Cynthia arrived at work ten minutes early, which already told her the day was going to be strange.
She stood in front of the mirror in the restroom, staring at her reflection like it might confess something.
You are calm, she told herself.
You are professional.
Last night did not involve burnt pasta, couch betrayal, or laughing until midnight.
The mirror did not believe her.
She adjusted her blazer, took a deep breath, and walked out—only to immediately bump into someone.
Hard.
Coffee splashed.
"Ah—!"
"I'm so sorry—!"
They froze.
Alexander.
Holding a coffee cup that was now doing a tragic slow drip down his sleeve.
Cynthia's brain shut down.
"Oh," she said brilliantly. "You."
"Yes," he said, equally intelligent. "Me."
They stared at each other for one full second too long.
Then Cynthia burst out laughing.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly, clapping a hand over her mouth. "I swear I'm not laughing at your suffering."
Alexander looked down at his sleeve.
"I am."
A coworker walked past them, paused, and raised an eyebrow.
"Morning," the coworker said suspiciously.
"Morning," Cynthia and Alexander replied at the exact same time.
The coworker narrowed his eyes.
"…Interesting."
And walked away.
Alexander sighed.
"Well. That took less than five minutes."
By nine a.m., the office was buzzing.
By nine fifteen, Cynthia realized she could not focus.
Every time she looked up, Alexander was there—typing, talking, walking past her desk like a perfectly normal coworker who had definitely not set off a smoke alarm with dinner the night before.
She dropped her pen.
Alexander picked it up.
Their fingers brushed.
They both pulled back like they'd touched electricity.
"Sorry," they said together.
A nearby colleague whispered, loudly,
"Are they rehearsing?"
Cynthia wanted the floor to open and swallow her whole.
The meeting was worse.
They sat across from each other at the conference table, trying very hard to look like two adults who had not shared takeaway on the floor.
Alexander cleared his throat.
"As you can see from the report—"
The projector turned on.
Upside down.
There was a long silence.
"Is the data… supposed to be like that?" someone asked.
Alexander stared at the screen.
"…No."
Cynthia raised her hand.
"I can fix it."
She stood up, walked confidently to the projector, and pressed a button.
The screen went black.
Another button.
The screen zoomed in until only one giant word was visible:
ERROR
Someone snorted.
Alexander pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Okay. New plan."
Cynthia tried not to laugh and failed completely.
During the coffee break, things escalated.
Alexander was explaining something quietly to Cynthia when another coworker leaned in.
"So," the coworker said with fake innocence
Cynthia choked on her coffee.
Alexander patted her back, then immediately froze.
His hand dropped like it had committed a crime.
"I—sorry—professional—"
"It's fine," Cynthia said, coughing, laughing, waving him off. "I'm alive."
By lunchtime, rumors had evolved.
Cynthia overheard whispers.
"They're definitely hiding something."
"I saw them laughing."
"He spilled coffee on himself. That's suspicious."
Cynthia sat at her desk, head down, pretending to read emails.
Alexander appeared beside her.
"We need a strategy."
She looked up.
"What kind of strategy?"
"Act completely normal."
She stared at him.
"…You spilled coffee on yourself, turned the projector upside down, and apologized to a chair."
"That chair looked offended."
She laughed.
"We're doomed."
The final disaster came in the afternoon.
Alexander was presenting again. Cynthia was helping.
Everything was going smoothly.
Too smoothly.
Then Alexander clicked the wrong file.
The screen changed.
A playlist appeared.
Title at the top:
"Dinner Mood – Definitely Not Romantic"
The room went silent.
Cynthia covered her face.
Alexander closed his eyes.
Someone coughed.
"Is that… jazz?"
Alexander clicked frantically.
The screen changed again.
A recipe website.
"How to Save Burnt Pasta."
The room exploded with laughter.
Alexander gave up.
"Well," he said, smiling helplessly, "at least we're consistent."
Cynthia laughed so hard she had to sit down.
After work, they walked out together, exhausted.
"That," Cynthia said, "was the longest workday of my life."
Alexander nodded.
"I agree.
She smiled at him.
They paused outside.
"Well," he said, awkward again, "see you tomorrow. Professionally."
"Professionally," she echoed.
They walked in opposite directions.
Both smiling.