Saturday arrived gently.
No alarms. No deadlines. No glass-walled offices or whispered assumptions.
Cynthia welcomed the quiet. She spent the morning moving slowly—tea instead of coffee, music playing low, sunlight stretching across her living room like it had nowhere else to be.
She had just finished arranging a vase of flowers when the knock came.
Sharp. Certain.
Unexpected.
Her heart reacted before her mind did.
She wasn't expecting anyone.
She walked to the door carefully, glanced through the peephole—and stopped breathing.
Alexander stood outside.
Casual, but unmistakably himself. Dark jacket. No tie. Hands in his pockets like he wasn't entirely sure what to do with them.
For a brief second, she considered pretending she wasn't home.
She didn't.
She opened the door.
"Alexander?"
He straightened slightly, as if bracing. "Hi."
The word felt heavier than it should have.
"What are you doing here?" she asked—not unkindly, just surprised.
"I was nearby," he said automatically, then corrected himself. "That's not true. I came to see you."
The honesty unsettled her more than any excuse would have.
She stepped aside. "You should come in."
He did.
The door closed behind him with a soft click that sounded louder than it was.
They stood there for a moment, unsure where to place themselves.
The apartment felt different with him in it—smaller, warmer, charged.
"You didn't call," she said quietly.
"I know," he replied.