Summary draft. Hundred likes and I will make it into a novel.

When Ethan Koh walked into the marketing department of Lighthouse Media, nobody looked up.

Except her.

Clara Lim—bright smile, pastel blouses, and a desk that looked like a stationery store had exploded—beamed at him like he was a long-lost friend instead of the new project manager everyone had been whispering about.

“You must be Ethan! I saved you the seat near the window. It gets the best sunlight in the morning,” she chirped.

“I don’t like sunlight,” he replied flatly, setting his laptop down.

Clara blinked once. Then she grinned wider. “That’s okay. I’ll like it enough for both of us.”

Ethan had transferred from the company’s Hong Kong branch to Singapore to fix their “productivity issues.” That was corporate speak for: everything is behind schedule and morale is a mess.

He wore only black. He spoke only when necessary. And he drank his coffee without sugar.

Clara, on the other hand, brought homemade cookies to Monday meetings. She decorated the whiteboard with tiny doodles. She said things like, “Good morning, team! We’re going to smash this!”

They clashed immediately.

“You missed the formatting guideline,” Ethan said during their first joint presentation review.

“Oh! I thought it looked friendlier this way,” Clara replied.

“It’s not supposed to look friendly. It’s supposed to look consistent.”

She leaned forward on his desk. “Consistency can still smile, you know.”

He stared at her.

She winked.

For two weeks, they circled each other like opposing weather systems. Ethan stayed late, fixing minor details in silence. Clara stayed late too—adding color-coded tabs and sticky notes to help the interns.

One night, around 9:47 p.m., the office was nearly empty. Rain tapped against the windows.

Clara noticed the lights were still on at Ethan’s desk.

“You’re still here,” she said softly.

“So are you.”

“I was finishing the Henderson pitch deck.”

He nodded once. “It was good. Just needed tighter data alignment.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Was that… a compliment?”

“It was an observation.”

She laughed under her breath and sat in the chair opposite him. “You know, everyone’s terrified of you.”

“Good.”

“Why?”

“Fear is efficient.”

Clara tilted her head. “Or maybe people work better when they’re not scared.”

Silence stretched between them. Rain filled the space.

“You don’t have to fix everything alone,” she added gently.

“I’m not alone.”

“You stay until everyone leaves.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

She studied him for a long moment. His jaw was tight. His eyes looked more tired than cold.

“You care,” she said quietly.

“That’s irrelevant.”

“No,” she smiled, softer now. “It’s not.”

The breakthrough came during the Henderson client presentation.

Midway through Ethan’s perfectly structured pitch, the projector froze.

The screen glitched.

The client frowned.

Ethan’s shoulders stiffened.

Clara stepped forward before the silence could grow heavy.

“No worries!” she said brightly. “While our tech takes a tiny power nap, let me tell you a quick story about why this campaign matters.”

She moved freely, confidently, speaking without slides. She made the numbers human. She made the strategy feel alive.

By the time the projector flickered back on, the client was nodding.

After the meeting, the Henderson director shook Ethan’s hand. “Strong leadership. And your colleague—she’s exceptional.”

Ethan glanced at Clara across the room. She was animatedly explaining color palettes to an intern.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “She is.”

That evening, Clara found a cup of coffee waiting on her desk.

Two sugars. Splash of milk.

She looked up to see Ethan pretending not to watch her reaction.

“You remembered,” she said.

“I observe things.”

She took a sip. “It’s perfect.”

He hesitated. “You were… impressive today.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “That sounds dangerously close to praise.”

“It is praise.”

She leaned back in her chair, pretending to fan herself. “Wow. Mark the calendar.”

He almost smiled.

Almost.

“You were right,” he admitted after a moment.

“About?”

“People don’t work better when they’re scared.”

Clara’s teasing expression softened. “It’s okay to let people in, you know.”

“I don’t… do that well.”

“That’s fine,” she said lightly. “I’m very patient.”

He met her gaze fully for the first time.

“And very persistent,” he added.

She grinned. “That too.”

Over the next month, things shifted.

Ethan still wore black—but sometimes he loosened his tie.

Clara still decorated the whiteboard—but now Ethan added the deadlines himself.

They balanced each other.

She reminded him to eat lunch.

He reminded her to triple-check her numbers.

She brought warmth.

He brought structure.

One Friday evening, as the team packed up early after hitting a major milestone, Clara nudged his shoulder.

“Celebration dinner? The team’s going to that new place near Tanjong Pagar.”

He hesitated.

She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me fear is efficient at restaurants too.”

A pause.

Then, quietly: “I’ll go.”

Her smile was softer this time—less teasing, more something else.

As they walked out together, side by side, Ethan felt something unfamiliar but steady.

Not chaos.

Not pressure.

Warmth.

And Clara, glancing at him under the city lights, realized something too:

Even the grumpiest storms could learn to glow—

if they stood long enough in the sunshine.

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