The office was already buzzing when I arrived. Phones ringing, printers churning, the clatter of keyboards filling the air like restless music. The publishing house had a rhythm of its own, and even though I'd been here for over a year, I still felt like I was chasing its tempo.
I slipped into my cubicle with a quiet sigh. My desk was cluttered—manuscripts stacked in uneven piles, sticky notes curling at the edges, and my half-dead plant leaning against the window as if it had already given up on life. Coffee didn't help much, but I sipped anyway, willing my mind to shake off the image of the stranger from this morning. His stare had clung to me like smoke, thick and unshakable.
"Rough morning?"
I jumped a little and looked up. Daniel leaned against the partition of my cubicle, a half-smile tugging at his lips. His tie was crooked, his hair slightly tousled, but there was an ease about him, like nothing could rattle his calm.
"I'm fine," I said quickly, tugging my cardigan closer. "Just tired."
He studied me for a second, like he didn't quite believe me, but didn't push. Instead, he held up a brown paper bag. "I brought muffins. And if I remember correctly, you're a blueberry kind of person."
I blinked at him, then laughed despite myself. "You actually remembered that?"
Daniel grinned. "I have an excellent memory for important things. Like your muffin preferences."
I shook my head, smiling as he placed one gently on my desk. The scent of sugar and warm berries curled into the air, cutting through the dull smell of paper and ink. Somehow, in the middle of my scattered thoughts, it felt grounding.
"You're way too nice," I muttered, peeling back the wrapper.
He shrugged. "Or maybe I'm just observant."
We fell into an easy rhythm—him leaning against my desk, me pretending to focus on the manuscript in front of me while sneaking glances at him. With Daniel, there were no sharp edges, no hidden weight pressing against my chest. Just comfort.
"So," he said after a pause, "any big weekend plans? Or still hiding in your apartment with a pile of books?"
Heat rose to my cheeks. "Maybe. Depends who's asking."
He chuckled, low and warm, and for a second I felt lighter. Safer. Like maybe I wasn't as complicated as I thought.
The rest of the morning blurred past in a steady flow of meetings and emails. Daniel stopped by my desk twice more, each time leaving a small ripple of warmth in his wake. By lunchtime, I was almost convinced the strange intensity of the morning had just been in my head.
Almost.
When I stepped outside to grab a sandwich, the city air rushed at me—honking cars, rushing footsteps, the clatter of life moving too fast. I pulled my coat tighter around me, weaving through the crowd, when something made me stop.
A shiver slipped down my spine.
Across the street, a sleek black car idled at the curb. Its windows tinted, its presence deliberate. My chest tightened as I scanned the sidewalk, and for the briefest second, I swore I saw him—the same man from the morning, still watching.
I blinked, and he was gone. Just strangers now, faces blending into the blur of the city.
But the feeling remained, heavy and unshakable: comfort could hold me for a while… but the fire was never far behind.But the feeling remained, heavy and unshakable: comfort could hold me for a while… but the fire was never far behind.