Monday came in dull and damp, like the sky hadn't quite made up its mind. I stood in front of the elevator, watching numbers blink sluggishly upward, drops of rain still clinging to the panel like leftover thoughts.
Lin had beaten everyone in. That alone was unusual. She's punctual, sure, but never this early. Not like this.
From my desk, I saw her sitting at hers, posture perfect, as always. But something was off. She wasn't typing. Eyes locked on the screen, but not really reading it.
I looked longer than I should've. Which is how I missed Kayla creeping up beside me, her mug in hand and her eyes too observant.
"You know," she said, setting her elbow on the edge of my desk, "if you stared any harder, we'd need to install sprinklers."
I jumped slightly. "I wasn't-"
"You were," she interrupted, sipping. "Don't worry. I support it. Just pace yourself."
Before I could think of a comeback, Kenji slid into his seat beside me, tossing a convenience store bag onto his desk. "There's only one left," he said, holding up a melon bread.
Kayla raised an eyebrow. "You eat those like they're a food group."
"Because they are."
Their banter started as usual, but their glances were starting to linger longer than the jokes.
"How was your morning?" he asked, tapping his keyboard.
Kayla sighed. "Fine. But I think someone else might be a bit heavier."
She nodded toward Lin, who sat perfectly still, chin in hand, staring at her tablet.
"Is this about Osaka?" I asked, quieter now.
"Yeah," Kayla said. "She had another call this morning. Sounded serious."
"Is she going to take it?" I asked.
"She hasn't decided yet. But I think she's close."
I nodded, trying not to show anything. But the knot in my chest stayed tight the rest of the morning. Every time I looked over, I couldn't help but wonder: was this the beginning of goodbye?
Lunch didn't help much either. We all gathered in the team nook (Lin, Kayla, Kenji, Luis, and me) clustered around bento boxes and plastic chopsticks. Someone had ordered too many tonkatsu combos, and Kayla was dealing them out.
"You seriously didn't eat breakfast again?" Kenji teased her.
"I had coffee," she defended. "And a piece of gum."
"You're one vitamin deficiency away from becoming a cautionary tale."
"You're one lecture away from losing your shrimp chips privilege."
Kenji narrowed his eyes, but he didn't press further. Lin laughed under her breath.
The mood eased for a moment, but later that afternoon, I found Lin alone in the copy room. She stood with her arms crossed.
"You doin' okay Lin?" I asked.
She looked up slowly, then gave a half-smile. "Hey. Just… taking a break. Mentally."
I stepped beside her. "Rough day?"
"I had another call with Osaka. UX head this time. They offered a signing bonus."
"Oh," I managed. "That's… good. Right?"
"Yeah. It is."
The copier hummed. She didn't say anything for a few seconds.
"I used to think if they ever called me back, I'd say yes without blinking," she said. "But now I'm blinking a lot."
I glanced at her, unsure if I should push. But she continued.
She looked up at me, and her expression changed. Gently.
"It's not the job, or even the move. I just didn't expect to care this much about what I'd be leaving behind. About the people I'd be leaving."
My throat tightened. I said the first thing that came to mind.
"People?"
Her expression flickered. Not a smile, but something more vulnerable. She nodded, barely.
"Yeah. People. And things I haven't really figured out yet. Things that might matter more than I thought."
The copier beeped. Pages spat out.
She turned to collect them. The conversation died there, but not the weight of it.
Back at our desks, the afternoon slipped by, quiet and slow. I watched Kenji and Kayla arguing over UI icons. It started technical, then devolved into a full-blown snack negotiation.
"I'm not giving you the last shrimp chips just because you think green looks better than blue," Kayla said, arms crossed.
"I'm not giving in on the color or the chips."
"You're impossible."
"And you're dramatic."
She tossed him the bag anyway.
"Don't say I never did anything for you," he muttered.
"I have receipts."
I couldn't help but smile. Whatever was growing between them, it was comfortable.
