Ayla's POV
I gathered the papers in front of me slowly, far more slowly than necessary.
My hands moved on their own. Neat. Careful. Automatic. As if finishing the task properly might somehow quiet the hollow feeling spreading through my chest.
"Yes, ma'am," I said softly when there was nothing else left to say.
She nodded, already turning back to her screen, her attention shifting with practiced ease. Dismissal without cruelty. Without warmth. Clean.
Work finished. Conversation over.
I stood, smoothing my skirt, keeping my head bowed just enough to remain professional. Just enough to hide the disappointment I hadn't been able to swallow down completely.
"I'll send the flagged timelines to your email," I added.
"Alright," she replied calmly. "That will be all."
That will be all.
The words followed me as I walked toward the door.
I was just about to open it when her voice came again.
"Ayla."
My breath caught.
Finally, I thought. Finally, she was ready to talk about it.
