Page 104 of My Only

The hour was after 8 p.m… or maybe 9 p.m. I honestly couldn’t tell anymore. It didn’t really matter—not with this new issue sitting on my desk.

Last-minute revisions had me parked at my desk, stress settling in like an unwanted guest, yet again.

“Can I get you more coffee?” Harper asked, hovering near me. She leaned against my desk, hands pressed into the surface as she studied the blueprint of the residential layout I’d created—the one she’d found a flaw in just minutes before I was set to head home.

We were in Phase 3 of the Greene Gardens Project, preparing the first neighborhoods, commercial spaces, and parks for occupancy. Project managers were waiting for the go-ahead to schedule launch events—public unveilings, ribbon-cutting ceremonies, all marking the milestone of welcoming the first residents.

And now, this.

“No coffee.” I sat up in my chair, dragging in a deep breath. “Let me just…” I exhaled hard. “Let me get back to this.”

Minutes before I was ready to leave, Harper had walked through my office door with urgent steps, saying she’d discovered a flaw. A flow issue, as she called it.

Her concern? The open-concept townhouses from Phase 1.

She claimed that, in some areas, the interior spaces felt too enclosed. That the natural light didn’t move through the units the way it should. Her solution? Wider entryways and larger interior windows to improve the visual connection between rooms.

At first, I wasn’t convinced.

“Does that really need to be altered, though?” I asked, frowning as I studied the blueprints on my screen. “The open-concept looks fine to me, Harper.”

“Well,” she smiled, “that’s why you’re the architect, and I’m the interior designer.”

And just like that, I’d been stuck at my desk ever since, searching for the flaw.

I scanned the plans. Ran simulations. Cross-checked light distribution in the 3D renderings.

I still didn’t see it.

But Harper was the interior designer. This was her specialty. And if she was this convinced, I had to at least consider that she was seeing something I wasn’t.

Another deep breath left me as I reached for my sketchbook. Not my personal one. The one I kept specifically for the project. I loosened my tie, unbuttoned the first two buttons on my dress shirt, and rolled my sleeves up to my forearms. Then, flipping to a fresh page, I picked up my pencil.

I needed to rework this. Figure it out.

As I started sketching, Harper stayed planted by my side, watching. I glanced up briefly, catching her staring at me.

“You don’t have to stick around for this part, Harper,” I said, my focus back on my work. “You can head home.”

“It’s fine,” she replied easily. “I enjoy your company. And I want to be a part of all aspects of this project, so when history is made, I can say I was right there with the genius that is Hassani.”

I huffed. “Hmph.” Didn’t feel like a genius right now.

My pencil moved in careful strokes as I sketched a concept for wider interior windows.

“I still can’t figure out what the genius likes to eat, though,” she added.

I lifted my eyes to her. “What?”

She smiled wider. “For most of the nights you’ve stayed late, when I ordered in? You never eat.”

I just looked at her.

“I’ve tried Chinese, Indian… heck, even Italian. And everyone loves Italian, right?” She giggled. “But still, nothing. You don’t even take a bite.”

I smirked slightly. “Those are fine. I just don’t like thinking about food when I’m dealing with a crisis, you know?”

I leaned back, stroking my beard as I examined the sketch, shifting my gaze between the blueprints on my screen and the design I was drawing by hand.

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