That evening, as I packed up, Lin lingered by her desk. She was slipping her tablet into her bag when she looked over.
"Hey," she said. "Want to grab dinner later this week? Just us?"
My heart stopped for a beat too long.
I blinked. "Yeah. I'd like that."
"Thursday?"
"Thursday," I said, trying not to sound too excited.
She smiled, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. Then turned to go.
We left the office together — her heading toward the station, me toward the streetcar. The air was colder now. Autumn was beginning to feel more like winter.
Outside, the wind had picked up. She headed toward the train station, but halfway down the block, she stopped and called back.
"Don't overthink it so much."
I stood there for a while after she disappeared around the corner, trying to remember how to breathe.
The rest of the week had that weird tension. Every day felt a little louder inside my head, even though the office stayed the same.
Not loud, not dramatic, just subtle tremors in the way we spoke, the pauses that lingered, the weight behind small choices.
On Tuesday, the coffee machine finally gave out. Kayla taped a cardboard sign to it that read: "Death before decaf. Fix me."
Kenji practically fell over laughing. "You're going to get banned from the break room."
Kayla shrugged. "Better banned than decaf."
"Or at least non-flammable ones."
The two of them stood at the vending machine, bickering over which snack had the best crunch-to-cost ratio. I watched from across the office, amused. Kenji, who once barely acknowledged anyone outside our department, now offered Kayla the last bag of shrimp chips without hesitation.
"Don't say I never did anything for you," he said as she took the bag.
"Trust me, I'll remind you every day."
Wednesday dragged. Meetings blurred together. During lunch, I found Lin standing by the window again, her lunch unopened.
"How have you been doing?" I asked, approaching with my bento box.
She turned, clearly lost in thought. "Just thinking."
"Still Osaka?"
She nodded. "But it's different now."
I waited, hoping she'd say more.
She didn't. But she smiled, soft and careful.
"I'll tell you everything. Thursday."
That smile stayed with me for the rest of the day. Gentle. Promising.
That night, Lin and Kayla left together. Outside, their footsteps echoed down the quiet street.
"You decided," Kayla said. It wasn't a question.
Lin exhaled, arms tight around her bag. "Yeah. I called them about it."
Kayla blinked. "Well?"
Lin nodded. "I want him to be the first to know. He deserves to know first."
Kayla let out a sound between a gasp and a sigh. "You're telling him about you though, right?"
"I'm planning to."
"You better. If you chicken out, I'm texting him myself."
Lin laughed, a nervous kind of laugh. "What if I'm wrong? What if I just imagined everything?"
"You didn't." Kayla squeezed her arm. "I've seen how he looks at you. You're not imagining it."
Lin looked up, city lights reflecting faintly in her eyes. "I just don't want to regret not saying it before...anything"
"Then say it," Kayla said. "Whatever happens, at least it's yours to own."
Kayla leaned in. "You should've seen his face when you asked him to dinner. He looked like he just won the lottery."
"That crazy, huh?" Lin said surprised.
Kayla nodded seriously. "That important. I'll be cheering from the shadows like a very underqualified love fairy."
They both laughed, walking into the night as the city buzzed around them.
Thursday started with that weird in-between feeling. Not dread exactly, but not excitement either. It was the kind of unease that lingered right before something changed.
The train ride into the city passed in a haze. I stared out the window, not really seeing anything. My mind was too busy playing out imaginary conversations I'd never actually say out loud. The quiet hum of the carriage, the occasional jostle of passengers getting off, it all felt like background noise to the overthinking happening inside my head.
My mind kept running through conversation scripts I'd never say out loud.
At the office, Lin was quieter than usual. Not distant. Just inward. She moved through the space, but was not ready to share what. Her presence was still gentle, but there was a hesitation in it. She'd pause sometimes.
We didn't say much until lunchtime. She passed by my desk with barely a glance, then stopped and said simply, "Seven. Same station entrance."
I nodded. "Got it."
