Chapter 1 — Breaking Point

Andy

The cursor blinked at me—a tiny, relentless metronome in the silence of my apartment. Beyond the glass doors of my balcony, the city pulsed with energy, headlights streaking across rain-slicked streets. A delivery drone whirred by, its faint mechanical hum mingling with the distant patter of rain. The world outside felt alive in a way I didn’t, each keystroke I didn’t take mocking me like a silent accusation.

My glasses slipped down my nose as I leaned back in my chair, tapping them back into place with a finger. Custom coding glasses, designed by me during one of my rare “creative outlet” weekends. The faint glow of their HUD flickered at the edge of my vision, flashing error notifications from my last debugging attempt. “Error 404: Motivation Not Found,” I muttered under my breath, pulling them off and letting them dangle from my fingers. The lenses caught the glow of the rain-streaked streetlights outside, casting faint prisms onto my desk. I rubbed the bridge of my nose and sighed.

Lex would have smirked at that. He always told me I had a knack for turning frustration into sarcasm, his sharp blue eyes lighting up with that maddening mix of amusement and admiration. But he wasn’t here. That was the point. My chest tightened, an invisible wire cinching tighter with each unbidden thought of him. I shook my head sharply, as though the motion could dislodge his ghost from my mind.

The AI project was supposed to be my reason for staying—for pushing through the heartbreak and proving, to myself more than anyone, that I was more than the pieces of a shattered relationship. Transformative technology, Lex had called it. A hybrid learning algorithm capable of adapting to user needs before they could articulate them. It wasn’t just ambitious. It was revolutionary, and its success would cement Kelex’s place as an industry leader. For me, it was a shot at professional redemption—a chance to show that I belonged here, no matter how much the quicksand of self-doubt tried to pull me under.

My phone buzzed against the desk, the sharp vibration jolting me. Tamika’s name lit up the screen, accompanied by a meme of a frazzled cat clutching a coffee mug with the caption: “Me, surviving 2023.” I smiled despite myself and swiped to answer.

“Please tell me you’re not still staring at code,” she said, her voice immediately warming the edges of my frayed nerves. I imagined her sprawled on her couch, avocado face mask firmly in place, a glass of wine within easy reach.

“Not staring,” I said, setting my glasses on the desk. “More like glaring.”

“Andy,” she groaned, drawing out my name like a disappointed teacher. “It’s Sunday night. You’re not saving lives. Step away from the keyboard before the blue light fries your retinas.”

I rolled my eyes, though her concern tugged at something soft inside me. “Does staring blankly at my screen count as a break?”

“Breaking my patience, maybe.” Her tone shifted, sharp and teasing. “You keep this up, you’re gonna short-circuit, and then guess what? Brett’s gonna swoop in with his ‘I told you so’ smirk and mansplain how he’d have done everything better.”

The image of Brett, smug and insufferable, looming over my desk was enough to make me groan in protest. “Okay, now I’m motivated just to spite him.”

“Good, channel that. But seriously, Andy. You can’t let Lex Coleman live rent-free in your head. He’s a tenant who needs to be evicted, yesterday.”

“It’s not about Lex,” I said, the words automatic and brittle.

“Girl, please. You’re talking to me. The woman who watched you eat your way through two pints of Chunky Monkey after that breakup. You’re still stuck on him, aren’t you?”

The truth of her words hit harder than I’d anticipated. I tilted my chair back, staring at the ceiling as though the plaster might have answers. “I’m not stuck,” I murmured, more to myself than her. “I’m just... recalibrating.”

“Recalibrating,” she echoed, her skepticism so thick it could have been bottled and sold. “Like a GPS stuck in a dead zone. Andy, recalibrate with boundaries. You don’t owe him anything—not your nights, not your doubts, and definitely not your tears.”

“I know that,” I said softly. The words felt like they were caught in my throat, lodged behind too much history. “It’s just... complicated.”

“And yet, it’s also not,” Tamika said, her voice softening. “He’s not the same guy who used to bring you coffee at 3 a.m. and wait for you to finish debugging so you could talk about the future. He’s the guy who made you doubt yourself, and that’s not love. That’s baggage.”

Her words landed with the weight of truth, but they didn’t sting. They steadied me, grounding me in a way I didn’t realize I’d needed. “Thanks, T.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I’m not finished.” Her tone brightened, back to its usual sass. “Now promise me you’ll log off and do something that doesn’t involve algorithms. Bake cookies, binge something trashy, scream-sing to ‘90s R—whatever.”

I smiled despite myself. “Fine. But only because you asked so nicely.”

“Good. And Andy?” Her voice softened again, like a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t let Lex—or anyone—make you forget how amazing you are. You’re the person everyone in that office looks up to. Hell, I look up to you.”

Her words lingered long after the call ended. I sat there, surrounded by the ambient hum of the city outside and the faint glow of my laptop, feeling their weight settle into me. Rising, I wandered to the balcony, the cool night air brushing against my skin. The city stretched out below, a patchwork of neon lights and asphalt veins, alive and relentless. Somewhere out there, Lex was probably brooding over another strategy, his whiskey glass half-empty, and his mind as sharp as ever. Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he’d moved on.

I hated how the thought tightened something low in my stomach, how the absence of him still occupied more space than it should. But he didn’t define me. He couldn’t. I had too much to prove—to myself, to Kelex, to the version of me I’d left behind during the wreckage of us.

Stepping back inside, I caught sight of the sketchbook I’d abandoned earlier, its pages splayed open to a half-formed idea. A new algorithm. Messy. Incomplete. But something was there, waiting to be unearthed.

Sliding my glasses back on, I picked up my pen. The HUD flickered to life, casting a pale blue glow over the page. The code could wait. For now, it was about finding the spark—the thing that made me want to create, to push forward, to prove that the past couldn’t define my future.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard. The cursor blinked again, waiting. This time, I didn’t hesitate.