CHAPTER ONE
Elira was known for one thing among the people who worked with her, she listened as if what you said mattered, even when it didn't.
That was how Rowan first noticed her.
They were standing in the lobby of the publishing firm, waiting for the elevator that always took too long and arrived too full. The air smelled faintly of coffee and paper. Phones buzzed.
Shoes shuffled. Everyone looked tired in the quiet way people did on weekday mornings.
Rowan stood slightly apart from the others, hands in his coat pockets, eyes fixed on the numbers above the elevator doors. He always stood like that present but unreachable, as if he was already somewhere else.
Elira stood a few steps away, flipping through a folder pressed to her chest. Her hair was tied back loosely, strands escaping near her ears. She looked calm, but her fingers tapped lightly against the paper, a small habit she never noticed herself doing.
The elevator dinged.
Someone groaned.
"It's full again," a woman muttered.
Rowan sighed under his breath, more tired than annoyed.
"Looks like the stairs win today," he said, mostly to himself.
Elira heard him.
She turned slightly, her eyes lifting to his face.
"The third floor isn't that bad," she said gently. "It just feels bad because you expect better."
Rowan glanced at her, surprised.
Not because of what she said but because of how she said it.
There was no attempt to be clever. No flirtation.
Just a quiet observation, spoken like she wasn't trying to impress him at all.
He gave a short nod. "That's one way to put it."
They started toward the stairs together, though neither of them said they were doing so.
The stairwell was narrow and echoed with footsteps. Rowan climbed with long, steady steps. Elira followed beside him, adjusting her pace to match his without realizing it.
"So," she said after a moment, her voice light, "you work upstairs too, or are you just punishing yourself?"
Rowan let out a small breath that might have been a laugh.
"Upstairs. Unfortunately."
She smiled. "Same."
They climbed in silence for a few seconds. It wasn't awkward just quiet.
Rowan broke it. "You always sound like you're narrating life as it happens."
Elira blinked.
"Do I?"
"Yeah," he said.
"Like you're already thinking about how things feel instead of just how they are."
She considered that.
"I think it helps me understand people."
He glanced at her again, longer this time. "And does it work?"
"Sometimes," she said.
"When people let me."
They reached the third floor.
Elira pushed the door open, holding it without thinking.
Rowan paused before stepping through. "Rowan," he said suddenly.
She looked up. "Elira."
Their names settled between them.
Simple. Unremarkable.
Yet something about the moment felt like a pause that wasn't meant to exist.
"See you around," he said.
"I think so," she replied.
And then they walked in opposite directions.
Later that afternoon, Elira found herself thinking about his voice.
Not what he said just the sound of it. Calm. Controlled.
Like someone who chose his words carefully because he didn't want to say too much.
She sat at her desk, editing a manuscript that refused to make sense, her eyes scanning the same paragraph over and over again.
"You okay?"
Mira asked from the next desk, spinning slightly in her chair.
Elira looked up.
"Yeah. Just tired."
Mira raised an eyebrow.
"That's the face you make when you're thinking about something you won't admit out loud."
Elira smiled faintly. "You know me too well."
"Unfortunately," Mira said. "What happened?"
"Nothing," Elira said quickly. Too quickly.
Mira leaned closer.
"You met someone."
Elira laughed softly. "No. I just talked to someone in the stairwell."
Mira grinned.
"That's how it always starts."
"It's really not," Elira said, shaking her head. "It was just… conversation."
"Uh-huh."
Elira returned her eyes to the screen, trying to focus. "He didn't even look at me much."
Mira's grin widened. "Oh, that's worse."
Elira shot her a look.
"Stop."
"I'm just saying," Mira continued, "men who don't look usually notice more than the ones who do."
Elira didn't respond.
She didn't want to admit that she had noticed that too.
Two days later, she saw Rowan again.
This time, he was standing near the coffee machine in the break room, staring at it like it had personally disappointed him.
