Deep in my Heart

The bitter wind blew through the cemetery, rustling the last of the autumn leaves that clung stubbornly to the withered trees. Grey clouds hung above, casting a muted veil over the granite headstones. Barron Steele stood still, his hands deep in the pockets of his black overcoat, staring down at the gravestone that said "Flair Kingsley."

October 12th.

He came here every year on this day as if by habit. Every year, he experienced the same excruciating torment as if no time had passed. It had been three years, and the pain had not lessened. It only taught him how to conceal it better.

Barron knelt softly and placed a single white rose at the foot of the tombstone. The petals vibrated in the air.

"You would have loathed today," he said softly, his voice hoarse with repressed fury. "Grey skies. Wind. "Not your kind of weather."

The silence lingered, thick and terrible.

They believe that time heals everything. "You would probably roll your eyes at it too."

He closed his eyes and grasped the cold stone for support.

"I kept thinking..." If I had left work five minutes earlier. Probably if I had not taken that dreaded call. Maybe"

He cut himself off.

Maybe she would not return.

Straightening up, he took a deep breath and looked around. The cemetery was empty, save for an old groundskeeper in the distance. It was better this way-no prying eyes. No pity. Barron disliked compassion more than anything.

Flair died in a car accident three years ago on her way to surprise him with dinner. A simple yet amazing gesture that cost her everything.

Barron had since been entirely absorbed in his job and established new enterprises. Increased capital. Made extra billions. But nothing could disturb the silence that hung over his flat at night. Nothing could take away the guilt.

Today was no different.

He remained for a bit longer before turning and strolling back to his waiting car. The sleek black Bentley waited like a loving dog, its engine idling, while the driver came to open the door.

"Back to the office, Mr. Steele?" the chauffeur said.

Barron halted. "No. Drive around. "Just not home yet."

He slid into the backseat, closed his eyes, and leaned against the window. The city poured outside in a flurry of movement and activity,a life he no longer felt a part of.

Across town, Charlotte Rivers stood in front of Steele Corporation's towering glass doors, nervously adjusting the hem of her secondhand jacket. Her breath grew hazy in the crisp morning air as she took one last glimpse at herself in the building's mirrored entrance.

"You have got this," she murmured, striving to smile.

Her stomach churned. Not just with nerves. With hunger. She had not eaten since the night before, so she decided to save the remainder of the milk for her daughter's breakfast.

Maya.

Charlotte's heart tightened as she thought of her five-year-old daughter. Maya had a fever last night, and Charlotte was considering cancelling today. However, she could not afford it. This internship, even though it was unpaid, was a foot in the door, a whisper of a dream she had almost forgotten about.

Fashion was once her preoccupation. Designs, colours, and textures spoke to her in ways no one else did. But then Maya came, and dreams gave way to survival.

She inhaled deeply before entering through the doors, heels thumping on the immaculate marble floor.

The lobby was sleek and intimidating, with steel beams, glass panels, and an air of opulence that seemed to look down on her. As she approached, a receptionist welcomed her with a smile.

"Charlotte Rivers, here for the design internship," she said, her voice as calm as it could be.

The receptionist looks over the list and nods. "Take the elevator to the 21st floor. Good luck."

"Thank you," Charlotte muttered.

The elevator travel appeared to last forever. Her reflection in the mirrored walls stared back-dark hair in a bun, ancient shoes, and a jacket with a torn seam on the sleeve. She swallowed her increasing self-doubt. This was just the beginning. She could do it.

The design floor was a hive of activity, with young creatives rushing from room to room, fabrics draped over arms, and stylists examining mood boards. Charlotte stepped outdoors, clutching her handbag firmly.

A woman in a cobalt blue suit approached. Her look was intimidating, with piercing eyes and a clipboard in hand.

"Charlotte Rivers?" I am Elise. "You will be shadowing me."

"Nice to meet you," Charlotte said.

Elise's smile was tight but not uncomfortable. "We work rapidly here. Can you keep up?

"I shall do my best."

"Trying is not enough," Elise said, already turning. "Come on."

Charlotte followed, absorbing everything. The creativity and mayhem were intimidating but also exciting. She briefly forgot about her bills, missed meals, and overdue rent. She was here. I am here.

Midway through the day, she found herself in the break room, pouring water into a shattered plastic cup. Her cell phone vibrated. Message from her neighbour.

Maya is still resting. Give her the soup you have left over. I will keep an eye out. Do not worry.

Relief washed over her. She replied with a thanks emoji and set her phone away.

"First day nerves?" a man's voice asked.

Charlotte turned to see a tall man in janitor's overalls hauling a mop bucket into the room. He seemed rugged, with stubble on his chin and eyes too intense for a janitor.

"Yeah," she said with a little smile. "Is it that obvious?"

He chuckled. "You are not the first to look like a deer in headlights."

"I guess it shows."

"What is your department?"

"Design. Intern. "Unpaid," she remarked with a dry laugh.

He raised an eyebrow. "That is challenging. Do you enjoy it, however?

She nodded. "I really love it. I have not done anything creative in a long time. This is scary. But it is good."

He gave a little smile. "Sometimes the most scary things are the best things."

Charlotte tilted her head. "You seem more philosophical than most janitors."

He shrugged. "You learn things while you sweep floors."

She laughed. It felt good.

"I am Charlotte."

He stopped for a second. "Ben."

"It is good to meet you, Ben."

They held each other's gaze for longer than necessary before Charlotte looked away.

"Back to the grind," she said, tossing her cup. "See you around?"

"I am convinced you will."

Barron (Ben) saw her exit the room. An odd mix of warmth and guilt poured through his chest. He had not expected to talk to anybody. Certainly not someone who reminded him of what it meant to be alive.

And for the first time

In three years, he was no longer thinking about Flair.

He was thinking about the girl with sad eyes and a hopeful smile.

Charlotte.