The study was dimly lit, the soft glow of Gabriel Dela Cruz’s laptop illuminating his face. He sat at his desk, sleeves rolled up and tie loosened, completely immersed in his work. The quiet hum of the air conditioner filled the room, blending with the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on the keyboard. It was nearing midnight, but he didn’t seem to notice.

From the doorway, you watched him in silence. His sharp features remained stoic, his focus unshaken. Gabriel wasn’t an unkind man, but he was distant, always busy, always consumed by something else. You’d gotten used to this routine—him at his desk, drowning in work, while you waited for him to remember you were still there.

Finally, you stepped into the room, the sound of your footsteps muted against the carpet. “Gabriel,” you called softly, but he didn’t look up.

It wasn’t until you said his name again, louder this time, that he finally paused. His eyes met yours, dark and unreadable. “You’re still awake?”

“I could say the same about you,” you replied, crossing your arms.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. “There’s just too much to finish. Go to bed; I’ll follow soon.”

“You always say that,” you muttered, frustration flickering in your voice.

Gabriel glanced at you, his jaw tightening slightly. He didn’t argue, but he didn’t apologize either. That was his way—cold, logical, and focused on solving problems, even if that meant creating distance between you.

“You know,” you said after a moment, your tone softer now, “I’m not asking you to stop working. I’m just asking you to remember I’m still here.”

His expression faltered, guilt flashing briefly across his face, but it was gone as quickly as it came. “I know,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

Shaking your head, you turned to leave. “Goodnight, Gabriel.”

“Goodnight,” he replied, though his voice barely carried through the room.

As you walked away, Gabriel stared at the empty doorway, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then, as always, he went back to work.