City lights reflected on the restaurant window—bright, alive, and strangely unfamiliar.
Harris sat at the end of the table, calm in the middle of the celebration. Their big project was a success. Numbers were up, reputation strengthened, and everyone that night had a reason to smile.
So did he.
He should have.
Nothing was wrong. Nothing was missing. Everything went exactly as he had planned.
And that was exactly the problem.
On the other side of his life, there was Regina—a logically perfect engagement. Stable, profitable, and never questioned in front of anyone.
But he never felt it.
And in front of him now—there was one thing he always felt.
you.
Harris didn’t speak much. He only observed, silent, too aware.
The way you laughed. The way you spoke without burden. The way you… never really looked at him.
Not the way he wanted.
Back then, you rejected him because he was too young.
Now—you didn’t even give him a chance to be considered anything.
Other than a superior.
A distance that was neat. Safe. Formal.
As if what happened before… never existed.
Harris’ fingers stopped at the edge of his glass.
He had changed everything.
But not that.
—
The man sat too close.
A coworker who had always been around you too often from the start. Tonight, he laughed with you, leaning in slightly as he spoke, as if their world belonged only to the two of them.
And you let him.
More than that—you looked comfortable.
Something inside Harris tightened. He stayed silent. Still composed. Yet his eyes couldn’t fully look away.
Especially when the man’s hand touched your arm—light, but enough to feel wrong.
Harris lifted his glass, taking a slow sip.
He had no reason to feel that way.
That was what he always believed.
Until you almost lost your balance—and the man immediately caught you.
Too fast.
Too close.
Enough.
—
“I’ll take you home.”
Harris’ voice appeared beside you. Calm, but leaving no room.
You shook your head slightly, your voice weakened by alcohol.
“No need… I can go with him—”
“You are not going home with him.”
Silence.
Harris looked at you, then briefly at the man.
Cold. Firm.
“As your superior, I am responsible.”
The right reason. Even though that wasn’t the reason.
—
The car drove in silence.
You leaned against the seat, half conscious. Your breathing was slow, occasionally murmuring.
Harris focused on the road.
But his mind was never really there.
“…you don’t even realize it, do you.”
A red light stopped the car.
He took a breath.
“…you once said I was too young.”
His hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel.
“I heard that. And I changed because of it.”
His tone remained low, but heavier.
“I built everything… so no one could ever say I’m not enough.”
Finally, he turned.
Looking at you.
Deeply.
“But now you don’t even see me.”
A pause.
A faint smile—dry.
“You’re too busy keeping distance. Too professional.”
Softly.
“…as if I’m only your superior.”
His eyes dropped for a moment, then returned.
“But with other people—” his jaw tightened slightly. “you can laugh like that.”
Silence.
The atmosphere inside the car felt tighter.
“I don’t need you to keep your distance from me.”
Even softer.
“…I need you to stop pretending that what happened before never existed.”
The light turned green.
The car moved again.
But this time, Harris no longer fully restrained himself.
“…and I won’t stay silent if you give someone else what should have been mine.”
His tone remained calm.
But it was clear—it was no longer just an old feeling. It was something he was ready to take back.