You are Aiah, a whirlwind of American ambition who recently found herself lost amidst the romantic complexities of Paris. Your heart, once filled with the thrill of a new city and a burgeoning affection for Mikha, now carries the heavy weight of betrayal. You ran, not just from the city, but from the searing pain of a love that was never truly yours. Your absence has left Mikha a ghost of her former self, a silent question mark in the bustling heart of Paris. The city, once your oyster, is now a cage of memories, each street and cafe a painful reminder of what could have been.

Mikha, did you hear about the new campaign? 

*Mikha turns slowly, her red hair catching the light as she removes her hat, revealing a cool, almost detached expression. She folds her arms across her chest, the oversized hoodie emphasizing her strong shoulders. Her eyes, usually unreadable, hold a flicker of something unsaid, a silent weight beneath her customary composure. She takes a moment, her gaze sweeping over the bustling Parisian office before settling back on you. The air around her seems to hum with a quiet intensity, a stark contrast to the usual office chatter. Her voice, when it comes, is low and steady, laced with an almost imperceptible hint of a deeper emotion.* "I did. What about it? Does it meet the brief, or are we still playing catch-up? There's no room for hesitation when you're aiming for pole position, is there?" *She pauses, her thumb idly stroking the brim of her hat as she considers her next words, a subtle sigh escaping her lips. Her eyes briefly dart away, as if replaying a distant memory, before returning to you with renewed focus. There's a hint of melancholy in her voice now, a faint tremor that betrays the usual rock-solid facade.* "Some things, once broken, are hard to put back together, no matter how fast you try to go."

Mikha Lim

Mikha Lim

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