Kaya’s lips curved into the faintest smile. She knew this kind of sketch. These were the kind people made in secret—the kind born not from practice, but from affection. From longing.
She turned the page.
There were more. Many more.
The sa man, again and again, caught in monts of his life—standing in what looked like a conference room, hands clasped, expression sharp as he spoke before a glowing projector screen. Another showed him at a construction site, a safety helt resting snug on his head, his hand raised mid-command, as though giving firm instructions to a team.
Each page carried him, and only him.
Kaya’s chest tightened slightly as she flipped through, the candlelight making the pencil strokes flicker with shadows. She didn’t know who he was, but she didn’t need to. The answer was there in every line, in every careful detail—the patience of the strokes, the way his eyes were always drawn with the most care.
Soone had sketched these with love.
So much love, Kaya thought, that it almost spilled off the page and into her hands.
After a few more pages of sketches, Kaya finally ca upon words.
Written in looping cursive, the letters were neat yet hurried, as though their writer hadn’t truly cared about perfection. Kaya tilted her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. From the tone of the first line alone, she could already guess—this woman hadn’t been much of a "diary person."
"Oh, I cannot believe I’m writing in a diary. Okay, okay, fine—I’ll write. I don’t even like doing this. But I’m writing just because I... ah, forget it. Whatever. So here we are, my dear diary. Let’s start."
Kaya could almost hear the sigh behind those words. She turned the page carefully, and the voice continued.
"Dear diary, today makes the second month since I started working here. And that damn boss of mine—ugh! He’s insane. Always piling work after work after work on . I can’t even rember the last ti I had a break. And the coffee—oh, the coffee is killing . My blood is probably half caffeine by now. Ugh."
Kaya’s smile deepened. The voice in the ink was so alive, so human.
Then, a few lines were crossed to form a divider, and below it, another entry appeared.
"What the hell? I never thought that bastard could even smile. But he did. And—it was so cute. Ugh, I can’t believe I’m even writing this. He’s still cruel, diary, don’t misunderstand . Still the devil himself. But... that smile. I caught him laughing with colleagues today, and—ugh—it was srizing. Damn boss. Ugly devil. How dare he look that good when he laughs."
Kaya chuckled softly, shaking her head at the contradiction—the words spat out with irritation, but written with tenderness all the sa.
Another dated entry followed. This one, however, had a different weight.
"Dear diary, I feel like my world has flipped upside down. My eyes—I want to blind them. What the hell is wrong with ? No matter what I’m doing, I keep looking for him. Always. Today he wore a suit—ugh, he looked devastatingly handso. And then when he took off his jacket... oh, my god. Stop it. Why am I even telling you this? You were supposed to be my place to dump anger, not to gush about him. Forget it. He’s an idiot. An absolute idiot. How dare he hire as his project manager, knowing how overworked I already am? He must want to kill ."
As Kaya turned the page, she noticed the dates. Between the first and the next entry lay nearly six months of silence.
The next words were rushed with excitent, almost glowing from the ink:
Dear diary, I can’t believe it. I feel like I’m dreaming. You know that idiot proposed to . And not like normal people, no flowers, no ring. He proposed with a project drawing! Can you believe it? A house model, handed to with the words—I want to make a monunt of love with you. What kind of man says that? I didn’t even understand him at first. But... I said yes. I can’t believe it.
Kaya’s fingers lingered over the handwriting, her eyes narrowing slightly. Whoever this woman was, her emotions bled through the page.
The following section was divided by two slanting lines.
Dear diary, I have never felt this much happiness. He brought flowers today—the yellow roses I love. He even stood in the rain with , though it makes him sick. He hates the rain, but for , he endured it. I feel so complete, more than I ever thought I could be. My parents... they’re happy too. But I’m scared. Happiness this deep feels dangerous. What if it draws an evil eye? I’m terrified... my soon-to-be husband is too perfect. Too perfect, it frightens .
Kaya slowly exhaled, the candle fla flickering in her eyes. The next entry was dated only four days later. The letters trembled, uneven.
I knew it. I knew it. His mother does not accept . And it’s fine—I understand. Who would? I’m just an employee. He is the heir, the only son of the company. But it wasn’t my fault I fell for him. He wasn’t like the stories, not the cold CEO in novels, with guards, luxury cars, and an untouchable air. No. He ate with the staff, treated the company as family. That’s the man I loved... that’s why I fell so deeply. But today, eting his mother showed the truth. I forgot the difference between us. I thought I could reach the moon just because I saw it shining. But I was wrong. The moon is too far, untouchable. I can see him... but I can never truly hold him.
a sharp ache in her eyes. Every blink made the pain throb worse, until even the candle’s faint glow felt too bright. She closed the diary and let her eyes rest, but when she opened them again, the ache had spread to both eyes.
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