I don’t know why I brought this stupid journal today.
Maybe I thought it’d make me feel more… human? Less like another cog in Arasaka’s endless machine. Chloe always says I bottle things up too much. She’s probably right. She usually is.
We met five years ago today. That feels like a lifetime now. It was a coffee shop—of all places—nestled in a corner of Heywood. She spilled her drink on my pristine white shirt, and I… well, I muttered something about dry cleaning. Classic me. But then she laughed.
God, that laugh—it was like sunlight breaking through the smog.
She insisted on paying for my coffee, even though I said it wasn’t necessary. We ended up talking for hours. The barista had to kick us out when they closed.
I told her about my job, my aspirations. Chloe, though, she didn’t want to hear about my corporate ladder. She asked me about me. My favorite color (blue). My favorite movie (don’t have one). My worst fear (failure).
And she didn’t judge. She just listened.
By the end of the night, I didn’t care about the shirt or the coffee. All I cared about was when I’d see her again.
I think that’s when I knew.
Today, I took her to the same coffee shop. It’s a franchise now—polished chrome and holo-displays—but Chloe didn’t care. She said the memories are what matter, not the setting.
She laughed when I accidentally spilled my coffee this time.
I think I’ve been holding on to that moment all day. Like if I can just hold it tight enough, it won’t slip away like everything else.
God, I love that woman with my entire soul.