The office had always felt like a small, organized chaos, a micro-world built on shared coffee breaks, inside jokes, and passive-aggressive notes on the fridge about labeling your yogurt.
That comfort started cracking after the company restructure meeting. Everyone walked out quieter than usual, holding onto vague rumors and half-hearted reassurances. Something had shifted. Like the rhythm of the office skipped a beat, and we were all waiting for it to get back on track.
On Tuesday, my desk felt colder than usual. Maybe the AC was just too high. Or maybe it was knowing Lin wouldn't be across from me for much longer.
That morning, I bumped into Kenji near the elevator. He held his phone out, his face in a state between disbelief and confusion.
"She sent me another one," he muttered.
"Sapphire?"
He tilted the screen toward me. I read the message out loud.
Kenji. You and I... we're not on different paths. We're just vibrating on different frequencies. But I still care about your moon aura.
I squinted at the text. "What does that even mean?"
"EXACTLY," he said, jamming his phone into his pocket. "She dumped me using astrology lingo. Who does that?"
"Hey, at least she cares about your moon aura," I offered.
He snorted. "Whatever. He groaned. "I need a reset. Maybe this department switch is the universe forcing my reboot."
We stepped into the elevator. It was the first day of our temporary rotation to the UI testing division. One floor down, but it felt like a different company.
The new department was oddly quiet. The kind of quiet where keyboard taps felt too loud. Walls painted in that forgettable shade of beige, posters explaining user interface basics taped crookedly near the entrance, and desks spaced out like no one trusted each other.
Kenji dropped into the chair next to mine and leaned back.
"So this is our new home for the next two weeks, huh?"
"Yeah. Feels like a waiting room at a dentist's office."
"Or purgatory."
He wasn't wrong.
Our first day was easy, mostly orientation and some test cases. The department lead, Ed, walked us through the basics while wearing headphones around his neck. He had the energy of someone whose enthusiasm retired ten presentations ago.
After lunch, Kenji and I ended up tucked in the back corner of the room.
He spun his chair toward me. "Alright. Talk."
"Talk about what?"
"You and Lin. Don't act like I haven't seen you trying not to smile every time she says 'morning.' You like her. Admit it."
I didn't answer.
Kenji raised his eyebrows. "What happens if she doesn't come back upstairs? You going to keep orbiting her from a distance?"
I rubbed my forehead. "It's complicated. She's... important. I just don't want to ruin anything. It feels like one wrong step could screw everything up."
He was quiet for a bit.
Kenji looked thoughtful for once. "When you picture the future, like, really picture it... do you see her in it?"
I looked at the blinking cursor on my monitor. The screen meant nothing, but the question lingered.
"Yeah," I said. "I do."
"Wow, you're cheesy as hell."
I smacked his arm. He winced.
"Ow okay okay!"
Kenji sighs.
"If she's already in your future, maybe stop being scared of the present."
He wandered off to refill his water bottle, leaving me alone with that thought.
Wednesday, Lin and I shared the elevator ride down. It was quiet at first, but not uncomfortable.
"So, UI testing," she said. "How's exile treating you?"
"Quiet. Kenji's doing surprisingly well with the lack of human interaction."
She smiled. "I miss having you upstairs. It's weird not seeing you every day."
That did something to me.
"I miss it too," I said, watching the numbers tick down on the elevator screen.
As we walked through the lobby, I hesitated. Then I just said it.
"Hey, Lin. I know I already kind of mentioned this before, but... would you want to grab dinner sometime? Just us?"
She looked surprised. "Dinner?"
"Yeah. I mean, no pressure. Just thought it might be nice to talk outside the fluorescent lighting and passive-aggressive printer signs."
She looked at me, a soft smile forming. "I'd like that."
I nodded. I tried to act casual. Inside, I was barely holding it together.
That night, I called Kenji.
"I asked her out."
"SAY U SWEAR RIGHT NOW?!"
"Swear. Dinner. Just us."
He let out a dramatic exhale. "You absolute legend. Finally."
The rest of the week moved slower, but in a good way. I started noticing things about Lin I hadn't paid attention to before. The way she scribbled doodles next to her to-do lists. How she always asked around before heading out for coffee. Her laugh was full and unfiltered, like she forgot people could hear her.
One afternoon, we sat on the steps near the emergency exit, hiding from the noise of a chaotic product meeting.
"I wasn't supposed to stay at this job long," she said. "It was a stepping stone. But then I met people who made it harder to leave."
I didn't ask if she meant me. But I hoped she did.
Friday afternoon, I bumped into Yuna by the copy machine. She looked like she hadn't slept, but had come to peace with it.
"Final decisions on the department shifts come next week," she said. "You and Kenji will likely return upstairs. Lin... might not."
I nodded, said thanks, and walked away. The words stuck with me the rest of the day.
That evening, the office felt emptier than usual. Most of the lights had gone out, and the buzzing of the vending machine was the only noise left.
Kenji walked over with a cup of instant ramen.
"You good?"
"I don't want this to end," I said quietly.
"It doesn't have to."
He sat on the edge of my desk.
"Rotations change. People get shuffled around. But if you want something to last, you figure out how to hold on. You don't wait for perfect timing. You make space."
He opened the ramen and shook the seasoning packet. "Besides, she's got a good moon aura."
I laughed. It wasn't a loud laugh, but it was real. And maybe a little shaky.
Saturday morning, I texted Lin:
Got a place in mind for dinner. You okay with yakitori again, or should we try something new?
She replied almost instantly:
Yakitori sounds perfect.
And just like that, we had a plan.
Everything was still in motion. Uncertain. Maybe even fragile.
But for the first time in a long while, I wasn't afraid.