Indisputably Yours

45.

Tristan

I sat behind my desk, staring at the mountain of paperwork that seemed to mock me. Client files, contracts, reports—all of it blurred together as my thoughts drifted again. Sienna. I was supposed to be knee-deep in legal briefs, but her first day at that new hospital had taken over my mind, refusing to let me focus.

For what felt like the hundredth time, I glanced at my phone which sat tauntingly silent by my side. My fingers twitched, fighting the urge to call her. But what would I even say? "Hey, just checking in?" It sounded ridiculous, intrusive even. Sienna wasn't the type who needed hand-holding. I didn't need to crowd her or, worse, make it seem like I didn't trust her because I trusted her completely, and she deserved this—her moment, her chance to settle into a new chapter without my insecurities casting a shadow over her day.

I sighed and dragged a random file toward me, flipping it open, but the words might as well have been hieroglyphics. Every time I tried to concentrate, my brain rebelled, wandering back to Her. How was she settling in? Was she nervous? Was she already charming the socks off her new colleagues? Who was she meeting? And, damn it—was she thinking about me? Or was she too caught up in the whirlwind of a new environment?

I couldn't help imagining her mingling with new faces, exchanging those easy smiles of hers. What if someone there caught her attention, someone smooth, charismatic, maybe even... someone like me? The thought alone was enough to twist my gut in knots.

Unable to resist the impulse, I tossed the file back onto the desk and grabbed my phone. My thumb hovered over her contact. I needed to say something. I needed to feel connected to her, even if just for a moment.

But I couldn't be too forward.

A call from me could feel more like an intrusion than a support. I didn't want to impose on her first day, especially when she was likely trying to make a good impression.

Instead, I opted for a text, hoping it would convey my thoughts without overwhelming her.

I pulled up our message thread and tapped out a quick message:

Me: Do you miss me yet?

It was short, simple, and harmless with just a little nudge to remind her I was thinking about her without coming on too strong. I hit send and leaned back in my chair.

Now came the hardest part—the waiting.

I stared at my phone, waiting. Each second felt like a minute, each minute stretched into eternity. Looking away, I grabbed another random file and forced myself to concentrate on it, but concentration was elusive. My gaze kept darting back to the phone, as if willing it to vibrate with her reply.

Why hadn't she responded yet? Did she not see my message? I knew I was being ridiculous—it hadn't even been five minutes—but the anticipation gnawed at me, intensifying the tightness in my chest.

Maybe I overthinking this. Maybe she was busy and too caught up in her day to notice. Or maybe... I wasn't overthinking. Maybe she didn't miss me at all and was deliberately holding off on replying.

I glanced at my phone again. Still no response. I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. Maybe I should've called. Maybe this message was too laid back, too easy to ignore.

But no, I had to trust her. I had to trust that she would reach out when she could. She wouldn't leave me hanging like this without a reason.

Once more, I looked away and forced myself to focus on a client agreement, reading through it with an effort that felt increasingly strained.