went straight to the company.
Work was all we had left — so we buried ourselves in it. Meetings, files, late nights. We didn't talk about her. Didn't mention her name. Pretended that the empty chair in our office didn't bother us.
Days passed. Weeks, months,maybe.
We stopped counting.....
Then one night — around 2 a.m. — my phone buzzed. A message.
Jay Jay : I miss you.
Just three words.
I froze. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming. Then the second buzz came — David's phone. Then Stella's.
We all stared at each other across the office table. No one said anything — we didn't need to. The moment that text came through, it was like something cracked open inside all of us.
David was the first to stand.
"I'm going to her," he said, voice low.
Stella wiped her eyes. "Me too."
I just nodded. "Let's go."
No hesitation. No questions.
Within minutes, we were on the road again — same car, same silence — only this time, it wasn't running away from her. It was running back.
For the first time in weeks, it felt like we were breathing again.