Leah arrived at her desk with a mild sense of unease. Yesterday's whispers still clung like the faint aroma of rain, and though no one spoke openly, she could feel the subtle shift in glances and half-smiles as she walked past.
Her inbox pinged. A single email from Adrian, subject line: Review the Henderson brief before lunch. No extra words. Professional, concise—but the timing was deliberate. She exhaled, trying to steady her heartbeat.
As she opened the document, her screen lit with projections, notes, and small annotations in his precise handwriting. She couldn't help noticing the care he'd taken—not just with the content, but in making sure she could understand his thoughts without explanation. It was an unspoken guide, almost like a thread leading her through the maze of office politics.
Footsteps approached. Leah looked up to see Morgan from accounting leaning casually against the partition.
"You've been getting a lot of attention lately," he said quietly. "People notice… the way he… well, you know."
She froze for half a second, then gave a tight-lipped smile. "I'm sure it's nothing."
"Nothing?" he repeated, eyebrow raised. "When Adrian Voss notices, it's never nothing."
Leah turned back to her screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard. She tried to ignore the faint warmth rising in her chest, the way her pulse quickened at the mention of his name.
The morning passed in a blur of calculations and whispered speculation. When the clock finally struck noon, she found herself in the small lounge, hoping for a moment of solitude. But as she reached for her water bottle, a soft voice interrupted.
"Mind if I join you?"
Adrian stood there, travel mug in hand, the corner of his lips curling into the barest hint of a smile. Leah blinked, startled, then gestured to the chair opposite her.
He sat, careful to maintain distance yet close enough that she could feel his presence. A quiet rhythm settled between them—no words, no pressure, just shared space.
"You've been working on the Henderson file," he said finally, tone neutral. "I want to know what you think about the projections."
Leah opened her laptop, bringing up the figures. As she spoke, explaining trends and discrepancies, she caught his gaze. It was quiet, focused, and for a fleeting moment, personal. Noticing her effort, respecting it, yet never crossing the line.
A pause followed her explanation, and she realized her hands were fidgeting with the edge of the keyboard. Adrian's eyes flicked to them, then back to her face, sharp and deliberate. She felt a shiver—not fear, but awareness, as if he could read the smallest pulse of tension in her movements.
"Good," he said softly, the word carrying weight beyond its sound. "You see patterns others miss. Don't forget that."
Leah nodded, heat rising to her cheeks. She wanted to say more, to express something unspoken, but the elevator dinged in the lobby, drawing him back to the world outside their small bubble.
He stood, pausing just long enough for a fleeting brush of fingers on the chair back as he passed. It was nothing, yet somehow everything—an acknowledgment, a subtle connection, a whisper of presence that left her mind tangled in thought.
"See you in the meeting," he said, voice casual. But Leah knew that even casual was charged with intent.
She returned to her desk, the whispers of the office feeling smaller now, less sharp. Behind the glass partitions, behind the scrutiny, she carried a small spark—a quiet recognition that someone saw her effort, her persistence, and perhaps, in the softest way, her presence.
And for the first time that day, Leah allowed herself a tiny, guarded smile.