Semua Bab Love, Lessons, and Late Blossoms: Bab 41 - Bab 49

POV: Lucas FordI’ve always been good at reading people.It’s part of the job, really—listening between the lines of what a client says, what a writer means. People think editing is all about words, but it’s more about tone. Rhythm. Silence.Lately, the silence between Layla and me said more than her laughter ever could.She laughed more now, sure—especially when Zoe was around. But it was like watching someone walk on a tightrope, every step deliberate. Balanced. Beautiful. A little terrifying.Zoe bounced into the office around 8:57, full of life and barely disguised nervous energy. She always wore h

POV: Layla BrooksThe ride back home felt longer than usual, though I knew every turn by heart. The quiet hum of the train rattled under me, and I caught my reflection in the window—blurry, thoughtful, older somehow.It had been a while since I’d visited for more than a day or two. The last time I’d stood in that living room, I had been unraveling. But this time, I was arriving with something to celebrate.I held the printed letter in my bag like it was made of glass. I didn’t need to carry it—there was nothing in it I didn’t know by heart now—but I wanted to show it to them. To

POV: Layla BrooksThe office felt different during my final week.Everything looked the same—cluttered desks, morning coffee queues, a rotating playlist of background indie music—but the edges felt softer. People paused longer when we crossed paths, as though reluctant to break the illusion that I’d still be here next week.I wasn’t used to being the center of attention.Even with my job offer from The Fold no longer a secret, I kept things low-key. No announcements. No balloons. Just a quiet countdown in my chest, each day folding inward like a page turned gently in a worn-out novel.The real goodbye wasn’t happening in the conference room or inbox. It was happening in moments.Lucas bringing me fresh coffee before I even asked. Zoe sketching a cartoon version of me on a sticky note with the words Editor-in-Chief vibes. Even Ethan—distant lately, more careful with his words—leaving a polaroid on my desk with no caption. Just the two of us laughing over something forgotten during t

POV: Layla BrooksThe morning of my first day at The Fold, I woke up before my alarm.The city outside my window was still stretching, light brushing the tops of buildings like the sky was just remembering how to be gold again. I sat up slowly, staring into the soft silence of my new apartment—boxes half-unpacked, art still leaned against the walls, plants uncertain in their new corners.It smelled like new beginnings. And coffee.I wrapped myself in my robe and padded to the kitchen, flipping on the kettle with hands that trembled, just a little.This was the day I’d been working toward for years. The day I stepped out of the margins and into the headline.I dressed with careful purpose.The wide-leg navy trousers Mara insisted I buy. A soft silk blouse tucked just so. Blazer sharp enough to signal confidence but loose enough to let me breathe.I pinned my curls back and swiped on a subtle lip. Just enough to look intentional. Just enough to feel like armor.On my way out, I hesita

POV: Layla BrooksThere’s a different kind of exhaustion that comes from living your dream.It’s not the bone-tired weariness of surviving. It’s not the soul-deep ache of grief or fear. It’s the quiet hum of trying to rise to meet the life you once thought you’d never reach—every moment asking you to prove you’re worthy of what you already earned.That was what the second week at The Fold felt like.Brilliant. Demanding. Unreal.Each day bled into the next, but never with monotony. No two assignments were the same. One day I was editing a story on generational motherhood, the next I was drafting an opening letter from the desk of the editor-in-chief (who, to my secret thrill, had pulled me aside and said: “I trust your tone more than anyone else’s here.”).I spent hours immersed in other people’s stories, and somewhere in between the copy edits and pitch reviews, I found myself.Not the version of me who shrank in staff meetings or hesitated before raising her voice. But the versio