Subtle Steps in Solitude

• 7 • Fresh perspective

The soft hum of the office's air conditioning and the subtle clatter of keyboards had become the rhythm of my days. I sat at my desk, overlooking the sprawling skyline of Singapore, each tower reaching higher into the clouds, as if racing to touch something out of reach. I sometimes felt like one of those towers—imposing and impressive on the outside, but behind the glass, hollow.

I shifted in my chair, trying to ease the stiffness in my neck. The long hours were beginning to take their toll. For someone who lived in the realm of numbers and financial projections, I was remarkably poor at calculating how much time I had left to find fulfillment beyond the confines of this office. My desk, adorned with nothing but a few neatly arranged papers and my pristine laptop, was a reflection of the life I led: orderly, efficient, and devoid of clutter. Yet, despite the immaculate setup, there was an undeniable void I couldn't ignore anymore.

When I was promoted to Senior Financial Adviser, it was supposed to mark a new chapter in my life. I had climbed the ladder steadily, without skipping a rung. Yet, instead of feeling the satisfaction that comes with accomplishment, I was left with a strange sense of unease. Was this it? Was this the pinnacle of my career? I glanced down at the digital clock on my desk and realized I had been staring out the window for longer than I intended.

There was a knock on the door, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Ms. Tan? May I come in?"

I turned toward the door, where Lianne Chou stood with her small, hesitant smile. She had started just a week ago as my secretary, a position I had never really needed before. But the company insisted that, at this level, I should have someone managing the smaller details. Lianne, a petite woman with almond-shaped eyes, carried an iPad and wore a nervous but polite expression, as if she was tiptoeing through unfamiliar territory.

"Yes, of course. Come in, Lianne," I said, waving her into the office.

Lianne entered with a grace that I found mildly intimidating. She was younger than me by a couple of years—probably mid-twenties—but her composure made her seem older in certain ways. She carried herself with a quiet dignity, a stark contrast to the fast-paced energy of the financial world. Her jet-black hair was tied neatly in a low bun, and she wore a tailored grey long sleeves and jeans that didn't scream ambition but instead whispered careful consideration.