I stood there like an idiot for a full minute. Maybe more.
And then I finally exhaled.
He was gone. Again.
I wandered further inside and found the dining table set, one plate neatly covered, a faint curl of warmth still rising from it.
He cooked.
I waited—just for a little while, maybe hoping he'd come back. But when the food started to cool, I peeled off the cover and sat down, tasting a small bite.
And then another.
It was perfect. Of course it was. Better than I expected. Of course it was him.
I stared down at my empty plate afterward, the taste still lingering on my tongue, and told myself I wasn't disappointed.
But I was.
I stayed up that night. Watched some dumb show I couldn't focus on. Kept checking the door without really meaning to. Kept glancing at my phone like it might ring with something it never would.
I wanted to call him. I did.
I even pulled up his contact once, thumb hovering over the screen. But I couldn't do it. Not like this. Not over a phone call. I wanted to talk to him properly. Clear the air. Face to face.
So I waited.
I must've dozed off at some point, because I woke up the next morning in my bed, disoriented and still in the same clothes.
Dragging myself out of the room, I glanced around. The living room was empty. No trace of him. Again.
Had he even come back?
I rubbed at my face, trudging toward the kitchen reaching for the refrigerator, and then paused. My lunchbox sat waiting for me, packed, sealed, and preserved.
I didn't know when he had the time to cook or why he was still doing it when he wouldn't even look at me, but I took the lunchbox anyway.
It was better than nothing. I guess.
---
At work, I found myself falling into routine.
Alex had a way of slipping into my day without me noticing. A comment here, a question there, showing up outside the lab with his usual boyish smile and iced coffee in hand, always an extra one for me, like he just happened to order two.
He was persistent. And cheerful. Like a golden retriever who didn't know when to stop wagging its tail. And I wasn't exactly chasing him away.
It didn't take long before I started hearing things.
Little things.
Whispers behind hallway doors. Muted laughter when I passed.
"She's old enough to be his babysitter."
"I heard she's been mentoring him a little too close."
"God, how desperate do you have to be to pounce on the new intern?"
"She's such a hag—seriously, can't she take a hint?"
I told myself it didn't matter. That they were just jealous. Or bored. Or cruel. I buried it and kept moving.
Until I walked into the break room.
Two of them. Standing by the microwave. One of them stirring coffee. The other smirking. Neither of them noticed I was behind them until I stopped walking.
"She's so pathetic. Like… clinging to someone barely in his twenties just because he looks at her with those puppy eyes? No wonder she never dates. No one her age would want her."
A beat.
"Honestly, I'd sleep with the intern too if I looked that dried out."
I froze.
My heart started pounding. My fingers twitched at my side.
I could pretend I didn't hear it. Walk away. Be the bigger person.
Or…
I spent the next twenty minutes sitting in the supply closet writing a speech in my notes app. Rewriting. Editing. Deleting. Rewriting again. Every comeback sharpened and bitter. I practiced it under my breath, psyching myself up.
I was ready.
I marched back to the break room, cleared my throat, and opened my mouth.
And immediately wished I hadn't.
Because they weren't backing down.
"Oh, come on. Don't pretend you haven't been flaunting him like a trophy."
"We're just being honest. If you can't take it, maybe don't act like such a cradle snatcher."
"Look at you, getting so worked up. Guilty conscience much?"
I was floundering. Drowning. My speech was a mess now. My hands were clammy. My throat tight.
And then—
"Wow. You guys always this bitter or is this just special for today?"
The voice came from the door.
Alex.
He strolled in with a paper cup in one hand, that usual annoyingly pleasant smile on his face. But his words?
Sharp as hell.
"I mean, I get it. Must suck waking up every morning realizing your entire personality revolves around tearing other women down."
The two women sputtered. One opened her mouth.
Alex sipped his coffee. "Nah. You should stop while you're behind."
And then he looked at me. Still smiling.
"Hi, Kina. Sorry I'm late. You okay?"
I blinked at him.
Then nodded.
Maybe not okay.
But definitely… not alone.
I mumbled a thanks to Alex before rushing out of the break room, my cheeks hot with embarrassment and my eyes fixed on the floor like I was twelve again. It wasn't just the gossip or the confrontation, it was how easily he handled it. Like it was nothing. Like protecting me came as naturally to him as breathing.
And maybe that's what made it worse.
I didn't even see him for the rest of the day, but as I was packing up to leave, I got a text.
[Alex]: You owe me coffee. I'm starving.
I didn't reply. But somehow I found myself walking into that same overpriced café with him an hour later, the neon light from the logo humming against the dusk. I ordered my usual and he got something that looked like sugar exploded on top of it.
We sat by the window. It was quiet for a while, him sipping like he hadn't just ripped a few grown women to shreds earlier and me pretending not to feel weird about it.
Then he broke the silence.
"You always let people treat you like that?"
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You know what I mean," he said, swirling his cup lazily. "You just stood there and let them talk like that. Like it was normal."
My lips parted in surprise. "You're talking like I just... stand there and watch it happen."
"Isn't that exactly what you're doing?"
I stared at him, unsure if I should be angry or grateful. Maybe both. "You really think it's that easy? That it's just a switch I can flip?"
"No," he said, softer now. "But I think you don't even try."
His words settled in my chest like stones. I looked away, toward the rain streaking down the glass.
I hated how right he was.
Because I had tried, once. A long time ago. But I couldn't even remember when exactly I stopped. It was like I had slowly been disassembled, piece by piece, over the years until all the fire I had left burned quietly in my stomach, never making it to my throat.
Maybe it started at home.
That house. That man.
I couldn't remember much about my childhood, not really.. not in detail. Just flashes. But there was one memory that always came in fragments and left me cold.
I must've been… what, seven? Eight? I remembered standing in the kitchen, trembling, tears in my eyes as I told my mother what he did. Told her what I saw. What he touched. I remember her going quiet, the sink still running behind her, water overflowing.
And then—
Then him.
His shadow.
The way he grabbed me by the wrist so tight I thought the bone would snap.
The way he said if I ever opened my mouth again, he'd make sure no one would ever listen to me again. That I'd be the crazy one. That I'd ruin everything. That I'd make my mother hate me.
He did. She did.
After that, I learned. To swallow it. To smile. To be polite. To shut the hell up.
Maybe Alex was right. Maybe I really had stopped trying.
But he didn't know any of that. He didn't know me.
So I just smiled tightly and said, "I'll work on it."
He looked like he wanted to say more but didn't. Just gave me that same boyish grin like he didn't just hold a mirror up to something I'd spent years avoiding.
"Good," he said. "'Cause I'm rooting for you."
I didn't say anything else. I just stirred my coffee and tried not to let the past swallow me whole.