Skip to main content

Glitch.



Spare a moment for my nonsense, will you? Indulge me I promise it’ll be mildly poetic.


Back at it, like we never left at Miles’s office somewhere midtown, minimalist.


Smells like control and caffeine.


There’s a click of a pen. A screen flickers. A vendor; sweaty with ambition and some very questionable fonts in his pitch deck is halfway through saying something about “synergistic market expansion.”


Miles, blinking slowly like someone who’s just realized his soul is leaving his body via spreadsheet, leans back. His specs are sliding down just enough to make him look like the love child of a TED Talk and a Jane Austen character.


And then there it is.


  • Nat (in his head):

“If I hear one more man use the word ‘synergy’ like it’s an aphrodisiac, I’m going to put a blueprint through the shredder just to cope.”


  • Miles (blinks, smirks):

“Tell me more about your radical views on site planning, darling. This guy just told me that market penetration is about intimacy. I think I need a shower.”


  • Nat (mentally swirling coffee):

“Oh? While I’m convincing a man that contouring terrain for natural runoff isn’t witchcraft. You’d love it. He just asked if ‘moulding the land’ was a metaphor for female intuition. I’m honestly considering committing a small crime.”


  • Miles:

“You’re so good when you’re professionally offended. It’s like watching a swan in stilettos kick someone in the shins.”


  • Nat:

“And you’re charming in that annoying way where I forget the point of gravity when your wavy hair bounces a certain way when you tilt your head. Do they… bounce on purpose? Is that a thing now? Weaponized cuteness?”


  • Miles (snorts softly mid-pitch):

“The waves? Nat. They’re just hair. If I knew they were causing architectural disarray, I would’ve gelled them down with investor-grade seriousness.”


>>> Vendor (oblivious, excited): “And that’s why our solution aligns with your mission, Mr. Miles. It’s about unlocking your customer’s unmet desire.” <<<


  • Miles (in his head, deadpan):

“My unmet desire currently involves running my hands through someone’s very judgmental, skimmed-milk-sipping hair.”


  • Nat (hearing that like a whisper down the wind):

“Control yourself, Romeo. I’m in the middle of saying ‘urban permeability’ with a straight face.”


  • Miles (chuckling):

“You say ‘urban permeability’ and I hear ‘let me into your stupid overthinking brain, Miles, I swear I won’t redecorate.’”


  • Nat:

“Too late. I already put up bookshelves, moved in the plants, and replaced all the cynicism with sarcasm that smells like lavender.”


  • Miles:

“You always did know how to improve the place.”



 >>> Vendor: “So, what do you think, Mr. Miles? Shall we move forward?” <<<


  • Miles (with a glazed look that screams ‘I was somewhere else and it was better’):

“Right. Yes. Let’s… touch base after touching grass. I mean I’ll circle back.”


  • Nat (laughing silently):

“You’re losing it. You need a vacation. Preferably one that includes me, coastal wind, and you not wearing those specs so I stand a chance.”


  • Miles (smiling like a man who just heard his favorite poem read out loud):

“They’re staying on. Let a girl dream.”





He went back to nodding at spreadsheets that meant nothing. She kept convincing clients that water doesn’t ask for permission. But in their heads? The dialogue never stopped. The glances were imagined. The laughter was real.




And somewhere, beneath the meeting minutes and the smell of burnt espresso, sat a truth they wouldn’t dare admit out loud—
they were each other’s favorite distraction.




Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Miles of space to play with

People like to believe the universe is some grand orchestrator, shuffling fate cards like a moody blackjack dealer. But sometimes, it just sits back with popcorn and watches two people fumble their way into a slow-burning disaster that smells vaguely of espresso and unresolved tension. Enter Nat and Miles, two souls with more chemistry than a freshman lab fire, and just about as much common sense. By now, I assume you know Miles a bit. So allow me to introduce Nat. Nat. Now there’s a piece of work the universe clearly cooked up on a cheeky day. All sharp wit, unreadable playlists, and the kind of elegance that doesn’t try, it just is. She walks into a room like she already knows the ending but still watches everyone else catch up. She’ll dissect a business pitch, write a blog that punches through your chest, and still look vaguely annoyed that you haven’t figured out how she takes her coffee (strong, like her opinions, with a splash of skimmed milk and quiet judgment). But don’t be foo...
Post a Comment
Read more

When the stars gazed back at us.

  When the stars gazed back at us,  it was not about beginnings; it was about recognition. About that rare, almost fleeting moment when the universe did not feel distant or indifferent, but attentive, almost complicit. ;) I woke up remembering you, All your words, old and new. Of dreams I hold of lands unseen, As if your name’s the hum I’ve known, your face the only thing I’ve seen. Even the sun bears your name,  Without you, rain feels strangely tame. They may call me mad, broken, or even wrongly built, I’d still reduce to dust all that may keep us apart, without remorse or even a speck of guilt. You and me, we took an oath, To be each other’s home through misery and gloat. If I were to do it all over again, I would, of course, I would, Wouldn't change a thing even if I could. I’ve held you through your sin, you’ve seen me through my crime Miles and miles I’ve carried all your shadows; you have borne witness to mine.  Across all lives, though you forg...
Post a Comment
Read more

Notes from the Aphelion

There’s a story I’ve been carrying inside me for a while. Not a plot line or a pitch, but something else, something that feels like memory but also like myth. And it’s not about love, not the kind we usually talk about. It’s about Time . Yes, Time . That ever-present, slightly dramatic character that haunts everyone’s calendars, under-eyes, and birthday cake candles. Except in this story, Time isn’t a villain. It’s.. well. It’s something closer to God. And this girl I’m going to be telling you about, let’s just say she wasn’t born for chasing trends or hurrying through moments. She was more of a dusty piano in a world obsessed with bluetooth speakers. A little out of place, a little out of sync, but stubbornly intact. This story isn’t a love story in the classic sense. There are no stolen glances or sweeping gestures. But it’s still about love - the strange, slow kind. The sort that grows without asking. The sort that isn’t always easy to see, until one day, you realise it’s be...
Post a Comment
Read more