The office felt the same. The fluorescent lights flickered in their usual dull, humming glow, casting long, sterile shadows across the rows of identical cubicles. The rhythmic tap-and-click of keyboards filled the space, a familiar, monotonous heartbeat. The quiet murmurs of coworkers discussing deadlines and weekend plans shaped the routine that Alina had lived through, endured, for the past five years.
Yet, something was undeniably, fundamentally different.
Alina wasn't invisible today.
Well, she wasn't invisible to Logan Hayes, at least. And for reasons she couldn't begin to untangle, that seemed to change everything.
From the moment she stepped into the office, a nervous energy coiling in her stomach, she felt his glances. They weren't overt or predatory, but brief, lingering, and thoughtful. A quick look when she walked past his desk to the coffee machine. Another when she was focused on her screen, a sudden prickling sensation on the back of her neck that made her instinctively know he was looking her way. He wasn't staring, but his eyes found her more times in the first hour of the workday than they had in the previous five years combined.
She tried to focus on her work, to lose herself in the familiar, comforting black and white of never-ending spreadsheets. But the quiet, constant awareness of him lingered at the very edge of her thoughts, a warm, distracting hum. Every time she felt his gaze, the memory of the previous night would rush back—the dark club, his sudden appearance, the steady warmth of his presence beside her at the bar, the easy quiet of their walk home.
Then came his first approach of the day.
He materialized beside her desk so silently that she didn't notice him until he spoke. He was leaning just slightly against the gray fabric of the partition, his arms crossed casually over his chest.
"Nice shirt," he said, his voice a low, casual murmur.
Alina blinked, surprised by the directness, her train of thought completely derailed. She glanced up at him, then followed his gaze down to herself, and the realization hit her like a tidal wave of pure, hot mortification.
Her shirt—her simple, white button-up shirt—was a button shy of completion. In her distracted, post-Emeraldia haze that morning, she must have missed one. A sliver of exposed skin from her sternum peeked through the open gap, and worse, it was positioned directly at the top of her cleavage.
Her face burned, a furious, uncontrollable blush creeping up her neck.
Hayes, however, seemed completely unbothered. A light, easy smile touched his lips, crinkling the corners of his eyes. He didn't linger or make her feel exposed; he simply gave a small, almost imperceptible nod before turning and walking away, leaving her in a state of pure, heart-pounding panic.
Alina's hands flew to her shirt, fumbling through her desk drawer with clumsy, frantic urgency in search of an office pin, a paperclip—anything.
She wasn't mad about the attention, she realized as she finally managed to secure the gap with a small safety pin. She wasn't upset by his lingering eyes, or even by him pointing out her mistake.
But she wasn't used to it, either. Not from anyone, and certainly not from him.
Did she… enjoy it?
The question surfaced in her mind, startling her. She had no idea. All she knew was that something in her stirred—a feeling foreign and completely unfamiliar, a nervous, thrilling flicker of something she couldn't possibly name. It was the feeling of being seen.
Get it together, Alina.
She let out a deep, shaky breath, trying to force her focus back to her work. But the moment, the feeling of his gaze on her, refused to fade.
The hours dragged on, each one marked by that same quiet awareness. Logan continued sparing glances her way, not in a distracting or obvious way, but in a subtle manner that left her constantly, electrically aware of him. It was a silent conversation happening across the sterile landscape of the office, and she had no idea what it meant.
And then, just as the clock struck five and the office began to empty out, he appeared at her desk again.
"Want me to walk you home?"
The question was so simple, so direct, it caught her completely off guard. Alina turned in her seat, her half-packed bag sitting on her desk.
"Why?" she asked, the word out of her mouth before she could stop it. It wasn't defensive, but genuinely curious. Why her? Why now?
Logan shrugged, his expression open and unreadable. "No reason. Just heading in the same direction."
She searched his face for something more, for some hidden motive or a hint of pity, but found nothing except a quiet, disarming sincerity. Was tonight different? Was he different? Or was she the one who had changed?
She didn't know.
But deep down, a new instinct, one born from reckless adventures in magical kingdoms, told her she shouldn't say no.
So she nodded, her heart giving a small, uncertain flutter. "Alright."
And just like that, the two of them stepped out of the sterile chill of the office together, into the city streets where the evening was waiting, alive with colour and sound.
The walk was unhurried. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of warm pavement after the sun had settled, the distant hum of cars merging with the soft murmurs of late conversations from passing strangers. The sky above was a beautiful, deep violet, a pale imitation of Emeraldia's living cosmos, but beautiful in its own right.
Logan didn't talk much at first, creating a comfortable silence that felt companionable rather than awkward. But when he did speak, it was effortless.
They drifted into a conversation about small, simple things—the frustrating absurdity of their latest work project, the merits of different coffee shops in the area, places he wanted to visit someday. He asked her about the book she'd been reading, and to her own surprise, Alina found herself talking about it, sharing opinions she never thought to voice, things she never thought to share about herself.
She found herself relaxing, walking beside him with a kind of easy rhythm she hadn't expected. She stole occasional glances at him, taking in the way his sharp, handsome features softened under the dim, orange glow of the passing streetlights, how his solid, reassuring presence felt so unlike anything she had ever known.
Reality didn't feel as painful tonight. The sharp, aching grief for Emeraldia was still there, a constant hum beneath the surface. She still longed for it with every fiber of her being.
But Logan, in his quiet, unassuming way, was making tonight feel lighter. Like maybe—just maybe—she wasn't so alone in this world after all.
They stopped in front of the familiar brick facade of her apartment building far too soon. Logan stuffed his hands into his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels as a moment of silence stretched between them.
"You alright?" he asked, his voice soft, his gaze searching.
Alina met his eyes and found only genuine concern. She nodded slowly. "Yeah. I am."
"Thanks for walking me," she said, her voice softer than usual.
Logan smirked slightly, a familiar hint of his easy charm returning. "Anytime."
They lingered there—just for a few seconds, an eternity in the quiet of the night. The air was charged with unspoken words, and for a wild, breathless moment, Alina wondered if there was something else waiting to be said, something waiting to happen.
But then Logan nodded once, his easy smile fully intact. "Get some rest, Alina."
He turned to leave.
She watched him disappear down the street, his silhouette shrinking into the distance, feeling something undeniable and deeply confusing settle in her chest.
Tonight was different. Something had shifted, not with a magical thunderclap, but with the quiet, inexorable pull of a tide.
And as she walked into her empty apartment, she wasn't sure how she felt about that yet.