The office was unusually calm.
Cynthia noticed it the moment she stepped out of the elevator. People were working, typing, walking—but there was an underlying stillness, as though everyone was waiting for something to happen.
She settled at her desk, opened her laptop, and tried to focus.
Tried being the key word.
Across the room, Alexander stood near the glass wall of his office, deep in conversation with a colleague. He looked composed, professional, entirely untouched by the confusion of the previous night.
That bothered her more than it should have.
She told herself not to look again, but she did
Their eyes met briefly through the glass.
Alexander looked away first.
Cynthia swallowed and turned back to her screen.
Fine, she thought. We're adults.
Then Daniel arrived.
Daniel was new—not new-new, but new enough to still carry that confident politeness of someone trying to make a good impression. He was tall, friendly, and had the kind of smile that made people feel at ease without trying.
He stopped at Cynthia's desk.
"Good morning, Cynthia."
She looked up, surprised. "Morning, Daniel."
"I was wondering," he said, rubbing the back of his neck slightly, "if you're free this evening."
Her fingers paused on the keyboard.
Across the room, Alexander's laughter faded mid-sentence.
Cynthia blinked. "This evening?"
"Yes," Daniel continued, his voice steady but clearly nervous now. "There's a restaurant downtown. Nothing too fancy. Just… nice."
The office seemed to quiet even more.
Someone nearby pretended to be deeply interested in their monitor.
Daniel took a breath. "Would you like to have dinner with me?"
Silence.
Cynthia felt it before she saw it—the shift, the attention.
She glanced instinctively toward Alexander.
He was standing still now, conversation forgotten, eyes fixed in their direction. His expression was unreadable, but his posture was rigid, like someone bracing for impact.
Her heart skipped.
She looked back at Daniel.
He waited patiently, hope and tension balanced on his face.
Then she smiled.
"Yes," she said. "I'd like that."
Daniel's face lit up. "Really?"
"Yes," she repeated, more confidently now. "Dinner sounds nice."
A few heads turned away quickly, pretending they hadn't been listening.
Someone coughed.
Alexander turned back into his office without a word.
Daniel left her desk smiling like he'd just won something important.
Cynthia stared at her screen, suddenly unable to read a single word.
Her chest felt tight.
She told herself it was nothing.
Still, when she stood to get water later, she found Alexander in the hallway, standing by the window.
Alone.
She almost walked past him.
Almost.
"Alexander," she said.
He turned slowly. "Cynthia."
There was a pause. Not awkward—but heavy.
"I heard," he said finally.
She nodded. "Yes."
He studied her face, searching for something he didn't name.
"That's… good," he said carefully. "Daniel seems—"
"Nice," she finished.
"Yes," he agreed. "Nice."
Another pause.
"Well," he said, stepping back slightly, professionalism returning like armor, "I hope you enjoy it."
She didn't know what to say to that.
"Thank you," she replied.
Their eyes held for one last moment—long enough to say what neither of them would.
Then she walked away.
Alexander returned to his office and closed the door.
He sat down slowly, staring at nothing.
He told himself it shouldn't matter.
Daniel was free to ask. Cynthia was free to accept.
And yet—
The image of her smiling at someone else replayed in his mind, sharper than he expected.
He exhaled slowly and opened a file.
Work. Focus.
But the words blurred.
That evening, Cynthia stood in front of her mirror, adjusting her outfit.
She wasn't overthinking it.
She definitely wasn't.
It was just dinner.
Still, her phone buzzed.
Daniel: I'll pick you up at 7.
She replied quickly.
Cynthia: Sounds good.
She set the phone down and caught her reflection again.
Her smile faded just a little.
Somewhere else in the city, Alexander stood at his window, lights off, watching the evening settle.
And though none of them said it out loud—
That invitation had changed something.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
But enough to matter.