In his work place, a stranger sat—
In. His. Chair.
Jason stopped cold.
God. Dear God.
A vein twitched. He was one second away from evolving into Ja-thunder.
Before he could unleash a storm, the team lead spotted him. "Jason! Meet Katherine—our new apprentice. You'll be training her."
Jason's brewing thunder paused.
Katherine stood—a short, round-faced woman with a warm, nervous smile. Her glasses slid slightly down her nose, and she pushed them back with a quick, practiced motion.
Beside her, Arnon lounged with his usual lazy confidence, sipping coffee like it was Sunday brunch.
Jason's gaze flicked between them—Katherine, Arnon... Katherine again. His lips curled into a smirk.
"You two," he said, tone rich with mischief, "look like you'd make a great pair."
Arnon, mid-sip, whipped his head around so fast it was a miracle his neck stayed intact. "What—?"
Jason's grin widened, eyes dancing with amusement.
Oh, I'm shipping this. Forever and ever.
Ahh. Stress buster—yes.
A sudden sound inturrepted them ,a sound that they rarely hear flooded the whole place
Wahhhhnk—Wahhhhnk—
The fire alarm.
The practiced quarterly drills evaporated from collective memory. Chaos erupted. Desks scraped, footsteps thundered, and a river of panicked employees surged toward the exits. Orderly lines dissolved into raw, primal instinct.
The air reeked of smoke—faint but real. Through garbled announcements, one thing was clear:
A fire. Somewhere above their floor.
Jason looked at arnon for confirmation that he wasnt involved in this arson with the recent frequent burning jokes of his.
Arnon nodded for who knows what and
said " possibly the short fuse bursted "
They both slipped into the crowd while keeping an eye out for their dear manager to make sure he is not the cause of all this.
The crowd was moving towards the assembly point then—Jason stopped short. His pulse quickened.
"Hey... where's Katherine?"
Arnon's eyes narrowed. He scanned the dispersing crowd.
No sign of her.
Jason's chest tightened. "Damn... She must be stuck."
Arnon's lips quirked into a reckless grin. "Well…" He cracked his knuckles.
"Sometimes you gotta make decisions purely for the cinematic value."
Jason met his gaze—and without another word, they turned on their heels—
Sprinting back toward the building.
---Elsewhere, in another world entirely, a different story unfolded.
Golden light streamed through the window, wrapping the room in warmth. Tiny hands wavered in the air, chubby fingers grasping at nothing, balancing between gravity and sheer willpower.
John watched, breath caught between amusement and reverence. Across the carpet, his daughter, Julie, wobbled on uncertain legs, her wide eyes mirroring his own determination.
"Come on, Bean," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
In the doorway, Jane leaned against the frame, arms crossed, a knowing smile on her lips. She had seen this look before—the fierce protector, the devoted fool, utterly undone by a pair of tiny socks and a gummy grin.
Then it happened— A wobble. A sway. A heartbeat of stillness—
—and Julie stood.
No hands. No help.
John's heart stopped, then thundered to life. "That's my girl!"
Julie froze, her little legs trembling. But her father's voice wrapped around her like magic. Her lips curled wide, and the word tumbled out:
"Dada!"
Jane was already moving, scooping their daughter into her arms. Her laughter was bright and endless, filling the room with something sacred, something eternal.
"You did it, baby! You stood!"
But Julie wasn't finished. She wriggled free, her tiny legs kicking. "Down!" she commanded, small but absolute.
John chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, show us what you've got."
Jane set her down, and Julie planted her feet, her face scrunched in fierce determination. She wobbled—but then, a step. Unsteady. Precious. Then another.
John's voice softened, thick with pride. "Look at you… unstoppable, Bean."
Julie stumbled—plop!—landing on her bottom. For a beat, silence.
Then, she giggled—a bright, bubbling sound that shattered the tension and filled the room with sunshine.
John fell back, hands over his face, helpless with laughter. "Oh, you're trouble already."
Jane brushed a stray curl from their daughter's forehead. "I swear, she gets that stubbornness from you."
John grinned, his voice low, tender. "Good. The world's tough out there." He leaned in, planting a soft kiss on Julie's head. "But she's already tougher."
Jane smirked. "So… do we call the grandparents or let them suffer from FOMO?"
John rubbed his chin, pretending to think. "Mmm... Nah. Let them suffer. We've got this memory all to ourselves."
Julie clapped her hands, as if sealing the verdict.
And in that living room—wrapped in laughter, love, and the triumph of tiny feet—time stood still.
No camera. No recording. Only the moment—eternal, perfect, and theirs alone.
The world outside could roar and burn. But here—
—here was peace.