The grand library, with its towering shelves and ancient tomes, seemed to swallow them whole. Ella sat at the large oak desk, surrounded by the weight of history, the scent of old leather and paper hanging in the air like a faint perfume. The faint light of the setting sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the room. Everything about the space felt timeless, but in the quiet, she felt herself growing restless, something stirring beneath her skin.
Muhammad's presence was a solid thing behind her, just close enough to make her aware of his proximity but not so close that it felt too intrusive. She could feel him there, a quiet force, as he reviewed the security papers she had left in front of her. His voice was low, measured, like a calm river running through a storm, but the words hung heavy between them.
"We'll need to reconsider the access points," he murmured, his fingers brushing lightly over the papers, pulling them closer to him with the precision of a man who had spent years studying every detail. "These gaps are a liability."
Ella nodded, not fully listening but trying to focus. The air between them had shifted subtly, as though the room had become too small for the things unspoken. Her fingers tightened around the pen in her hand, and she glanced at him, meeting his eyes for a fraction of a second before quickly looking away.
As they both reached for the same document, their hands brushed. The touch was brief, but it lingered in the air, electric. Her breath caught in her throat for a split second. He didn't pull away, and neither did she, though every part of her wanted to. The moment stretched, filling the room with a charged silence.
Muhammad's gaze remained steady, but there was something in his eyes that made her pulse quicken. She could feel her heart pounding, and for the first time, she wasn't sure if it was the proximity of the work or something else entirely.
The fitting room was a sanctuary of soft fabrics and whispered secrets. Ella stood before the full-length mirror, the reflection of her figure appearing almost unreal in the faint light. The dress, an exquisite creation, draped over her form like liquid silk, hugging her curves with effortless grace. The seamstress moved around her, making adjustments, her hands light and practiced, but all Ella could focus on was the quiet tension that simmered in the room.
Muhammad stood at the door, silent and watchful. His presence was like a shadow in the corner of the room, steady and constant. He had been assigned to ensure her privacy, and though she was thankful for the security, the air between them was thick in ways she hadn't expected. He was close, but not too close and yet the distance between them felt negligible, as if the space was shrinking by the second.
Ella caught her own reflection in the mirror and, for a brief moment, felt like a stranger in her own skin. The dress felt foreign on her, the extravagance of it too much, and yet she couldn't help but feel drawn to it, to the way it transformed her. Her fingers traced the neckline, the fabric cool against her skin. But it was Muhammad's quiet presence behind her that made her breath hitch, that made her feel exposed in ways she didn't want to admit.
His gaze flickered over her form, and she could feel it—every inch of his attention was fixed on her. She turned slightly, trying to focus on the dress, but his eyes remained on her reflection.
"Is it… too much?" she asked, her voice a hushed murmur, unsure if she was asking about the dress or something far more personal.
As the fitting continued, the space around them seemed to contract. The seamstress moved about, but Ella couldn't focus on the adjustments she was making. Every shift in the fabric, every tug on the dress only heightened the awareness between her and Muhammad. His gaze never wavered from her, and it was as if he were dissecting her every move, his silence more intimate than any words could be.
She caught herself in the mirror once again, seeing him there behind her, his reflection as still as the night. The weight of his stare was impossible to ignore. She knew she should focus on the fitting, on the gown, but all she could think about was the closeness of him, the way his presence seemed to drown out everything else.
Muhammad stepped closer, his movements measured, controlled. The air between them crackled, charged with something she couldn't define. She felt her breath quicken as he adjusted the dress slightly, his fingers grazing her shoulder as he did. It was brief, but it left a trace of warmth in its wake.
Her pulse raced, and without thinking, she whispered, "I dreamed of you last night."
The words left her mouth before she could stop them, her voice barely a breath, but the weight of them was undeniable. The tension between them, the unspoken things that had passed between them, seemed to freeze in that moment.
Muhammad didn't respond immediately. His gaze softened, just for a second, before he cleared his throat, stepping back. His eyes, though, never left hers.
The door opened, the sound of footsteps interrupting the delicate moment between them. Lucy, Ella's closest friend, appeared in the doorway, her expression one of innocent curiosity. She glanced between Ella and Muhammad, and the silent understanding that passed between them did not escape her notice.
"Am I interrupting something?" Lucy asked, her voice light, but her gaze sharp. She stepped inside, her eyes moving quickly between Ella and Muhammad, sensing the charged air that hung between them.
Ella quickly straightened, forcing a smile, though her heart was pounding in her chest. "No, of course not. Just the fitting. Everything's fine."
But Lucy wasn't convinced. Her sharp eyes flickered to Muhammad, then back to Ella, her expression unreadable. "Right," she said, her tone laced with an unspoken question. "Well, I just wanted to check in. I didn't realize you two were… so focused."
Ella's stomach tightened, the implication hanging between them like a thread ready to snap. Lucy had always been perceptive, and Ella could tell that something in her friend's gaze was shifting and questioning was uncertain.
Lucy's eyes narrowed slightly, a knowing look flashing across her face. "I'll leave you to it, then," she said, her voice light, but her gaze lingering just a moment too long. "Don't mind me."
As Lucy left the room, Ella's breath hitched. The weight of her friend's words lingered, and she could feel the panic rising in her chest. What had Lucy seen? What did she suspect?
Muhammad could feel the heat between them and the tension in the air was impossible to ignore. The room seemed smaller, the space between them tighter, as if the very walls were closing in on them. He had come here to do a job, to keep his distance, but something about the way Ella stood, the way she had spoken just now, unsettled him.
He took a step back, his jaw clenched, trying to suppress the wave of conflicting emotions that surged within him. The moment had stretched too long, too intimate. He turned toward the door, his movements smooth but filled with restraint.
"I'll leave you to it," he said, his voice low, but it carried an edge that he didn't intend. He glanced over his shoulder one last time, meeting her gaze, but the look was fleeting.
Ella stood frozen, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she watched him go. She had never felt so exposed in her life, her heart pounding in her ears as Muhammad retreated, leaving the room colder in his absence.
She could still feel the weight of his gaze, still feel the phantom touch of his fingers on her skin. And as the door clicked softly behind him, she realized she wasn't just questioning her desires and she was afraid of them.