Joanne hated taking public transport. She hated the occasional cramped seats, the invasion of her personal space, the fact the bus stopped every few minutes to pick up more passengers, and the noise of said passengers. It was stressful, annoying, and far too full of people.

But the clinic was not within walking distance and not one to splurge on Uber rides unnecessarily, and bereft of a personal vehicle, taking the bus was the least inconvenient option. She mapped out the most direct route, left early to avoid the crowds, and handled it as best as she could. Her earbuds helped, and she never travelled without her kindle and a network connection. She made do.

However, unlike her previous trip, she was not buried in a novel that piqued her interest — shutting the world, and more importantly, anyone who sat next to her, out — but instead had her phone out and was staring at a specific contact on the screen.

It was the day after her impromptu summoning, and since then, for the past few hours, she had been gathering the nerve to call it — and each time, she would shake her head and dismiss the idea. Was an apology needed? Mia had not taken much offence at her action, or so Mrs. Johnson said.

There was also a part of her that wondered if her agent did not want to hear from her. After all, Mia’s words could have been said just to prevent her from being fired — so, because it was honestly not enough to draw a suitable conclusion, her agent’s feelings towards her could range from hatred to indifference and any within. Even more insane, what if Mia was just busy? Preoccupied with something, or someone for that matter. No, she did not want to be a disturbance.

Halfway into her trip, restless and unable to distract herself or concentrate on the novel, she finally gave in to the urge and her brain signals reached her hand. Regardless of if her agent was still offended or not, her attitude was appalling and unprofessional. It would not take anything from her to apologise and, in fact, not apologising could further strain their already strained relationship. The pad of her forefinger pressed down on the contact, pressing down again shortly after to dial the displayed number.

It rang.

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Her curiosity was piqued; maybe Mia was having a late breakfast, or in the midst of taking a rare break from checking the many submissions, eyes bloodshot and a cup of cold brew in hand.

Another ring.

She muttered an apology and shifted her purse to her lap, freeing up the seat beside hers for the elderly man to make use of.

By the third ring, she already regretted calling. Maybe she should hang up. If her agent was going to pick up, surely she would have done so by now. What if she was not really alone? Maybe she really was busy. Maybe — and Joanne sincerely hoped she was wrong — it was true Mia did not want to hear from her.

What should she do? Leave a message or hang—

“Mia,” came the breathless greeting.

Never would she have pegged herself as the sentimental type, and so she dismissed the thud of her heart as an inconveniently-timed heartburn from the pre-made pancakes and oatmeal she had eaten. It certainly was not a sign of relief as the ringing stopped. Nope.

“Joanne?”

“Mia… are you busy at the moment?”

A momentary pause. “No, why?”

“I would like to apologise. It was wrong of me to be rude to you.” A deep breath preceded her words. “I forgot I was not the only one stressed out by this situation.”

Silence crackled on the other end of the line. “Mia?” She filled it, tucking her lower lip between her teeth and turning her head to stare out the window at the passing vehicles in the opposing lane.

“There’s no need for that,” was her agent’s response.

Jonne could not help but repeatedly shake her head, even though she knew her agent could not see her actions. On the glass, her reflection — a vague suggestion of an olive face, brown eyes, and neatly-ironed suit — mirrored her movements.

“Maybe,” she hedged, “but it was not professional, and I apologise.”

There was silence again, broken only by the fuzzing of the line. Eventually, Mia sighed. “It's okay, Joanne, I understand.” The aforementioned leaned back in her seat, a smile adorning her features. A part of her had not expected an actual answer; she had expected a deflection or her agent hanging up, so she was pleasantly surprised. “I'm not angry. I only hope we can deal with this problem quickly before you get fired.”

“About that,” she started, her smile twisting into a grimace at the remainder. It took a conscious effort to smooth it out. “There is something I want to talk to you about.”

“What’s wrong?” Mia had adopted her default tone and, instinctively, it had her straightening out on the seat.

“It has to do with a clinic I found online…”