The Last Haven Corp.

The Last Haven Corp

Haven Corp used to stand for something. It wasn't just a glass-spired tower that reflected the city lights—it was an idea, a notion that connection mattered. That maybe, just maybe, people would feel a little less alone.

But promises fade.  

Aimée sat behind her desk, drawing in her dirty old sketchbook with her pencil. Her fingers used to move freely and with many ideas to advance her company, tracing still-alive ideas. Back when the hum of computers, three-o'clock morning thinking, the clink of coffee mugs—back when all of that counted.

There was nothing.

She exhaled slowly, staring across the empty floor and silent halls.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could still hear the voices—the rush of deadlines, the clatter of coffee cups against tabletops, the frantic scribbling of notes pinned onto whiteboards. She could still hear Evan, pacing between desks, sleeves rolled up, hair messy from too many late nights spent trying to hold the company together.  

Evan had believed that Haven Corp. would succeed.

"We don't quit," he'd said.

And for a time, she'd believed he was correct, but faith wasn't sufficient to make investors interested. It wasn't sufficient to keep the world spinning, rapidly and oblivious, while Haven Corp collapsed on its own steam.

She shut her eyes.

Somewhere else, in some other version of this life, lights still shine warmly. The crew is still together. Evan still stayed beside her, pushing deadlines, making bets, hanging onto something that had not been removed. That wasn't this life, though.

The world outside didn't wait for what had been lost, it just kept going. Keep existing, Aimée slowly, slowly got up.

It was finished.

She paused to let her gaze stay awhile on the silence, on empty rows of desks, on corroding signs in the company name, on specters of abandoned conversations.

Then she went on. Outside, the neon lights blazed back at the sidewalk, reflections streaming out onto the concrete like brief glimpses of something ethereal.

And then, the thought hit her—

Evan didn’t care about their friendship any longer.

He should have. Something worth restoring.

Aimée hadn't.

"I have a feeling you got everything you wanted’’ she said softly, less than that. Not angry. Not resentful. Just. Worn out and tired.

The worst part wasn't losing Haven Corp.

It was watching the world move on without it.

To her, the world had ended.

To everyone else, it was just something that happened.