**Diary Entry – 14th May**
Ira was blunt in her manner. For as long as her colleagues had known her, she never minced her words. It didn’t matter whether you wanted to hear it or not.
Take Lizzie, for instance—she spent an entire morning flirting with the new IT bloke while breezing through orders in between. Floating around the office like she owned the place. *”I hope you’re aware his wife’s just had a baby?”* Ira asked, point blank. And just like that, the flirting evaporated.
Then there was Vicky, who couldn’t kick the smoking habit no matter what—patches, mints, even an overpriced e-cigarette she puffed on every half-hour. Ira shut that down too: *”Ever checked what’s actually in that ‘miracle’ vape? No? Funny, neither has anyone else.”*
People steered clear of Ira. Nobody fancied being on the receiving end of her sharp tongue. But she couldn’t care less. The truth was the truth, after all. Though one had to wonder—who actually *wanted* that truth?
When she left for a training stint abroad, the office breathed a collective sigh of relief. Suddenly, everyone was sneaking smokes behind the building, flirting with new clients, hosting wild Friday drinks, snogging in dim corners—married or not.
Three weeks later, Ira returned. Normally, she’d stride in wearing a sharp dress, high heels, full makeup, and enough perfume to choke a horse. This time? Worn-out jeans, an oversized jumper, hair in a messy bun, and sunglasses she kept on until she disappeared into her office. Instead of her usual scent, just a whisper of *Truth* by Calvin Klein.
And—most shocking of all—she didn’t scold the secretary for forgetting the meeting notes, didn’t snap at the IT guy for constantly texting his wife, didn’t even blink at the junior lawyer buried in paperwork. Nothing.
*”Failed the training,”* the lawyer muttered.
*”She’s ill,”* the secretary guessed.
*”She’s in love!”* Lizzie cackled.
*”And that’s why she’s drowning in a jumper two sizes too big?”* the translator smirked.
*”Either way, the meeting’s in an hour. Should we *prepare* or just gossip?”*
Except Ira never showed up. Everyone waited. Fidgeted.
Then the IT guy, sat by the window, gasped: *”Blimey—there she is!”*
They all crowded around. Across the road, in a cosy little café, sat Ira—but a version of her none of them recognised. Not because of the lack of makeup or the messy hair. No. Because opposite her was a man telling some story, and Ira—*their* Ira—was laughing. *Actually* laughing.
The entire conference room pressed against the glass, as if to confirm it was really her. The same sharp, perpetually irritated woman now looked… different.
*”Honestly, I couldn’t find my blouse this morning,”* Ira admitted to the man—*Simon*, was it?—with a grin. *”So I stole your jumper.”*
*”I prefer you without either,”* he replied.
Ira flushed and swatted his arm. *”Stop it.”*
*”Can’t,”* he leaned in. *”We need to wrap up and get to mine. Or yours. Don’t care.”*
Then—*”Oh hell,”* she groaned mid-laugh, *”I’ve got this jumper on inside out.”*
*”All the more reason to come back to mine and take it off.”*
She laughed again, pulled out her phone, and dialled. A second later, the reception phone rang.
*”Good afternoon, this is Winchester & Co! Oh—Ira? Right. Er… they’re waiting for you in the meeting. You’re—not coming in? *Ill*? Oh. Right. Well, get well soon!”*
The secretary dashed in: *”Ira’s poorly!”*
*”Clearly,”* the IT guy deadpanned, as they all watched a perfectly healthy Ira climb into a car with a man none of them knew. *”She’s vanished for the next few days. Don’t even bother calling.”*
*”Why?”*
Lizzie smirked. *”Ever rocked up to work in an inside-out jumper? Sunglasses to hide the fact you’ve had a *very* late night? No makeup because you’re still replaying every second with *him* in your head?”*
The secretary blinked. The room fell silent.
*”Ill, my foot,”* Lizzie said, heading for the door. *”I called it—she’s in love. And now our Ira’s a whole new person.”*
*”For how long?”* the IT guy muttered.
Lizzie shot him a look. *”That’s up to you lot, isn’t it?”* And with that, she left.
**Lesson learned:** Even the sharpest tongues soften when the right person comes along. Makes you wonder—maybe the truth isn’t always what’s needed. Sometimes, it’s just a bit of happiness.
