Malissa Fisher could not remember the last time she had slept properly.
Her body moved on habit, not energy.
She rose slowly from her desk, exhaustion weighing heavily on every movement. This was her fourth overtime shift of the week, and it was beginning to take a serious toll on her. Her shoulders aching from sitting too long, her wrists were sore from endless drawing and editing, and her eyes burning from staring at the screen for hours without rest.
She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the dark computer monitor before shutting it down. Her skin looked pale, her eyes ringed with faint shadows, and her lips slightly dry. She looked frail, as though the weight of exhaustion had carved itself into her bones.
Glancing at the time, she hurriedly packed her bag. It had become her routine now. Finish overtime, rush home, change clothes, and return before her team leader could find another excuse to scold her or assign more work. Her life had slowly become a cycle of work, exhaustion, quick showers, and short bus rides filled with half sleep.
She dragged herself into the elevator and leaned against the wall as the doors closed. The cool metal surface pressed against her back felt strangely comforting.
'If only I could catch some sleep.'
Her thoughts were sluggish and slow, her mind fogged with exhaustion. Sleep deprivation was beginning to show in every step she took, in every decision she made, and in every emotion she tried to control.
By the time she reached her apartment building, she felt like she was moving on pure instinct rather than energy.
Her small apartment greeted her with silence. The space was modest and barely enough for one person. A tiny kitchen with chipped tiles stood in one corner, a second hand couch pushed against the wall, and a small table cluttered with sketchbooks and pencils. Her bed stood by the window, the blanket slightly messy from the morning rush, and at that moment it looked far too inviting.
She dropped her bag on the couch and went straight to the bathroom. The warm shower helped ease her stiff muscles and loosen the tension in her shoulders. For a few minutes, she closed her eyes and simply stood under the water, wishing she could stay there forever.
When she stepped out, the cool air hit her skin and reality returned immediately.
Her eyes drifted toward the bed again. The soft sheets looked like heaven. She imagined lying down just for five minutes. Just five minutes.
But the image of her team leader's angry face flashed across her mind, followed by the sound of sharp criticism and threats about bonuses and performance reviews.
She shook her head quickly.
No. If I sleep, I will not wake up in time.
She dressed quickly, grabbed her keys, and left the apartment again. Breakfast was a luxury she no longer had time for. Brunch had become her reality, and sometimes even that was just a quick snack from a vending machine.
On the bus to work, Malissa slumped into a seat near the window. Aurora Publishing awaited her, one of the biggest publishing companies in the world. For many people, working there was a dream.
For her, it had been dream. Once.
She had grown up in a modest household. Her father was a mechanic who spent long days fixing engines, and her mother was a seamstress who worked late into the night sewing clothes for clients. Money had always been tight, but her parents had always made sure she went to school and had books to read.
Books had been her escape, her passion, and her comfort. Stories made her believe that life could be bigger, brighter, and more meaningful. Landing a job at Aurora Publishing had felt like destiny, like all those nights reading under a dim lamp had finally led somewhere.
But dreams came with a price, and hers was paid in sleepless nights, endless overtime, and a team leader who treated her like a machine rather than a person.
Her eyelids grew heavy as the bus moved slowly through traffic. The gentle hum of the engine and the rocking motion of the bus lulled her into a daze. Her head tilted slightly toward the window, and before she realized it, she had fallen asleep.
When she woke up, the bus was already moving past a familiar street.
Her eyes widened in panic.
No. No no no.
She quickly pressed the stop button and rushed off the bus at the next stop, her heart racing. She had missed her stop by two stations.
Late again.
She checked the time and felt her stomach drop. She immediately began running toward the office, her bag clutched tightly in her hand, her exhaustion now replaced by panic and urgency.
Near the café entrance, she collided with a man walking toward the curb. The impact startled her and her phone slipped from her grasp, clattering onto the pavement.
"I am sorry," she said quickly, crouching to pick up her own phone. Her hair fell across her face, hiding her expression as she grabbed the device in a hurry.
She did not hear his clipped apology. Instead, she whispered under her breath, just loud enough for him to catch.
"Some people think they own the sidewalk."
Without waiting for a response, she hurried past him and rushed into the café area, cutting through the side walkway toward her office building.
By the time she reached her office desk, she was slightly out of breath. She tried to calm herself and organize her desk before anyone noticed she was late.
She was brought back from her thoughts when her phone rang.
She frowned immediately. Strange. She always kept her phone on silent mode at work. She glanced at the screen and saw an unfamiliar number.
Frowning, she answered the call.
"Hello, Malissa Fisher here, who is speaking?"
"Um… Mr. Marquez?" The voice on the other end sounded confused and slightly startled.
Malissa blinked in confusion.
"Sorry? I think you dialed the wrong number. I do not know a Mr. Marquez."
She hung up quickly, slightly annoyed and too tired to think about it further.
A few seconds later, the phone vibrated again.
She picked it up immediately, irritation sharpening her tone.
"I told you already you dialed the wrong number. Goddamnit. I do not know any Mr Marquez, okay? Go get a life. Your mates are busy making ends meet and you are here scamming people."
Her voice cracked slightly with fatigue as she spoke. A week of sleepless nights had left her emotionally thin and easily irritated.
She dropped the phone on the desk and tried to focus on her work. Just as she picked up her pencil to continue sketching a character design, her team leader suddenly appeared beside her desk.
"You. Fisher. To my office. Now."
Malissa sighed quietly and stood up.
Even the heavens could not save her.
Inside the office, the team leader's voice was sharp and cold.
"Your work is sloppy." She said " Fix it. Or I'll give it to someone who can, and remember, the bonus is mine to decide."
Malissa bit her lip and nodded, swallowing her frustration. She knew the woman often took credit for her work, piling tasks on her while dangling the promise of a bonus like bait. Malissa needed the money. Rent, electricity bills, food, transport. Survival was not cheap.
So she endured.
She walked out of the office feeling dejected and emotionally drained. Back at her desk, she decided to call her artist to discuss a design change. That was when she noticed something strange.
Her phone did not have a password lock.
It had a pattern lock.
Confused, she stared at the lock screen more carefully. The wallpaper showed a photo of a man she did not recognize. He looked stylish and confident, posing like a celebrity.
'Where is my Jimin!'
Her heart skipped.
Panic hit instantly, sharp and suffocating.
No, no, no… this cannot be happening.
She quickly dialed her own number once. No response. She tried again. And again.
If I lose this phone, I loose my contacts, my drafts, my designs, Jimin… everything. And if my team leader finds out, she will tear me apart.
Finally, the call connected.
Alexander Marquez sat in the conference room of Marquez Technologies. The meeting was tense and serious, his focus razor sharp as the presentation continued.
Then a phone began to ring.
The sound was absurd, loud, and completely inappropriate for a corporate meeting.
"We acting a fool again… hahaha, hooligan… watch this, watch this beat going hooligan!"
Alexander's eyes narrowed slowly.
"Whoever's phone that is, leave. Now."
No one moved. The ringtone continued to blare.
His secretary leaned in carefully and
whispered, "Sir… it is your phone."
Alexander froze. His phone was always on silent.
He picked it up, puzzled. A strange number flashed across the screen.
He answered calmly, "Hello."
"Um… Mr Marcus?" A female voice spoke, hesitant and unsure.
"Speaking," he replied.
"Oh thank goodness," she said in relief. "I think I have your phone. We bumped into each other at the front of a coffee shop this morning. I think we might have switched phones."
Alexander's brows furrowed slightly as he leaned back in his chair.
The woman from earlier. The collision. The phone swap.
Coincidence?.