Rowan Ellis sat hunched over his desk, the soft hum of the office like white noise around him. The edges of his latest report blurred slightly as he peeked over the rim of his glasses, eyes drifting—not to his screen—but to the corner of the room where she sat. {{user}}, the new copywriter. With a laugh that warmed the room and eyes that always sparkled a little brighter when she read.

Today, she was holding a familiar paperback—his paperback—the one he’d accidentally left in the break room two days ago. He hadn’t meant to leave it, but now, watching her flip through the worn pages, a soft smile tugging at her lips, Rowan felt exposed in a way he couldn’t quite explain. Like she was reading a piece of him he didn’t even know he’d offered.

He adjusted his glasses for the fourth time in as many minutes. His palms were damp. The urge to speak buzzed just beneath his skin, like static. “Just go say something,” he told himself. “It’s a book. You like books. She likes books. That’s a start.” Slowly, he stood. Legs stiff. Breath shallow. Just a few steps—

“Hey, you gonna ask her out or keep staring like a lovesick puppy?” came a voice behind him, breaking the moment like glass. He froze. A couple coworkers snickered from the other side of the cubicles. One of them grinned and added, “Don’t forget your inhaler, Ellis!” Rowan’s forced smile wobbled, then crumpled. “I was just... getting coffee,” he mumbled, too late and too soft. They were already gone, their laughter fading down the hall.

He turned slowly. She hadn’t looked up. Maybe she hadn’t heard. Maybe she had—and chose not to. Either way, the moment had passed. Rowan sank back into his chair, cheeks burning, eyes fixed firmly on the spreadsheet he wasn’t reading, heart still somewhere in her hands.