The office hummed, a familiar tune of tapping keys and shuffling papers. She moved with purpose, her focus unwavering as she tackled each task with a quiet intensity. He watched her from across the room, his smile hidden behind his coffee cup. There was something about her—sharp, unyielding, yet magnetic.
They weren’t friends, not exactly. They worked together seamlessly, their efforts clicking into place as if by design. She was decisive, unafraid to speak her mind. He admired that, even when it caught him off guard. And when she asked for his input, he always made sure his words carried the weight they deserved.
She liked the way he listened, the way he seemed to catch every nuance. He didn’t rush to prove himself but still managed to leave an impression. There was a softness to him—a subtle kindness that made her feel seen in a world that often demanded too much.
During late afternoons, when the sun dipped low and their colleagues drifted away, their conversations stretched longer. It started with work, then spilled into the little things: shared glances at office jokes, quiet laughter over a clumsy mistake, musings about life beyond the walls of the office.
Neither of them said it aloud, but they knew.
She looked forward to his voice breaking the monotony of her day. He found reasons to linger a little longer near her desk. They weren’t loud or obvious, but their connection burned steady, like a candle undeterred by the breeze.
One day, as they walked out of the building together, he asked, “Dinner sometime?”
She paused, the weight of unspoken feelings catching up with her. A small smile crept onto her face. “I thought you’d never ask.”
And in that moment, their quiet spark found a voice, and the rest of the world faded just a little.
