Monday mornings had a specific kind of tired.
Not the dramatic kind that made people complain loudly, but the quiet kind that settled into shoulders and eyes. The office looked the same as always—glass walls, soft keyboard sounds, half-finished coffees—but everyone moved a little slower.
Aanya slipped into her chair, placed her bag down, and exhaled.
She hadn't slept well.
Not because anything was wrong. Nothing was.
But her mind had refused to shut up.
Her phone buzzed once.
She didn't check it immediately. She opened her laptop, adjusted her chair, tied her hair into a loose ponytail. Only then did she glance down.
Unknown:
Monday already feels unfair.
She smiled before she could stop herself.
Aanya:
It hasn't even been two hours.
Unknown:
Exactly my point.
She typed while pretending to review a design brief.
Aanya:
Rough morning?
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Then—
Unknown:
Not rough. Just… loud. Too many things happening at once.
She thought of the office around her. The overlapping conversations, the printers, the phones ringing.
Aanya:
I get that. Silence feels expensive these days.
This time, his reply came quickly.
Unknown:
That's a nice way to put it.
She paused, fingers hovering.
She liked that he noticed small things.
She liked that he didn't turn everything into a joke.
Her phone buzzed again.
Unknown:
Do you work somewhere busy?
Aanya hesitated.
They had never talked about work in detail. It wasn't a rule, exactly — just something they both seemed to avoid.
Aanya:
Sometimes.
That was true enough.
Across the office, Rohan adjusted the strap of his watch and stared at his screen without really seeing it.
The network issue he'd been fixing was simple. He'd solved harder problems before. Still, his attention kept drifting.
He glanced down at his phone, thumb hovering.
Do you work somewhere busy?
Why had he asked that?
He locked the screen and leaned back, rubbing his eyes.
"Morning," someone said.
He looked up to see Vikram standing near his desk, holding a file.
"Morning," Rohan replied.
"Need you to check something on the server later," Vikram said. "Not urgent."
"Sure."
Vikram nodded and walked off.
Rohan's eyes moved, almost on instinct, toward the design section.
Aanya was there—head slightly tilted, eyes focused, one leg tucked under her chair.
She looked calm. Thoughtful.
For reasons he couldn't explain, that always made him pause.
Around eleven, the printer jammed.
Again.
Aanya sighed softly, pushing her chair back. "Of course you would," she muttered under her breath.
She stood, tugging the paper tray out carefully. It refused to budge.
"Need help?"
The voice came from behind her.
She turned.
Rohan.
"Oh—yeah," she said. "It's stuck."
He crouched slightly, fingers working the tray with practiced ease. "It does this when people overfill it."
Aanya winced. "I might be guilty."
He gave a small smile—not teasing, just understanding.
The tray slid free.
"There," he said. "Should work now."
"Thanks," she replied. "You've saved me from publicly losing my patience."
"That would've been tragic."
She laughed—quiet, surprised.
For half a second, they stood there, not awkward, not close, just… present.
Then Maya called out from her desk. "Aanya! Did it work?"
"Yes!" Aanya replied.
Rohan nodded once and stepped back.
"See you," he said.
"Yeah," she answered. "See you."
She watched him walk away longer than necessary.
Then she shook her head and returned to her desk.
At lunch, Aanya sat with Maya near the window.
"You look lighter today," Maya said, poking at her salad.
"Do I?"
"Yeah. Less 'I hate Mondays' energy."
Aanya shrugged. "Maybe I'm just tired of being dramatic."
Maya snorted. "Unlikely."
Aanya smiled but didn't respond.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She didn't check it right away.
Rohan ate alone, scrolling through emails.
His phone vibrated.
Aanya:
Printer crisis avoided. Barely.
He smiled, despite himself.
Unknown:
Sounds intense.
Aanya:
You have no idea.
He typed, deleted, typed again.
Unknown:
Some battles don't look serious from the outside.
He hesitated, then added—
Unknown:
But they still count.
Across the office, Aanya froze slightly.
That sentence felt… familiar.
Not in a scary way. Just in a how did you say exactly what I needed way.
Aanya:
I like how you think.
Three dots.
Unknown:
I was hoping you would.
She felt warmth spread through her chest—quiet, steady.
The afternoon passed in small pieces.
Aanya submitted her designs. Rohan fixed another minor issue. Meetings came and went.
They didn't speak again.
But when Aanya stood to leave, she noticed something.
Her charger—missing.
She checked her bag. Her desk. Nothing.
"Looking for this?"
She turned.
Rohan held out a white cable.
"Oh!" she said. "I thought I lost it."
"It was plugged in near my desk," he said. "Figured it was yours."
"Thank you," she said, taking it. "I'd be useless without it."
"Same," he replied.
Another pause.
Not uncomfortable. Just… unfinished.
"Have a good evening," he said.
"You too."
As she walked toward the exit, she felt the strange urge to turn back.
She didn't.
The metro ride home was quieter than usual.
Aanya stood near the door, one hand holding the pole, the other clutching her phone.
Unknown:
Did your day end better than it started?
She smiled.
Aanya:
Yeah. Surprisingly.
Unknown:
Good.
She typed, erased, then finally sent—
Aanya:
Do you ever feel like some days are made of small things, but they still matter?
The reply came slower this time.
Unknown:
All the time.
Unknown:
Those are usually the days I remember later.
Her chest tightened, just a little.
That night, she lay on her bed, lights off, fan humming softly.
They talked about nothing important.
A funny video he'd seen.
A song she couldn't get out of her head.
How chai tasted better at night.
No names. No faces.
Just words.
Before sleeping, Aanya typed—
Aanya:
I like talking to you.
There was a pause long enough for doubt to creep in.
Then—
Unknown:
Me too.
She placed her phone beside her pillow and closed her eyes.
The next morning, Rohan reached the office early.
As he passed Aanya's desk, he noticed a sticky note on her screen.
Client review at 11. Don't forget.
He hesitated.
Then, carefully, he adjusted the note so it wouldn't fall.
She noticed later.
She didn't say anything.
But she smiled.
Nothing had happened.
And yet—something had.
Not a revelation. Not a moment.
Just a quiet shift.
Like two lines moving closer without touching.
Not yet.