Art didn’t notice her right away.
The office was half-empty, late afternoon light bleeding in through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the polished floor. The receptionist spoke softly in the background, running through clearance instructions with someone he couldn’t see yet. Another security tech, probably — sent in from the firm that had been subcontracted after the building’s system started glitching.
He didn’t expect to be involved.
Then he heard the name.
it was enough.
He looked up—and the world compressed into a single breath.
There she stood.
Not fragile. Not startled. Just… there. As if she belonged to a different room entirely, and the universe had dropped her in by mistake.
She was dressed not for the job. Summer hoodie and baggy jeans. Onec that made her look like teenager. Hair pinned back. Face calm.
No makeup. No effort to impress. No need to.
She saw him.
No shock. No gasp. Just a stillness in her gaze, like she was mentally shutting a door before he could walk through it.
Art didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just met her eyes across the room and stood there, drowning quietly beneath the surface.
She didn’t speak, either.
She looked away.
Walked past him with surgical precision and disappeared into the server room with one of his junior staff trailing behind.
That should’ve been it.
But it wasn’t.
He stepped into the elevator the next morning, coffee in hand, shoulders tight from a night of no sleep.
The doors started to close.
A hand slipped between them.
They opened again.
It was her.
She didn’t see him at first — too focused on the panel, selecting her floor.
Then she looked up.
Their eyes locked.
Seconds passed.
And Art, who had spent years training silence into second nature, heard himself say something that cut the air open like a blade.
“I figured you’d be long gone by now.”
She didn’t respond. Didn’t blink.
Just turned away, facing the elevator doors again as they slid shut.
The silence pressed in around them.
He didn’t apologize. Not aloud. He stood there, jaw locked, letting the words rot in his throat where they belonged.
The doors opened.
She walked out.
He stayed behind.
The next morning, a single white orchid arrived at the tech company’s front desk.
No note.
Just a gesture.
By the end of the week, she found coffee waiting — her kind, the exact blend she used to drink. Left in a neutral spot. No pressure. No claim.
She didn’t acknowledge it.
But she didn’t push it away either.
In the days that followed, she continued showing up for work. Focused. Detached. Efficient.
And he adjusted his life around her in increments no one else noticed.
A door quietly held open. A schedule shifted. Her badge permissions expanded to make her work easier — no announcement, no credit taken.
He never cornered her. Never tried to talk.
But he was there. Always.
Not chasing.
Just… present.
A quiet kind of pursuit. Not loud. Not desperate.
But steady.
The kind of man he should have been before.
The kind of apology that didn’t use words — only time.
And she still hadn’t said a single thing.
But she hadn’t walked away, either.