Guard of heart

The idea

"Alright, we need to find something," I muttered more to myself, though the sound of my voice cut through the awkward silence. Aby was busy inspecting the door again, his fingers running over the rusted lock with a slow, deliberate motion. I couldn't tell if he was actually trying to solve the problem or just passing time.

I bent down and started rummaging through a nearby box, hoping for a miracle. Old papers, random tools... nothing useful. I let out a sigh, thinking about the email I still needed to write. Adrian's voice echoed in my head, calm but with that underlying pressure. This email needed to be perfect, and here I was, locked in a dusty storeroom with Aby, completely unprepared.

"Mr.Adrian's going to kill me," I whispered, pulling out a pair of pliers from the box, turning them over in my hands. "I need to draft that email today."

Aby didn't look up. "You worry too much," he said, casually.

I glanced at him, rolling my eyes, but it wasn't worth starting an argument. Not now. The guy was annoyingly calm-no rush, no anxiety, just a quiet confidence that made me feel like I was spinning my wheels in mud. I tried to focus on the lock, but every time I caught a glimpse of him studying the door or searching through another box, my mind kept wandering.

I shook my head. No. This wasn't the time for... whatever weird thoughts were creeping in. We needed to get out of here.

As we continued the search, there were moments where I found myself standing just a little too close to him, our arms brushing unintentionally. It wasn't like I was doing it on purpose-it was just that the room was so small. My heart didn't need to skip like that. It didn't mean anything. I forced myself to focus on the door.

I turned, opening my mouth to say something, but then Aby moved past me to reach for something on a higher shelf. He paused for just a moment, and our eyes met. It wasn't long, barely a second, but it was enough to make me feel... off. My throat went dry, and before I knew it, I looked away quickly, pretending to be busy with something-anything.

Stop it, Elara, I told myself, scowling at the random screw I was holding. He's just Aby. He's barely even talking to you. You're stressed. That's all.

I took a deep breath, hoping to steady myself, but the tension in the room was still there, lingering in the air like static electricity. Aby continued fiddling with the lock, and I found myself glancing at him again, this time trying to see what he was doing without drawing too much attention. His hands moved with careful precision, and I could tell he knew his way around the old mechanism.

"Anything?" I asked, more to break the silence than because I thought he'd suddenly figured it out.

"Maybe," he replied, not looking at me, his voice calm. "This type of lock jams often. It might open with the right pressure."

I squinted at him. "So, you do know something about locks."

He shrugged. "A bit."

I couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips. "And here I thought you were just standing around waiting for someone else to solve the problem."

"Someone's got to keep you entertained," he replied dryly, still focused on the door.

I rolled my eyes but didn't say anything. His calmness was starting to feel less annoying and more... steadying. The realization caught me off guard, and I quickly pushed the thought away. I wasn't going to sit here and romanticize being trapped in a storeroom with Aby.

Still, as he continued working on the door, my gaze drifted to him again-just for a second, though. He was focused, serious, but there was something about the way he carried himself that made me pause. Maybe I hadn't given him enough credit. Not that I was going to admit it out loud.