She hesitated at the door.
He hadn't seen her yet.
She could leave.
Get coffee later. Pretend the stairwell conversation never happened.
Instead, she stepped inside.
"Let me guess," she said. "It's not doing what it's supposed to."
Rowan turned, surprised again.
"You," he said.
"Me," she replied, smiling.
"It's blinking," he said, pointing.
"I don't know what that means."
Elira leaned in to look.
"It means it wants water."
He frowned.
"How do you know that?"
"It always blinks like that when it's empty."
He stared at the machine, then at her. "You're very observant."
She shrugged. "I pay attention to small things."
"Why?"
She paused.
"Because big things usually announce themselves. The small ones don't."
He watched her refill the water tank, his expression unreadable.
The machine whirred back to life.
"There," she said.
"Crisis avoided."
He let out a breath. "You just saved my morning."
She handed him a cup.
"Happy to help."
They stood there as the coffee poured.
"You work in editorial, right?" he asked.
She nodded. "Assistant. Mostly fixing mistakes people don't want to admit they made."
"That sounds… exhausting."
"It can be," she admitted. "But I like understanding stories.
Even broken ones."
Rowan stiffened slightly, though his face didn't change much.
"Architects do the same thing," he said after a moment. "Just with buildings."
"Do you like it?"
He hesitated.
"I like that it keeps me busy."
"That wasn't my question."
His lips pressed together briefly.
Then, "I don't dislike it."
Elira studied him not openly, but carefully. "You don't talk about yourself easily."
"No," he agreed. "I don't."
She nodded, accepting that answer without pushing.
That, more than anything, made him look at her differently.
Over the next few weeks, their conversations became routine.
Not planned. Not labeled.
Just… there.
They talked while waiting for meetings to start. In hallways.
Sometimes through short messages about work that slowly drifted into something else.
"How was your day?"
"Long."
"Anything good about it?"
"Coffee worked this time."
Elira never asked questions that felt invasive. Rowan never offered information that felt too personal.
It was a careful balance.
One evening, they found themselves leaving the building at the same time.
"It's raining," Elira said, stopping at the door.
Rowan looked out. "Yeah."
She sighed.
"I didn't bring an umbrella."
He glanced at her, then reached into his bag and pulled one out. Black. Simple.
"You can use this," he said.
She blinked.
"What about you?"
"I don't mind the rain."
"You'll get sick."
He shrugged.
"I usually don't."
She hesitated. "We could walk together. At least until the corner."
He studied her face, then nodded. "Okay."
They stepped into the rain, the sound of it loud against the umbrella.
They walked close not touching, but aware.
"You're quiet tonight," Elira said.
"So are you."
She smiled faintly. "I'm thinking."
"About?"
"Why you never talk about what you feel."
Rowan stopped walking.
Elira froze, realizing she might have gone too far.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly.
"That wasn't"
"It's fine," he interrupted. "You're not wrong."
She waited.
"I don't trust feelings," he continued.
"They make promises they don't keep."
"That sounds like experience talking."
"It is." She swallowed.
"Do you ever feel lonely?"
The rain filled the silence.
"Yes," he said finally.
"But I don't know what to do with that."
Elira's chest tightened.
"You don't have to do anything with it," she said softly. "Sometimes it just wants to be acknowledged."
He looked at her then really looked at her.
And for a brief moment, something cracked.
They reached the corner.
"This is me," she said.
She handed him the umbrella. "You should take it."
He shook his head. "You'll need it more."
She smiled. "I'll be fine."
He hesitated, then nodded. "Goodnight, Elira."
"Goodnight, Rowan."
She walked away, her heart louder than the rain.
Behind her, Rowan stood still, watching her disappear into the crowd, the umbrella forgotten in his hand.
And for the first time in a long while, he felt something stir something unfamiliar, unsettled, and dangerously close to wanting.
He didn't know it yet.
But something had already begun