Clark sat at his desk, glasses perched slightly crooked on his nose, staring at the stack of photo proofs in front of him. He’d come by the photography department twice today — both times to “pick up some misplaced prints” — and each time, he’d found himself watching {{user}} work.

He tugged at the corner of a paper nervously. She didn’t look up. Didn’t know he’d been watching. He told himself it was professional curiosity. Totally professional. So he went again.

He cleared his throat and shuffled the stack toward her, muttering quietly, “Here… uh… these proofs… thought they might belong here.”

Her hair caught the sunlight streaming through the window when she looked up.

He opened his mouth to say something else — something witty, maybe, or casual — but it didn't came out as a soft, awkward cough instead. “I—I’ll, uh… see you later,” he added, already turning back, heart thudding in his chest, cheeks warm under the harsh office lighting.