The next morning, Rose came to work as if nothing happened.
No mention of the blood. The warehouse. The way she collapsed.
She wore her soft pink blouse, tied her hair neatly, and typed her reports like the girl who hadn't stared into hell the night before. But inside, she was shaken. Not because of what she saw—but because of what she didn't.
Why did he look at me like that?
Arvi said nothing that day. Not a word. But she felt his eyes on her—more than usual.
It was quiet in the office, but not empty. Something hung in the air between them. Something unspoken.
She glanced up once. He was already looking. Their eyes met for just a second—too long, too deep.
He looked away first.
At noon, she brought him his coffee.
He took it without thanks. As usual.
But his fingers brushed hers.
Just slightly.
Just enough to notice.
She didn't pull away, and neither did he. For a moment, it was like time paused. Like the world forgot what they both were.
But it was only a second.
And then, it was gone.
That evening, she stayed late to finish organizing encrypted files. Her laptop crashed. Frustrated, she rubbed her temples and groaned.
Arvi stepped out of his office. "What's wrong now?"
"Your files are corrupted," she said, annoyed. "And your Wi-Fi is older than my trauma."
That made him stop.
He stared.
And then… he actually smiled. Just a flicker. Gone before it fully formed. But she saw it.
"You think you're funny?" he asked.
"No," she said, sitting back, exasperated. "But if I don't laugh, I'll probably cry. And you don't allow tears here."
He walked toward her desk, hands in his pockets. He was less like a storm now. More like… a cloud that hadn't decided whether to rain.
"You don't belong in this world, Rose."
"I never said I did."
"Then why stay?"
She looked up at him. "Because I want to understand what people become when they stop feeling."
He stared at her. Quiet. As if her words echoed too deeply.
She added, softer this time, "And maybe... because I don't want to run anymore."
He didn't say anything. Just looked down at her, his jaw tight, eyes unreadable. Then he reached across her desk and gently shut her laptop.
"Go home," he said. "You've done enough."
Her breath caught in her throat.
That was the first time he'd ever said something that sounded… kind.
Not soft. Not warm. Just human.
Later that night, Rose sat on her bed, staring at her phone. No messages. No noise. Just her thoughts.
She remembered the way Arvi looked at her when she spoke. Not like he wanted her. Not like he hated her. Just like he didn't know what she was.
Was she a weakness? A puzzle? Or a mistake?
And somewhere deep down, she whispered the thought she didn't want to believe:
Maybe I'm starting to care about him.