Harvey noticed the missed call when he was halfway through an email.
His phone sat face down near the edge of the desk, silent most of the day. He flipped it over without thinking and saw his mother's name on the screen. No message. Just the call, already past.
He stared at it for a second, then put the phone back down and finished the email first.
The rest of the morning moved the way it usually did. A short request from a client team. A reminder from David. A few small edits to a report that had already been reviewed twice. Nothing worth remembering.
Jake's voice carried across the aisle.
"Yeah, that should work," Jake said, speaking to someone Harvey couldn't see. "We can lock it and send it today."
Harvey looked up and saw Jake standing near David's desk. David was listening with his arms crossed, expression neutral. Jake was talking like he belonged there, relaxed and confident, like the discussion was already his responsibility.
David nodded once. "Okay. Do it."
Jake turned, walked back toward his own desk, and passed Harvey without stopping.
A few minutes later, Harvey's inbox refreshed. An email thread appeared with a subject line he recognized. Jake had already sent a summary. David had replied with a short approval.
Harvey scrolled down and found a familiar line.
Based on earlier analysis.
No name. No attachment. Just the phrase.
He read it once, then closed the email.
It wasn't new. It was the kind of thing that happened in places like this. Work flowed toward whoever held the conversation, not whoever built the foundation.
Harvey opened a spreadsheet and went back to what he was doing.
Around late morning, Emily passed by his desk.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey."
She smiled. "You alive?"
"Yeah."
"Good." She tapped the edge of his desk lightly, like a habit, then continued walking.
She didn't stop. She didn't ask if he was coming to lunch. She didn't slow down long enough for the question to appear.
Harvey watched her for a moment, then looked back at his screen.
By the time noon arrived, he realized he hadn't eaten anything. He saved his work, stood up, and headed toward the break area.
Emily was there, but not at their usual table.
She sat closer to the window again, lunch open, talking with two coworkers Harvey recognized but didn't know well. They weren't laughing loudly or doing anything that would draw attention. It looked normal, like it had always been normal.
Emily noticed him and lifted her hand slightly in greeting. She didn't wave him over. She didn't look away either.
Harvey hesitated, then walked toward the fridge to grab his lunch.
He could have joined them. The table had room. Emily had made eye contact. No one would have minded.
He didn't.
He chose a different table, closer to the wall, and sat down alone.
He ate slowly, watching the room without meaning to. The break area had its own rhythm, people sitting and leaving, groups forming and dissolving without ceremony. Emily spoke with her coworkers for a while, then glanced at her phone and stood.
She walked past Harvey's table on her way out.
"See you later," she said.
"Yeah," he replied.
She didn't stop.
Harvey finished eating and threw his trash away. He returned to his desk and worked through the afternoon without interruption. His phone buzzed once near three.
A message from Jake.
Client wants a quick update before end of day. Can you confirm the numbers from your last sheet still hold.
Harvey checked the numbers, replied yes, then attached the updated file. Jake responded with a thumbs up and nothing else.
Near four, Harvey looked at his phone again and remembered the missed call.
He stepped away from his desk and called his mother back in the hallway near the elevators, where the noise was lower.
Elaine picked up on the second ring.
"There you are," she said. "I was wondering when you'd call."
"I was working," Harvey replied.
"I know," she said, like she had already expected that. "Did you eat today?"
"Yeah."
"Real food?"
Harvey paused. "Lunch."
Elaine sighed softly, not dramatic, just familiar. "Okay. How's your head? From that accident."
"It's fine."
"And work?"
"It's fine too."
His mother let a second of silence sit between them.
"You sound tired," she said.
Harvey looked down at the carpeted floor. "Just busy."
"Busy is fine," she said. "Just don't forget to sleep."
"I won't."
"Are you coming by this weekend?"
Harvey thought about it. He didn't have plans, but he also didn't want to commit to something he might postpone.
"I'll see," he said.
"Okay," Elaine replied easily, as if she already knew that answer. "No pressure. Just call me, alright?"
"Yeah."
They talked for another minute about nothing important. His dad was working late. A neighbor had adopted a dog. Someone from the family had posted too many photos in the group chat again.
Then his mother said goodbye, and the call ended.
Harvey stood still for a moment, phone in hand, then slipped it back into his pocket and returned to his desk.
Emily passed by again near the end of the day, walking faster this time. She seemed focused on getting somewhere, not wandering.
"You heading out?" Harvey asked.
Emily looked over. "In a bit. I've got something to finish."
"Okay."
She smiled. "See you."
"Yeah."
That was it.
On his way home, Harvey walked the same streets he always did. Lights turned on in apartment windows. Cars moved in steady lines. A man argued on the phone loudly near a bus stop, voice sharp against the evening air.
Harvey checked his phone once, then put it away.
At home, he changed clothes and started cooking without thinking too much about it. The meal was simple, the kind that didn't require attention. He ate at the table and washed the dishes right after.
His phone buzzed while he was drying his hands.
Emily.
Heading out with some coworkers. Talk later.
Harvey read it once.
Okay, he typed back.
He stared at the message for a moment after sending it, then set the phone down.
He could have asked where they were going. He could have suggested meeting later. He could have joked, something small, something easy.
He didn't.
The apartment stayed quiet.
Harvey moved around it anyway, picking up a shirt he had left on the chair, placing it in the laundry basket, wiping down the counter even though it wasn't dirty. Small tasks that gave his hands something to do.
Later, he sat on the couch and turned on the TV, then turned it off again after ten minutes. The show didn't hold him.
He checked his phone once more. No new messages.
Before bed, he opened his notebook.
He looked at the last page, then closed it without writing.
The day had been ordinary.
Work had moved forward. Lunch had happened. Calls had been returned. People had said the usual words and meant them.
Nothing had broken.
Still, as he lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, he found himself thinking about the empty space between small moments. The half second before choosing a table. The pause before sending a text. The way a day could slip into a slightly different shape without anyone announcing it.
Harvey turned onto his side and closed his eyes.
He slept.