Lira Vale had never been good at conversations.
It was not that she disliked people. She simply could never understand them.
Words were easy to read when written, but spoken aloud, they tangled around her like threads she could not control. So she learned to keep her world small. Quiet. Predictable.
Her coworkers at the tech store often called her distant. Some said she was shy. Others assumed she was cold. In truth, she was just trying not to say the wrong thing.
Aria was the only one who had ever ignored that distance, deciding without invitation that they would be friends. Lira had protested at first, but in the end, she was grateful. Aria's loudness had a strange way of pulling her out of the gray space she lived in.
That morning, like every other, Lira arrived before opening hours. She tied her hair neatly, adjusted her tag, and walked to her assigned section — data terminals.
It was her sanctuary. The quietest corner of the store, tucked behind rows of blinking monitors. She liked the hum of machines. Machines made sense. They responded logically, predictably. Unlike people.
The day unfolded in its usual rhythm — the gentle buzz of conversation, the clatter of keyboards, the faint whine of old hardware — until he walked in.
Kael.
At first, he seemed like any other customer. Hands in pockets, sharp eyes scanning the display wall. But something about him made her hesitate. There was a stillness in the way he moved, a sense of focus she rarely saw.
"Lira," her manager's voice came from behind her. "Assist the customer in your section."
Her stomach knotted. She nodded, straightened her uniform, and approached him.
"Do you… need help?" she managed to ask.
He turned toward her. His gaze met hers — calm, composed, unsettlingly sharp. And for a fleeting second, she forgot the next line she had rehearsed in her head.
"Yes," he said evenly. "I'm looking for something powerful enough to build defense software. Something that won't freeze under pressure."
That she could answer.
She led him to a compact model — high performance, efficient cooling, enough memory to run parallel environments. As she explained the specifications, he listened closely, asking precise questions. He never interrupted.
For once, she did not feel like she was being tolerated. She felt understood.
When he complimented her knowledge, it was not with condescension. It was matter of fact. Like he was acknowledging a truth he already knew.
And then, before she could retreat behind her usual wall, he asked for her contact.
Lira froze. She wanted to refuse. Every instinct screamed this is strange, this is risky. But curiosity — and something else she could not name — made her nod. She scribbled her number onto the back of a receipt.
When he left, she caught herself smiling.
Aria caught it too.
"Oh no," her friend gasped dramatically, appearing from behind a shelf. "My quiet little Lira has been charmed."
Lira nearly dropped the clipboard. "I have not!" she protested, her cheeks warming.
Aria laughed. "You literally just smiled at his back. That is textbook infatuation."
"It was professional courtesy," Lira said, though the words sounded weak even to her own ears.
Aria grinned. "Courtesy that comes with a phone number?"
Lira buried her face in her hands. "You are impossible."
The days that followed slipped into a strange pattern. Kael would message her every few nights, always at odd hours. Their conversations ranged from small talk about work to deep discussions about innovation and the ethics of technology.
He never flirted. He never pushed. He just spoke — and listened.
Lira found herself replying faster each time. Sometimes she would stare at her phone, rereading their last exchange, realizing she was smiling again.
She tried to tell herself it was nothing. Just a friendship. Just shared curiosity. But deep down, she knew something was shifting.
Kael, meanwhile, observed the change with quiet satisfaction. Each word, each shared silence, built another step toward trust.
Almost there, he thought.
"Lira!"
Her name snapped her out of her thoughts. She blinked and turned to find Aria standing beside her, arms crossed.
"Are you still staring at your phone?" Aria asked with mock seriousness.
"I was not staring," Lira said defensively.
"You were definitely staring."
"I was… thinking."
"About him," Aria replied flatly.
Lira sighed. "He said he was finishing a project today. I am just… curious how it went."
Aria raised an eyebrow. "So call him."
"What? No, that would be—"
Before she could finish, Aria snatched the phone, tapped the screen, and pressed it back into Lira's hand just as the call connected.
Lira froze.
"Aria, I swear—"
And then his voice came through. Calm, amused. "Lira. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Her breath caught. For a moment, words failed her.
Then, quietly, she said, "I… hope I am not interrupting anything."
In the quiet that followed, Aria stood behind her, grinning from ear to ear.
Lira did not see it. She was too busy trying not to smile.
And somewhere across the city, Kael leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable — but his eyes gleamed with something that looked very much like victory.