The office was unusually quiet that morning, the kind of quiet that pressed against the ears and made every thought louder. Zara sat at her desk, staring at her computer screen without truly seeing it. Lines of text blurred together as her mind replayed the same moment over and over again, like a scene she couldn't pause or escape.
Adrian's voice.
That woman's laughter.
The way he hadn't immediately explained.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unmoving. She hadn't slept well. Each time she closed her eyes, her chest tightened, and a familiar ache settled beneath her ribs. It wasn't anger that hurt the most. It was disappointment. The kind that crept in quietly and stayed.
She had told herself not to expect anything from Adrian. She had reminded herself—again and again—that whatever existed between them was complicated, undefined, fragile. And yet, some foolish part of her had hoped. She had let herself believe that the way he looked at her meant more. That the way his voice softened when he said her name wasn't just habit.
Now, she wasn't so sure.
"Zara."
She stiffened at the sound of her name.
Adrian stood a few steps away, his expression careful, almost hesitant. He looked tired, like someone who had also spent the night wrestling with thoughts that refused to settle. His tie was slightly loose, his usual composed confidence dulled by something heavier.
"Good morning," he said quietly.
"Morning," Zara replied without looking up.
The distance between them felt wider than the few feet that separated their desks. It felt deliberate. Chosen.
Adrian noticed it immediately.
"You left early yesterday," he said. "I wanted to talk to you."
Zara finally raised her eyes, meeting his gaze for a brief second before looking away again. "I was tired."
"That's not all," he said gently.
Her jaw tightened. "I said I was tired."
Adrian exhaled slowly. He pulled out the chair opposite her desk but didn't sit. "Zara, if this is about what you saw—"
"I don't want to talk about it," she interrupted, her voice calm but firm.
The calm scared her more than anger would have. It meant she was already pulling away.
Adrian paused. "You don't even know what it was."
"I know enough," she said, standing abruptly. "I have a meeting in five minutes."
She grabbed her notebook and walked past him before he could say anything else. As she moved down the hallway, her steps quickened, her chest tight. She hated how much effort it took to keep her composure intact. She hated that part of her still wanted him to follow her, to stop her, to explain.
He didn't.
The meeting dragged on longer than expected. Zara contributed when necessary, her professionalism intact, but inside she felt hollow. Every time Adrian spoke, she avoided looking at him. Every time their eyes almost met, she looked down.
She wasn't ready to hear explanations. Not yet.
After the meeting, she retreated to the break room, hoping for a moment of quiet. She poured herself a cup of coffee she didn't really want and leaned against the counter, staring out the small window.
"You okay?" a voice asked.
She turned to see Zara—no, Zara caught herself—Isabella from HR. They weren't close, but they shared the kind of polite familiarity that came from working in the same building for years.
"Fine," Zara said automatically.
Isabella raised an eyebrow. "You don't look fine."
Zara managed a faint smile. "I'll survive."
Isabella studied her for a moment, then shrugged. "Men," she said lightly. "They complicate things."
Zara didn't respond. She didn't trust herself to.
Back at her desk, she found a message waiting on her phone.
We need to talk. Please.
Adrian.
She stared at the screen for a long moment before locking her phone and slipping it into her drawer. She wasn't ready. And more than that, she was afraid that if she listened, she might forgive too easily. She wasn't sure she wanted to be that vulnerable again.
By lunchtime, the office buzzed with its usual energy. Conversations floated through the air, punctuated by laughter and the clatter of keyboards. Zara kept to herself, answering emails and pretending to focus.
When she finally stood to leave for lunch, Adrian was waiting by the elevator.
"Zara," he said softly.
She hesitated, then stepped inside without acknowledging him. He followed.
The elevator doors slid shut, trapping them in a small, enclosed space. The silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable.
"I didn't do what you think I did," Adrian said finally.
Zara folded her arms. "I didn't say you did."
"But you're acting like it."
She looked at him then, really looked at him. His eyes were earnest, almost pleading. It would have been easier if he looked guilty.
"I saw you with her," Zara said. "You looked… close."
Adrian's brow furrowed. "She's an old acquaintance. She needed help with a business issue. That's all."
"And you didn't think to mention it?" Zara asked quietly. "Not before. Not after."
"I didn't think it mattered," he said. "I didn't think—"
"That's the problem," she cut in. "You didn't think."
The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. Zara stepped out before he could say anything else.
The rest of the day passed in fragments. Zara completed her tasks, attended calls, nodded at colleagues. On the surface, nothing had changed. Inside, everything felt unstable.
When work finally ended, she packed her bag slowly, hoping to avoid Adrian. She wasn't lucky.
"Can we talk now?" he asked, standing beside her desk.
She sighed. "Adrian, I need space."
"From me?"
"Yes."
The word landed between them, heavy and final.
He nodded slowly, pain flickering across his face before he masked it. "Okay."
As he walked away, guilt tugged at her. But she ignored it. She had spent too long putting other people's feelings before her own.
That evening, Zara sat alone in her apartment, the lights dim, the city noise muffled by closed windows. She curled up on the couch, her phone resting on the coffee table. Notifications blinked on the screen—messages from friends she didn't feel like answering, another message from Adrian she didn't open.
She thought about the way things had been shifting between them. The shared glances. The unspoken understanding. The way her heart had started to lean in his direction without permission.
Maybe she had misunderstood everything.
Or maybe she hadn't.
She hated not knowing which was worse.
Across the city, Adrian sat in his own apartment, staring at his phone. He typed out message after message, deleting each one before sending. He replayed the moment Zara had walked away, the quiet resolve in her eyes.
He hadn't meant to hurt her. But intention didn't erase impact.
For the first time in a long while, he felt uncertain. And that uncertainty scared him more than rejection ever could.
Back in her apartment, Zara stood by the window, watching headlights streak along the road below. She pressed her palm to the glass, grounding herself.
Pulling away felt safer. It felt like control.
But safety, she was learning, often came at a cost.
She turned off the lights and headed to bed, her mind restless. Sleep came slowly, filled with half-formed dreams and unanswered questions.
As dawn approached, one thought lingered in her mind, stubborn and unresolved.
What if she was wrong?
And if she was… would it already be too late?
What do you think—should Zara hear Adrian out, or is pulling away the right choice for now?
Was this truly a misunderstanding, or is there more Adrian isn't saying yet?
💬 Drop your thoughts in the comments — your opinions matter!