After working all day and feeling completely drained, she should've wanted nothing more than her bed.
But instead, she kept looking at the clock.
6:18.
6:36.
6:52.
Why did the last few minutes of the day always move the slowest?
She tried focusing on her tasks, but her eyes kept drifting back to the time. By 6:59, her bag was already in her hand.
The second it turned 7:00, she was out.
Not running exactly… but walking faster than necessary.
When she reached his place, she paused for a second to steady her breathing. She told herself she wasn't excited. She was just punctual.
He opened the door almost immediately.
"You're right on time," he said.
"I said I would be."
He stepped aside and let her in.
His apartment felt calm. Simple. Clean. No loud colours, no clutter. Everything had its place. It felt… intentional.
She looked around quietly for a moment.
"You set this place up yourself?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"It suits you," she said without thinking.
"And what does that mean?"
"Organised. Quiet. A little serious."
He gave her a look. "A little?"
She smiled. "Okay. Maybe more than a little."
They started practicing. At first, they stayed focused — going over lines, fixing timing, repeating scenes. But slowly, the space between practice and conversation blurred.
"So why this area?" she asked during a short break.
"It's peaceful."
"You like peaceful places?"
"Yes."
She nodded thoughtfully. "I think I do too. I just pretend I don't."
He glanced at her. "You don't seem like someone who likes quiet."
"That's because I talk a lot," she said lightly. "But talking doesn't mean I'm always comfortable."
That made him look at her properly.
She wasn't sure why she said that. It just slipped out.
Despite being outgoing, she often felt like she had to adjust herself around people. Tone herself down. Laugh a little softer. Speak a little less.
But here, she wasn't calculating anything.
She walked around casually.
"You cook?" she asked, peeking toward the kitchen.
"Sometimes."
"What's your best dish?"
"Basic pasta."
"Hmm. Safe choice."
"And you?"
"I can make good tea. And decent excuses."
He almost smiled. Almost.
They went back to practicing, but now it felt easier. Lighter.
There was small teasing. A few playful corrections.
"You're rushing the line."
"I'm not rushing. I'm expressive."
"You skipped two words."
"Details."
He shook his head, but there was no irritation in it.
Just ease.
At some point, she realised something quietly.
She wasn't thinking about how she looked.
Or whether she was saying too much.
Or whether she sounded silly.
She just… felt okay.
"You're different here," he said suddenly.
"Different how?"
"Less guarded."
She blinked. "You notice a lot."
"I observe."
She studied him for a second.
"You're not as intimidating as people think."
"And what do people think?"
"That you're too confident. A little unapproachable."
"And what do you think?"
She hesitated.
"I think you're just comfortable in your own space."
Something softened in his expression at that.
They didn't realise how fast time passed.
The practice went well. The conversation flowed. The silence between them wasn't awkward — it was easy.
For once, she didn't feel like she had to earn her place in the room.
She was just there.
And he didn't make it feel like she needed to be anything more.
Seven had come and gone.
But something else had started — slow, steady, natural.
Comfort.