The first crack appeared during a late meeting.
It had dragged on longer than planned, the conference room lit too brightly, the air stale with overused talking points. I was halfway through presenting when I felt it — attention, focused and heavy.
Noah.
He sat across the table, hands folded, eyes fixed on me. Not on the screen. On me.
I faltered for half a second.
Not enough for anyone else to notice. Enough for him to notice that I noticed.
Our eyes held.
Something passed between us. Not attraction exactly. Recognition.
When the meeting ended, people filtered out in clusters, already shifting back into office personas. I packed my laptop slowly, grounding myself.
"You handled that well," Noah said quietly, stopping beside me.
"Thank you," I replied. My voice sounded steadier than I felt.
He hesitated, then nodded once, as if deciding not to say something else. And just like that, he walked away.
The silence he left behind followed me.
Later that evening, as I shut down my computer, Luca appeared at my desk.
"Long day," he said lightly.
"You could say that."
He leaned against the partition, casual but attentive. "A few of us are grabbing a drink. No pressure."
I almost said no. Habit pushed the word to my tongue.
But then I thought of the way Noah had looked at me. The way something inside my chest had stirred — not desire, not exactly. Awareness.
"Okay," I said instead. "One drink."
Luca smiled, slow and genuine. "Fair warning. One drink usually turns into two."
I didn't know it then, but that was the moment the balance shifted.
Two men. Two silences.
And for the first time in years, my life felt… unfinished.