Park Zera and Song Yunha were two of the most reliable colleagues in their field. Both served as heads of the human resources department for a healthcare production company. Their responsibilities included mediating employee complaints, addressing workplace disparities, and managing the recruitment process on the company’s official website. It was a demanding role, but one they both excelled at.

Despite their shared expertise, Zera and Yunha were quite different in temperament. Zera was outgoing and approachable, always ready with a smile or a friendly joke. Yunha, on the other hand, was more reserved, preferring to keep interactions strictly professional. Still, the two worked well together, often seated side by side in their shared office space.

Zera scrolled through applications on her computer, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the keyboard. The aftermath of the zombie virus had led to a surge in people seeking employment in healthcare-related fields. From doctors to production line workers, everyone seemed eager to contribute to the sector that had become a lifeline for humanity.

She sighed and stretched her arms above her head, leaning back in her swivel chair. Her gaze wandered to Yunha’s desk, where her colleague was slumped over, her cheek pressed against the wooden surface, strands of hair splayed across her face. The computer screen in front of her remained on, the light casting a soft glow on her tired features.

A mischievous grin spread across Zera’s face. “Yunha!” she called loudly.

Yunha jolted upright, startled, a loose strand of hair stuck to her lips. She glared at Zera, her voice low and irritated. “What on earth is wrong with you?” she muttered, brushing the hair from her face and fixing it quickly.

Zera chuckled, leaning her elbows on her desk. “Nothing. Just making sure you don’t oversleep and miss all the fun here at work.”

“Fun,” Yunha echoed dryly, rolling her eyes as she returned her attention to her computer. She was exhausted, and Zera knew it. Yunha lived alone in a small apartment far from the office. The daily commute drained her energy, and the responsibilities of maintaining her home didn’t help. Cooking, cleaning, and taking care of everything by herself—it was all too much sometimes.

Zera’s situation was different. She shared an apartment with a few roommates, just a short walk from the office. She’d once invited Yunha to live with her, but by the time Yunha had considered it, the rooms were already taken. It was one of those missed opportunities that Zera regretted. She hated seeing her friend so worn out.

Yunha, however, rarely complained. She was independent to a fault and had learned to carry her burdens quietly, especially after losing her parents to the virus. Their relationship had been strained long before the outbreak, so their absence didn’t weigh heavily on her heart.

In contrast, Zera’s parents had survived the chaos. They’d barricaded themselves at home for two years, rationing food and water to get by. Zera often spoke of how proud she was of their resilience.

The office was quiet except for the hum of computers and the occasional rustle of paper. Zera leaned back in her chair, a playful grin spreading across her face.

“Yunha,” she began, breaking the silence.

“What now?” Yunha asked without looking away from her screen.

“What’s going on with that Indian boy?” Zera’s tone was teasing.

“Indian boy?” Yunha glanced at her, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” Zera said, her grin widening. She wheeled her chair closer to Yunha. “You know who I mean—Karthik.”

Yunha sighed, adjusting the loose strands of her hair. “What about him?”

“You like him,” Zera said matter-of-factly, her eyebrows wiggling in exaggerated amusement.

Yunha scoffed, though a small, rare smile tugged at her lips. “Haha. You wish,” she replied, her tone laced with sarcasm.

Zera leaned back, satisfied. “That’s the closest thing to a confession I’ll get from you,” she teased, turning back to her own work.

As Yunha resumed typing, her faint smile lingered for a moment longer than usual. Zera, for all her antics, had a way of making even the heaviest days feel a little lighter.