"I hated you at first sight. . .only at first sight." - Ryan Miller, 19, is ill-reputed as a 'good for nothing'. Worn out of criticisms, with the assistance of his younger stepbrother Lillian Miller, Ryan finds a job at the chart-topping dating app LOVESICK's headquarter, as the Personal Assistant of its owner, Ethan Smith. Ethan is cynical about hiring Ryan. However, on Ethan's trusted friend and his appointed recruiter, Johnson William's recommendation, Ethan arranges for a meeting with Ryan. On their first meeting, Ryan realises that Ethan and him are the polar opposites. The meeting ends with both of them leaving an unpleasant first impression on each other. Ryan, however is determined to get the job which ends in Ethan sparing Ryan a month to prove his worth in the office, whereas Ryan accepts the challenge thrown at him, resolving to find out all about the CEO of LOVESICK, and change his life for the worst. But, are things really what the bare eyes can see?
View MoreThe grandeur, the opulence do very little to calm his nerves. Ryan has no idea what to expect, nothing one-up than humiliation. But the tumultuous events of the past stints had left the brunette on his edge. Mustering up the last bit of courage he has, Ryan enters the grand living room. It is filled with a bustling crowd, coming off apparitions that seem to dwarf the assistant in size. Ryan's anxiety shows no sign of dissipating anytime soon, a sense of foreboding washes over him. Each step taken, Ryan's trepidation dilutes. The phantom crowd seem to part a narrow aisle for solely him to pave, as if they are all well aware of the impending encounter between him and his overseer Ethan. He feels like a reluctant protagonist willingly walking towards his uncertain, maybe all altering fate."Is it what I am thinking it is. . ." Sound of a distant violin playing an all absorbing melody echoing through air, intensifying each corner in Ryan's mind, lighting his forsaken hopes.And there, am
RYAN;The crowd cramming disperse, I am left behind, a solitary wanderer with an assignment that doesn't suit me, an outlandish piece of paper, and also not forgoing bearing the weight of an indecisiveness hurled upon me by my Mr. Haughty. I find myself standing, clutching onto the rather bizarre envelope that had been entrusted by a person whom I have never met in Sir's office. It is most plausible that he had always been there, I'm not too vigilant, nor do I bother much to look anywhere other than where I myself need to be, so that kind of explains. My mind right now is whirling with questions, whose answers seemingly lie nowhere I would be able to reach, my mind burning like a flickering flame of candle in a hailstorm— who was that person who was looking at me so cryptically? Why was he looking especially at me and not Sir? What did he want to convey through this envelope? Why did he not trust Sir enough instead of me? And… why did the person look so scared? What the hell is going
"Alright folks, right this way," Ethan rises from his opulent seat, flapping at his clients, Michael and his esteemed wife Allina to take their respective cues. The showroom kicking about, still on the stocks, leaks a vim cooperating with prospects of one's expectancy. Conceptual sketches of the app LOVESICK's quirks, alongside sleek and architectural designs, have been built on to prettify the sterile walls pottered in red-pink. "Allina, Michael, you both have chosen the perfect time to visit. We're just putting our best final touches before the event. So, I heartily welcome you to the future of love here, right under this roof," Ethan begins, pointing a finger towards the feisty sketches all across the wall, "Here, we attempt to redefine the way people connect, to bridge the gap between the digital and the tangible, the virtual and the real," this man here, Ethan Smith, means business, for the gentleman has set his heart on coming to a yielding compromise at the feet his brusque woo
Hollowed, in this Illuminated space of academia, dreams merge with pragmatism.An advisor, a figure of immense stature and reputation, appraises Lillian that seems to communicate a lifetime of wisdom and sagacity, honed by counting years of guiding those daring enough to grasp the elusive filament of success. "Dear Lilian," deliberately, the advisor leans back in his opulent seat, soft creaking resounding to Lilian's captivating whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, vying for attention from a propitious bloke's aspirations. "I find myself enchanted by the profound depth and meticulous attention you possess," his gentle authority demands the utmost respect; his lips, laced with unspoken commendation, gracefully parted to utter words that would define Lilian's future. A pause, pregnant with pensive admiration— both time and walls itself hold their breaths. "You have, quite remarkably, completed the task. I had not hoped so much."Where dreams coalesce with reality, Lilian suits in earn