Her eyes lingered for a beat just long enough to say everything she didn't. Then she turned and walked off.
I spun back to my monitor, trying to redirect myself toward the pile of tickets in my backlog. I stared at the screen for a full minute before realizing I hadn't even logged in.
Across the desk, Kenji leaned in just far enough for his voice to carry over.
"You look like you're about to walk into a courtroom."
"It kind of feels like it."
He tilted his head, unimpressed. "You're thinking too much. Again."
"How can you be so calm about this?"
Kenji grinned like someone with inside information. "Because she said yes."
"To dinner," I reminded him.
"Exactly. People don't say yes if they don't want to be there."
I stared at him. It was too simple, but maybe that's why it made sense.
The restaurant had that kind of quiet that made you feel like it existed in its own little bubble. Dim lights hung low, soft and golden, casting slow-moving shadows over the table. It wasn't fancy, but it was the kind of place where time moved slower. Outside the windows, the city kept pulsing, headlights sweeping past in lazy intervals, but in here it felt suspended.
Lin sat across from me, stirring her drink slowly. Her eyes kept dropping to the table, then darting back up to meet mine in brief flickers before retreating again.
Most of our plates were half-empty now. We'd picked at our food, not really eating, both too caught up in the tension between the bites. I was just about to try steering the conversation somewhere neutral when she set her glass down.
"I haven't decided yet," she said quietly.
I blinked, a little thrown. "About dessert?"
Her lips quirked slightly. "No, about Osaka."
"Oh." I leaned back slightly in my chair. My hands slid under the table, where I could fidget with my napkin without looking completely obvious. "Right. That."
A silence settled in again. She was still watching me, more intently now, as if she's waiting to catch my reaction before she let herself keep going.
"So," I said, trying to sound casual, "still on the fence?"
Lin nodded. "It's weird. I've had people tell me it's a great opportunity. Like, in that automatic way people do when they're trying to be supportive without actually asking how you feel about it."
I tilted my head. "Do you want me to be one of those people?"
"No," she said, too quickly. Then, softer: "I want you to be honest."
I took a breath. "Okay. Honestly? I think you'd be amazing there. You'd thrive."
She looked down again.
"But," I added, "I also think you'd be missed."
Lin was quiet, then glanced up again. "By who?"
I raised an eyebrow. "You want a list?"
She gave a faint smile. "Top three."
"Kenji, for sure. He'd lose his unofficial lunchtime anime buddy."
"He'd survive."
"Kayla would probably cry at least twice."
"She cries over limited edition gacha pulls. That's not saying much."
"And," I hesitated, then met her eyes. "Me."
Her expression shifted. It was subtle, but I saw it. The tiniest catch in her breath, the way her fingers curled lightly on the rim of her glass.
"You," she repeated, almost under her breath.
"Yeah."
She stared at me for a moment, then looked out the window. The light from a passing car swept across her face and was gone just as fast.
"I keep thinking," she said after a while, "that if I leave, I might regret it. But if I stay, I might regret that too."
I nodded slowly. "That sounds like the beginning of a headache."
"You think I'm overthinking it."
"I think you always overthink everything," I said. "But... not in a bad way."
That got another soft smile out of her.
There was a small pause. The kind where you could hear the ice settling in her glass.
"I wish you'd said something," she murmured.
"About what?"
She looked at me directly this time. "About how you'd feel if I left."
"I figured it wasn't my place," I said. "I didn't want to make it harder."
"You wouldn't have," she said. "Or maybe you would have. But I would've wanted to hear it anyway."
She paused again.
"Then," I said carefully, "here's me saying it. I'd miss you. A lot. More than I know how to say without sounding... cheesy."
"You've already failed," she said, a soft laugh escaping before she could stop it.
"Yeah, well. I'm not great at this."
"I know," she said, looking at her hands.
We sat there like that for a while. Not saying much. Just letting the weight of things stretch between us.
Finally, she pushed her plate aside, folded her hands on the table, and looked up again.
