The following morning, the office had a distinct vibe, as though something unsaid had permeated the atmosphere over the night. Adrian sat at his desk with his sleeves rolled up and his eyes fixed on the report in front of him as I entered. However, as soon as he noticed my presence, he looked up, but he did so slowly and cautiously, as if he was worried about what might happen if he looked too quickly. Today, there was no cold distance. Rather, his expression had a softer quality that caused my heart to suddenly race. He gave a slight nod, a wordless "good morning," but there was more warmth in that tiny gesture than in any words. The borders we had been clinging to were getting thinner and more difficult to establish or uphold.
We reviewed the financial models side by side, but neither of us paid much attention. Our hands strayed a bit too close each time they traveled across the table. Our fingertips touched for a little too long each time we swapped documents. It wasn't quite deliberate, but it also wasn't accidental. Adrian continued to alter his posture and clear his throat in an attempt to project professionalism. However, his sight deceived him. I noticed that he was observing me with a gentleness I had never seen before whenever he thought I wasn't looking. Subtle but potent, the change between us was like a tide's gentle pull, bringing two objects together whether they were ready or not.
He requested me to accompany him to the conference room at midday so we could talk about the revised predictions. The vibe changed once more, becoming denser, quieter, and more charged as soon as the door shut behind us. He avoided my gaze even as I got closer, standing close to the glass with his hands in his pockets. He started to say, "About yesterday," but his words got stuck in his throat. Giving him the space he never provided himself, I waited patiently. At last, he let out a long breath. He acknowledged, "I meant what I said." "I'm making an effort to keep this under control." His voice faltered a little, exposing the reality he was no longer able to conceal: he was afraid of desiring too much of me rather than losing control.
I watched him struggle with ideas he wouldn't identify as I leaned on the table. I whispered, "You keep acting like wanting someone is a weakness." He gave me a stern look, as though the thought itself shocked him. He had convinced himself that emotions complicated everything and had spent years erecting walls of rules, discipline, and isolation. At last, he added, "It's not weakness." "There is a risk." However, there was something in the way he expressed it that implied he wasn't sure which aspect—the danger or the desire—scared him more. I muttered, "Some risks are worth taking." His jaw tightened, not in anger, but in the kind of tension that comes from trying to deny a truth that already feels inevitable.
He merely stared at me for a long time, the intensity in his eyes nearly overpowering. Then he took a stride that made my breath catch, but not enough to breach a line. He said, "You're changing things." "Things I believed were resolved." I was hesitant to answer right away because I was worried that the incorrect word might destroy our delicate honesty. Rather, I maintained eye contact with him, letting my quiet do the talking. As though acknowledging the truth relieved a burden he had been bearing alone, his shoulders dropped somewhat. He admitted, "I don't know what to do with this." Something inside of me softened as I heard this strong man acknowledge his uncertainty. "We work it out together," I said softly.
We both jumped a little when there was a sharp knock on the door. Adrian suddenly returned to his calm, unreadable self as his helper came in carrying a stack of documents. It resembled seeing a mask put on. His eyes moved in my direction despite his neutral look, a nonverbal reminder that our chat wasn't over. We didn't talk after the assistant departed. Rather, a gentle understanding pervaded the room. The outside world required norms, professionalism, and distance. However, we were on the brink of something that neither of us could ignore within this room—inside this instant. I was only drawn in by the contrast between his vulnerability in private and his public mask.
He collected the papers and gave me a piece, but this time his fingers touched mine more purposefully. It wasn't a coincidence. It conveyed a message. I could see something warm and vulnerable in his eyes as I looked up, something he wasn't ready to utter out loud. He hesitated before saying, "We should get back." For the first time, I could feel him, not me, fearing the return to normal. I trailed him a little as we left the conference room, observing the strain in his shoulders and the conflict he carried with each step. The boundary between us was no longer merely fading; rather, it was changing, twisting, and curving into something that was impossible to ignore.
The world went back to its normal pace once we were back at our desks, but everything felt different inside of me. His looks became softer and more frequent, as if he was constantly checking to see if I was still there. And each time our gazes locked, a silent, delicate, and indisputable thing passed between us. Although it wasn't necessary, we didn't discuss the exchange again. The change had already taken place. I could tell by the way he stood too near, the way his voice warmed when he called my name, and the way his guard dropped when he thought no one was looking. Adrian had stopped fighting with me. He was struggling with himself. I wasn't sure he wanted to win for the first time.