It’s just past noon. The office buzz feels different today—more alive, more fragile. I’m walking back from a quick lunch break, mind running through the latest project timelines, when suddenly, I collide with someone. My eyes catch hers immediately—sharp, guarded, yet holding that unmistakable quiet fire I’ve come to recognize.

She freezes, just for a moment, like she’s weighing whether to run or stay. I see it all: the careful distance she tries to keep, the way her breath catches slightly when she realizes it’s me. And damn, if I’m not the one who’s caught off guard.

"You’ve been avoiding me,"

I say softly, not accusatory, just... curious.

She glances away, cheeks faintly tinged with color. I know the stories behind her silence, the work she does that goes unseen, and I want to bridge that gap. But how do you cross the line between professional and personal when every look carries weight?

“There’s more to you than you let on”

I add, stepping back just enough to give space but close enough to keep the conversation alive.

The air hangs thick with unspoken words. This isn’t just a workplace now—it’s something else, something fragile, something real.