Grand foyer pedicures Ethan's assistant's advent, high esteem speaking into Ryan. Corporation only fitting, whipping the brunette's face with a newfound slap. Ryan summons will, whooping every ounce of attention he is getting— in line "Good morning, Sir!" How soon is too soon exactly? How is it four days already? How many days make four days? Ryan hasn't gotten used to being paid juggling respects left and right far— he had just adjusted to always acting in the role of one who pays, gets nothing in return. . . Resounding click-clacks focus on a pair of Chelsea boots, hallowed ground departing to the opposite direction of Ethan's grand glass doors. "May I co–" a bumming noddle is gawking at Ryan, leering…enough reason for Ryan to tread substantial emotional distress. "What's that in your hand, Mr. Miller?" "Huh?" Ryan reacts absurdly, drawing back in distaste, "S- sorry. I think I saw something there," lacking in evidence, Ryan will not breathe a word to his boss— that could have bee
Sleeping day in the duvet of a twilight, delivering an aroma of violin stroking Lyra's nose, Mrs. Lyra Miller, sits hunched, trekking a stack of t-shirts. Her husband, with one distant expression, stands by Lyra's side, their hands automatically matching folding rhythms— neatly folding mound of laundered fabrics. Lyra hears, is hearing the gentle strains of Ryan's violin being played, "We made Ryan nearly sacrifice his love, didn't we, honey?" "Lyra, we were thinking about Ryan's future," Mr. David Miller, is a soft rumble. Lyra's attention returns to the half folded jeans in her hands, "We bought this pair of jeans when Ryan used to be sixteen. You remember it, David? It was larger in size when we bought it, but Ryan thought it was so pretty…we thought he could wear it when he grows up." David nods knowingly, "Of course, I remember," understanding the complexities webbing in Lyra's experience, "Ryan has barely ever worn it, Lyra." "He has never worn it, David. . .he does not even
The prison gate locks from outside. 'O'. The letter 'O' can embody exactly what Ryan is feeling right now— its roundness metamorphosing into an entire spectrum of emotions, ranging from shock, ending at panic.Ryan's heart leaps into his throat, sending a pool of fear coursing through his veins, "What…the hell?" His words incongruously tumbling out.Compromising confusion registers a gravitational fear, but its parent Ryan struggles to understand whatever is happening. "Oh fuck! I was just talking about this," mind trying to make sense of their predicament, Ethan shares dissatisfaction— in the pit of Ethan's stomach, a warning issue.Who dares even to bat an eye, not Ryan in this case, "Sir…"It's bare escape for one rusty sink, and an old wooden table. The looming silence only adds. It feels more like a real prison, that Ryan is actually trapped in."You want to know how do we get out of here, I know," words flowing like a twisted stream of consciousness, Ethan gives a cynical smile
"You're speaking from your life, aren't you?"It flares bright right now, memories, revived by an adrenaline that comes with defiance of Ethan's orders. Heartbreak often drives humans to brave acts; Ryan is one of them, right now at least."Sir," cigarette fumes from an ashtray steals into the assistant's nostrils. "Can we… revisit the site? Site for your showroom?""What?""The site. For LOVESICK's new showroom, can we revisit it?" Shouldn't he be fumbling for words? Trying to piece so that his boss doesn't get offended— why, then, is he finding himself through a mosaic of ferocity?His assistant's words aren't making much sense, or even if they are, Ethan is very sure he can't understand a word of it. "Mr. Miller, what exactly are you trying to convey?""I just… just want to go to the location. That's what I'm trying to convey," what is so hard about it for his boss to understand? Ryan doesn't know, does everyone always have to decode the hidden meaning first and then only follow in
"Are you, by any chance, single, Ryan?" Jack Bennett asks, "I'm Jack Bennett by the way, you can call me Jack."With bated breath, Ryan had primed himself for what he had thought to be a mundane conversation centred around work, resolving doubts, defending mechanisms. Never did he expect a seemingly innocent inquiry would penetrate the brittle walls of his personal life. Ryan's heartbeats quicken, a forced smile dancing on the dais of Ryan's shivering lips. This unimaginative snooping into Ryan's boundaries had caught him off guard, unsure of how to answer to that. Nervously, his fingers scratch at the transparent top, a futile attempt to ease the dryness that plague his throat. The jug of water sits untouched, a spotlight on Ryan's discomfort— he is self-conscious even when it comes to the simplest jobs like drinking water, if it's to be done in front of everyone."Jack!!" Ethan's voice slices through like a blade. LOVESICK'S strict policy of safeguarding their employees' confidentia
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