"I saw the mugs."
I blinked. "What mugs?"
"Kayla sent me rough draft pictures. The ones that say 'Emotionally Stunted' and 'So Am I.'"
I groaned. "She actually bought them. I can't believe it"
Lin bit back a grin. "I think she's rooting for us harder than we are."
I scratched my neck, suddenly self-conscious. "Are we an 'us'?"
She tilted her head. "Do you want there to be?"
"I wouldn't mind," I said. "Depending on your answer."
"To what?"
"To Osaka."
Her fingers tapped lightly against her drink. She didn't answer right away. Instead, she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small folded envelope. She set it between us on the table without opening it.
"What's this?"
"My response to the transfer offer," she said, not looking at me.
"I thought you said you haven't decided yet?"
"I'm mysterious, aren't I?" She said half-jokingly.
My throat felt a little tight. "Are you going to open it?"
She shrugged. "I thought maybe we could do it together."
I blinked. "Now?"
"Unless you'd rather wait until after dessert."
I hesitated, then slid the envelope closer.
"You sure?" I asked.
She looked up at me with an expression I couldn't quite read, but it felt different, calmer, maybe, or more certain.
"Yeah," she said. "I think I finally am."
I held the envelope for a moment, turning it over once before sliding my finger beneath the seal. The paper inside felt warm from her hands. Lin didn't say a word. She just watched.
I opened it. Read the first few lines. Then again, slower.
"You turned it down."
She nodded once.
"Why?" I asked, even though part of me was already hoping for the answer.
She sat up a little straighter. "Because I couldn't leave."
"You could've," I said, quietly.
"I know. I almost did. I wanted to believe it would fix things, make things clearer, but every time I imagined being there, you weren't in the picture. And the picture felt wrong."
I felt my heart palpitating.
"I'm not saying I have everything figured out," she went on, voice softer now. "And it's not like staying solves all my problems. But the one thing I kept circling back to was you."
I looked down at the letter again. It was surreal seeing it written out: her name, the company, the offer she said no to. And yet, what stuck with me more was how calm she sounded. Sure. Not dramatic. Just honest.
She met my eyes. "I wasn't sure if you'd feel the same. I still don't really know."
"I do," I said before I could overthink it.
The air shifted a little between us. Something unspoken cracked open.
"I think I've liked you for a while," I added. "but I wasn't sure how to say it, or if I even should. I didn't realize it back then…well actually I might've actually had an idea, but I tried my best to forget about it really- I tried not to think about it at all…um-"
I kept stuttering, blushing, and was trying my best to spout out my feelings. It was melancholy in a good way. Every atom in my body was saying hi to her and I couldn't stop feeling flustered.
Her expression softened. She leaned in, elbows on the table, eyes flicking between mine and the space between us.
"I like you too. Nothing beats doing 'nothing' with you," she said firmly with a smile. "But let's take things slow…I don't want to rush too fast."
I smiled. "Slow works."
She let out a small laugh. "You realize Kayla's going to freak out when I tell her."
"She probably already knows," I said. "Psychic best friend powers."
We paid the bill together (her idea, naturally), and stepped out into the street. The night air was crisp, the sidewalk buzzing quietly with life around us. For a second, we just stood there. Neither of us was in a rush to say goodbye.
"I guess this is the part where I walk you home," I said.
"You're not obligated," she teased.
"I want to."
We fell into step, our shoulders brushing against each other softly. Still fragile.
When we reached the corner near her place, she stopped. "Hey."
I turned.
"I don't regret it," she said. "Choosing to stay."
I nodded. "I'm glad."
She hesitated, then leaned in—not quite a kiss, not really. Just close enough that I felt her breath.
And then she pulled back.
"I'll see you Monday," she said, smiling like she knew exactly what she'd done.
"Right," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Monday."
She turned and walked toward her apartment. I stood there a second longer than necessary.
I should've said something more. I could've.
But maybe… maybe Monday would be enough.