The office felt quieter after the decision.
Not because people were afraid—but because there was nothing left to speculate about.
By mid-afternoon, the whispers had stopped. The uncertainty had settled into something solid. Predictable.
I finished my work early for the first time in days.
When I looked up, Arvan was standing in my doorway.
"Walk with me," he said softly.
Not a request.
An invitation.
We didn't go far—just to the small terrace attached to the executive floor. It was usually empty. Too exposed for meetings. Too honest for strategy.
The city stretched below us, alive and indifferent.
"You didn't have to turn it down like that," he said after a moment. "You could've handled it privately."
"I know," I replied. "But I wanted my choice to be visible. To them. To myself."
He nodded slowly.
"I used to believe visibility was dangerous," he admitted. "That it gave people leverage."
"And now?" I asked.
"Now I think hiding gives them more."
The wind lifted a few loose strands of my hair. I didn't move to fix them.
Neither did he.
"Are you sure?" he asked quietly. "Not about the job. About… staying."
I met his gaze fully.
"I'm not staying because it's safe," I said. "I'm staying because it's real."
His breath hitched just slightly.
"I won't cage you," he said. "Ever."
"I wouldn't let you," I replied.
A pause.
Then he smiled.
Not relieved.
Grounded.
That evening, we left together again—no urgency, no spectacle. Just two people moving in the same direction.
We ended up at my place.
Not planned.
Not implied.
Just… natural.
Inside, the quiet felt different from before. Less charged. More intimate.
I kicked off my shoes, setting my bag down.
"You don't have to stay," I said.
"I want to," he replied.
We sat on the couch, close but not touching, the city lights filtering in through the window.
"This is unfamiliar," he admitted. "Not needing to guard every move."
"It's okay to learn slowly," I said.
He turned to me.
"I don't want to rush this," he said. "Not because I'm unsure—but because I respect it."
My chest warmed.
"I feel the same."
He reached out then, fingers brushing mine—gentle, asking.
I intertwined them willingly.
No pressure.
No urgency.
Just presence.
He rested his forehead against mine.
"Thank you," he whispered. "For staying without shrinking."
I closed my eyes.
"Thank you," I replied, "for letting me stand without holding me."
Outside, the city kept moving.
Inside, something steadier was being built—
not on tension,
not on power,
but on intention.
And for the first time since everything began, I wasn't bracing for what came next.
I was ready for it.