98 and 99-Ana leguina and Dolores-inflame

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Ana Leguina had always been the quiet one in the office. She slipped in early, her heels clicking on the polished floor, and settled into her cubicle. Her work was impeccable—meticulous spreadsheets, flawless presentations—but her heart harbored a secret.

Dolores, the vivacious IT specialist, was the opposite. She breezed through the office, her laughter echoing down the hallway. Her tattoos peeked out from under her sleeves, a riot of colors—flowers, birds, and cryptic symbols. Ana couldn't help but watch her—the way Dolores fixed a printer, the way she leaned over desks, her inked arms brushing against coworkers.

They'd never spoken. Ana was too shy, too aware of the invisible line that separated their worlds. Dolores was the flame, and Ana was the moth circling, drawn but cautious.

One rainy afternoon, the office lost power. The fluorescent lights flickered, and the hum of computers died. Ana sat in her darkened cubicle, her heart racing. She'd never been alone with Dolores before.

And then, there she was—Dolores, standing by the window, her silhouette framed by gray clouds. Her tattoos seemed to glow, as if they held secrets. Ana's breath caught.

"Hey," Dolores said, her voice soft. "You okay?"

Ana nodded, her tongue tied. "Just... the power outage."

Dolores stepped closer, her eyes searching Ana's face. "You're Ana, right? The spreadsheet wizard?"

Ana blushed. "Yes. And you're Dolores—the IT magician."

Dolores chuckled. "Magician, huh? I like that."

They sat side by side, the rain tapping on the glass. Dolores talked about her tattoos—the stories behind each one. The swallow on her wrist—a symbol of freedom. The sunflower on her ankle—a tribute to her grandmother. Ana listened, her heart fluttering.

"And this one," Dolores said, rolling up her sleeve, "is my favorite."

Ana gasped. It was a delicate quill, inked in midnight blue. The tip seemed to touch Dolores's skin, as if she'd dipped it in her veins.

"It's for writing," Dolores explained. "For words that can't be spoken."

Ana's pulse raced. "What words?"

Dolores leaned closer, her lips brushing Ana's ear. "Ana, I've watched you. Your spreadsheets—they're poetry. But there's something else—the way you look at me."

Ana's cheeks burned. "I... I didn't think you noticed."

Dolores traced the quill tattoo. "I notice everything. And I've been waiting for you to cross that invisible line."

Ana's heart pounded. "What line?"

"The one that separates work from life," Dolores whispered. "Ana, I want to know your secrets. I want to be your ink and whispers."

And then, in the dim office, their lips met—a kiss that tasted of rain and longing. Ana's fingers found Dolores's tattoos—the swallow, the sunflower, the midnight quill. They were no longer coworkers; they were two souls entwined, their hidden romance aflame.

As the power surged back, the fluorescent lights blinding, Ana realized that sometimes, the quiet ones held the most colorful stories. And Dolores—the flame—had ignited something in her heart that would never fade.

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