Do What Matters Most Novels & Stories

He loves playing hard to get. "Don't think too much into it," I said, my voice softening into a soothing murmur. "We all do stupid, awkward things when we are younger. We make choices that feel forced. What matters the most isn't where we started." I let my thumb stroke his cheekbone once, lightly. "What matters the most is what we turn out to be when we are older."

When did the script flip so hard that I started needing distractions from someone I thought I should outrightly hate? She’s not supposed to matter. But she does. And that is the biggest problem of all. Because when someone starts mattering, that’s when things slip through the cracks. That’s when judgment falters. That’s when you start compromising. And I can’t afford that. Not with her. Not with this situation.

I say quietly. “And we understand that,” Mom replies immediately, though her tone says otherwise. “But maybe this is a sign that you need to focus on what actually matters now.” A cold, twisted feeling settles in my stomach. “What actually matters,” I repeat flatly. “Your future,” she says like it should be obvious. “Your finals, scholarships, real opportunities, Lila. Not this…” she gestures vaguely toward the garage “…obsession.” My jaw tightens as I slowly feel that icy-cold feeling begin to thaw into something hot and burning.

He stepped a little closer, not closing the distance completely, but enough that his presence felt more direct, more intentional. “Then stop trying to make it perfect,” he said. “That’s not how this works.” I studied him for a second, trying to understand what he meant beyond the words. “And how does it work?” I asked. “You decide what matters to you,” he said. “Then you stand on it, even when people don’t like it.” “That sounds easier than it is.” “It is easier,” he replied. “People just make it complicated because they care too much about being liked.”

I say. He doesn’t deny it. But he doesn’t explain either. Instead, he looks back down at the flowers, adjusting them with slow, practiced movements. “I’ve been here long enough,” he says, “to know what matters and what doesn’t.” “And what matters?” I ask. He pauses, then looks at me again. “Keeping your head down,” he says. “Doing your job. Not asking questions you’re not ready to hear the answers to.” I exhale quietly, half amused, half uneasy.

Together. “I’ve been so focused on keeping everything together, Leila,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. “On ensuring the company survives, that we didn’t lose everything. But I realize… I’ve been neglecting what matters most.” He paused, the intensity of his words sinking in. “You matter most. We matter most.”

“But carefully. We don’t want to create problems where none exist.” “And if problems do exist?” “Then we’ll protect what matters to us.”

ZADEN I have a rule about distractions… Don't entertain them. It's not complicated, when I'm working I'm working, and everything outside of what's directly in front of me gets filed under not my problem right now and dealt with later or not at all depending on its actual level of importance. I built an empire on that kind of focus. You don't get to where I am by letting every little thing pull your attention sideways. So I genuinely cannot explain what happened on Wednesday night.

"How can I be?! You ask me that question?! We had s*x last night and you say good morning?!! What is good about the morning, huh?! This is the worst morning I've ever had!" "What are you saying? Yes, we did have s*x last night. What is the problem with that?" "The problem there is, we shouldn't have done this in the first place! We just met for crying out loud!! I can't...I can't believe that I just had a one night stand! Oh, my God!!"

“But every time I got close, there was always something else, another problem, another threat, another reason why staying felt like the only option that wouldn’t blow everything up.” “And now you’re okay with it blowing up?” she asked sharply. “I’m okay with facing the consequences,” I said. “That’s the difference.” She took a slow step toward me, close enough that I could feel the tension radiating off her. “And what about my consequences?” she asked, her voice lowering. “What about everything that falls apart the second you walk out that door and decide that none of this matters anymore?” “It does matter,” I said, my tone firm. “You matter. But not more than my child or more than doing the