The elevator's metallic hum filled the silence as Ttony adjusted the strap of her sketch portfolio. Her reflection stared back at her from the stainless-steel walls, sharp eyes, calm lips, a quiet confidence tucked beneath a little nervous energy. The numbers blinked
higher: 8… 9… 10.
Tenth floor. Kinn Tech.
A soft ding, and the doors slid open. She stepped out into a clean, open-concept office soaked in warm natural light. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline, and green plants stood like silent sentinels near glass-walled meeting rooms. It was the kind of place that whispered innovation but shouted money.
She paused to take it all in. This wasn't just another office — it was curated, deliberate, sleek. And she was here to make it even better.
"Hi, can I help you?" a voice called, crisp and clear, cutting through the subtle clatter of keyboards and murmuring voices.
Ttony turned.
A man was approaching, tall, composed, with the kind of effortless presence that made the world slow just a little. He wasn't smiling, but his eyes — those deep-set, observant eyes — were curious.
"I'm Ttony," she said, her tone warm but professional. "Interior designer. I'm with Borne Studio — we're handling your workspace redesign."
A small smile tugged at his lips. He extended a hand.
"Kinn. UI/UX lead. I'm your point of contact."
Their hands met. Firm grip. Eye contact that lingered half a second longer than necessary. It was nothing… but it wasn't nothing.
"Nice space," she said, gesturing around.
"Too much glass, not enough heart," he replied with a shrug. She raised a brow. "Well, that's where I come in."
There it was — the first shared grin.
Over the next hour, he walked her through the workspace, occasionally making side comments that made her laugh under her
breath. He was sharp — not just about the tech stuff, but about color, layout, and energy flow. She liked that.
At one point, he gestured toward a cluster of mismatched sofas near the break area.
"I hate that corner. It's supposed to be a 'creative nook,' but honestly, it just looks like a waiting room in a sad clinic."
Ttony laughed, scribbling something in her notebook. "We'll kill the clinic vibe. Add something warm. Textures. Local art."
"I'll trust your instincts," he said, watching her for a beat. "You seem to have good ones."
She didn't know why that one line made her stomach flip. She was here for work, and he was… someone else's problem, surely. Men
like Kinn usually were.
Still, as she left later that day, portfolio in hand and sunlight in her eyes, she allowed herself a single glance back at the office.
Through the glass doors, she saw him — head bent over his desk, fingers tapping away on a laptop, but he looked up at the exact same moment.
Their eyes met again. And this time, he smiled.
She smiled back.
Just a moment.
Just a glance.
But sometimes, a story begins quietly — not with thunder, but with the soft echo of footsteps across a sunlit floor.