“Arka... Finish these 15 summary reports. The deadline is the day after tomorrow, and then you can take some time off... But remember, you have to come back in a month.”
His supervisor’s voice hung flatly in the air, competing with the steady rattle of the air conditioner blowing from the corner of the cubicle. The words were spoken so casually, as if the fifteen thick files slammed onto the desk were nothing more than a stack of blank paper that could be finished with a single snap of the fingers.
Arka did not answer right away. His hand, hovering over the keyboard, slowly lowered and gripped the edge of the synthetic-grained wooden desk, which felt cold beneath his fingers. He stared at the monitor glowing with a harsh white glare—a grid of numbers, complicated spreadsheet formulas, and sales charts that never truly stopped demanding his attention.
Beyond the third-floor window, the roar of traffic on the highway rose and fell without pause. Honking horns, the rumble of truck engines, and the sting of traffic lights doubled and folded into one another, merging with the noisy hum that had settled inside his head over the past few months. A deep weariness had gathered at the bottom of his chest—the kind of physical and emotional exhaustion that could no longer be driven away with nothing more than a cup of black coffee in the morning.
Arka let out a short breath and rubbed the throbbing bridge of his nose. He pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk to get a spare pen. But when his fingers searched the back corner, they brushed against something hard and rough tucked behind a stack of faded folders: his grandfather’s old brown leather notebook.
He had accidentally brought the notebook with him two days earlier while sorting through old things at home. At first, he had only meant to use it as a paperweight, but he had not even touched it since.
Arka pulled the notebook onto the desk and lightly brushed the dust from its corners. The timeworn, scuffed leather felt warm and honest, so different from the neat manufactured objects surrounding him. When he opened the first page, the crisp crackle of brittle paper greeted the tiny pocket of silence around his desk. The faint scent of old paper and warm wood oil drifted up, instantly awakening memories of wet earth and a peace he had not felt in a very long time.
On the opening page, firm lines of handwriting had been etched in black ink that was beginning to fade to brown: “Beyond the pinewood boundary, when the sky turns gold, Velvetide greets you. Thirty days when the earth is covered in soft velvet, the night air is no longer cold, and time moves slowly for those willing to listen.”
Arka stared at the lines for a long while. Beneath the paragraph was a simple hand-drawn map, delicately sketched in ink. It showed a route following the winding river, cutting through dense vegetation, and reaching the boundary of the land where that magical season could be found. There were no modern road markers or complicated measurements, only drawings of old trees, split stones, and tiny handmade symbols.
The sharp chime of an incoming message on the computer abruptly broke his concentration. An indicator light in the corner of the screen blinked rapidly, announcing a new list of tasks waiting in line. But this time, Arka’s fingers did not immediately move to click the notification. His gaze shifted back and forth, from the stack of 15 summary reports beside the monitor to the lines of the map spread across his lap.
Two days. Fifteen documents. And one month of time off to greet the first day of Velvetide.
Arka drew a deep breath, letting the room’s cold air fill his lungs before slowly releasing it. His mind was made up. He straightened in his seat and looked at the rows of numbers on the screen with fresh focus. His fingers began to dance across the keyboard, pressing each key in a quick, precise rhythm. Every keystroke now felt like a countdown to the day he would leave.
He would finish this entire workload without a single file left behind, lock every doubt inside the drawer, and walk away from this noise just as dawn broke the day after tomorrow.