The bickering between Bryan and me had evolved from occasional sparks to full-on battlefield chaos. It wasn't just banter anymore — it was a show. A circus act the whole factory got free tickets to.
Whispers floated from every corner.
"She's going to snap today."
"I heard he called her a charity case."
"Bet they secretly like each other."
Wrong. Dead wrong.
Things got so bad, even the machines seemed to pause in anticipation. Eventually, word reached the top — and just like that, we were summoned.
*The manager's office.*
The silence was thick, like wet cement. I stood rigid, hands clenched behind me, Bryan lounging in his chair like he owned the air we breathed.
The manager looked up, eyes sharp and tired. "Pearl," he began, voice stern, "what's the reason you came to work in this factory?"
I swallowed. Hard. "To work and earn money for my tuition, sir," I said quietly, eyes dropping to the floor.
He nodded once, curt and unimpressed. "Good."
Then he turned to Bryan. "And you?"
Bryan didn't miss a beat. "I came here to earn money."
The manager's lips pressed into a thin line. "Good. Then maybe you both should focus on *that* instead of turning this factory into a damn warzone. This is a workplace, not a high school drama set."
The words stung. Because they were true.
"I'm sorry, sir," I muttered quickly, stealing a glance at Bryan.
He didn't say a word. Just smirked, like it was all one big joke to him.
The manager's gaze shifted sharply.
"Bryan," he called.
Bryan, ever so arrogant, only lifted his head slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. That smug calmness hadn't left his face — but something flickered in his expression. Just for a second.
"Pearl is your senior here," the manager began, voice cold and authoritative. "Not by age, but by presence. She was here before you, and in this factory, *we don't measure status by age, but by who came first — and how they carry themselves.*"
Bryan's jaw flexed. He didn't like that. Good.
"This is a place that upholds integrity, discipline, and respect. You've both been called out far too many times, and frankly—on any regular day, you should have been suspended already."
The room fell into thick silence. My heart pounded in my chest like it wanted to leap out and run. Bryan's stare burned into the side of my face, but I refused to look.
"I wanted to speak to you myself," the manager continued, his tone now sharper, more clipped. "We don't tolerate *this kind* of behavior here. This is a factory, not a battlefield. There are rules that keep this place running — just like any society. And you two? You've been *bulldozing* through those rules like they don't exist."
My throat tightened. I wanted to speak, to explain, but no words came.
"I'm giving you a warning — and this is your first and *last*. If I so much as hear your names in the same sentence again—" he paused, letting that silence bite, "you're done."
Then he turned to me, his voice losing none of its edge.
"You better focus on what you came here for, Pearl. If you don't want to be dismissed."
Dismissed. That word rang in my ears like a sentence.
I felt Bryan shift beside me, but I still didn't look.
He wasn't going to win. Not here. Not ever.
"…if you don't want to be dismissed."
The words echoed in my chest like a slammed door. A tightness gripped me—like I'd swallowed something jagged, something bitter I couldn't spit out.
The manager forced us to shake hands. A shallow, reluctant handshake—cold and stiff like two enemies sealing a cursed truce. Bryan's hand was as emotionless as his face. Not a flicker. No apology. No remorse. Just silence.
The walk home felt heavier than usual. I didn't even notice the people around me. My thoughts were a storm—tossing, circling, crashing.
*Was it worth it?*
Was it really worth letting someone like Bryan drag me into this constant war? Quarreling with a wall might've been easier. At least the wall wouldn't smirk at my pain.
I sighed—long, deep, and tired. Then I stepped into my room, shut the door behind me… and let the silence swallow me whole.
That night, I didn't cry. I didn't scream.
But somehow, I felt *empty.* And emptiness is worse.
***
Two months passed. Two whole months of cold silence.
No more verbal jabs. No sarcastic retorts. No lingering glares across the factory floor. We walked past each other like two ghosts.
Dead to one another.
And yet… somehow still very aware.
Then came that day.
I had just returned from the restroom when I slowed my pace—voices drifted around the corner. Bryan's. And Sammy's.
"Are you really going to leave me here alone?" Sammy asked, a clear note of sadness in his voice. There was something oddly soft about it, vulnerable even.
Bryan chuckled lowly—almost too calm. "Yep. But don't worry," he added with an infuriating shrug, "you've got friends here. You won't feel lonely."
He sounded… detached. Not cruel. Not warm. Just distant—like he was checking out of something bigger than the conversation. I stood frozen, just out of sight, heart beating faster than it should've.
Why did it sound like he was leaving?
Why did it bother me?
"I'll miss you, man," Sammy said, giving Bryan a firm tap on the shoulder. His voice was soft, too soft for someone pretending to be okay. Then, he added something I didn't expect—something that rooted my feet to the ground.
"Is it because of *her*?"
Her? My breath caught.
Before Bryan could respond, I walked away. I shouldn't have been listening—eavesdropping is wrong—but how could I ignore that? *Her?* Who was *she*?
My thoughts raced. Was it his girlfriend? A childhood sweetheart? Someone from his past he never mentioned? My stomach twisted. *Why did I care?* It was none of my business. Right?
I forced my legs to move faster and entered the factory, trying to shake the strange feeling clawing at my chest. Moments later, Bryan walked in too, like nothing had happened. Like my mind wasn't spiraling in chaos. I wanted to ask. I really did. But I bit my tongue. We weren't even on speaking terms.
A week passed. A week of silence. Of avoided glances and lingering questions. Then, out of nowhere, Vivian appeared.
"Did you hear?" she asked, eyes wide. "Bryan's leaving. Today."
"What?" I blinked, my heart stalling. "Leaving? As in—gone?"
She nodded. "He won't be working here anymore. You didn't know?"
Something in my chest dropped. No goodbye. No explanation. Just gone?
Vivian narrowed her eyes. "Why do you look like you'll miss him?"
I scoffed, crossing my arms to hide the unease crawling up my spine. "Miss who? That buffoon?" I hissed, too quickly. Too defensively.
But the second the words left my mouth, I felt it—heat crawling up the back of my neck.
Someone was behind me.
But as I turned, no one was there.
I clenched my jaw.
Vivian, on the other hand, was smiling like she just watched a romcom play out in real time.
I frowned. "Why the f**k are you smiling like an idiot?"
She didn't answer. Just gave me a knowing look, shook her head, and disappeared into the building like some mysterious side character in a drama.
*Weird.*
*Let him leave,* I told myself. *Let him go.*
If he leaves, maybe—just maybe—I'll finally breathe. No more ego battles. No more stormy stares from across the room. No more pretending his presence didn't affect me.
I could finally exist in peace.
Or so I thought.
Because peace?
Peace doesn't exist when your heart is at war.