I let one moment exist. Then another. Then another. I tell myself it’s harmless, it’s controlled, it’s temporary. They stay because it feels good. Because someone is being kind. Because someone is choosing you. And then one day, they don’t. And Iam left standing in the same place, wondering how I didn’t see it coming. I know this pattern. I have lived this pattern.
And yet—I exhale slowly, the tension in my chest not easing the way it should. He doesn’t fit into that pattern neatly. That’s the problem. He doesn’t disappear when things get uncomfortable. He doesn’t back off when I push. He doesn’t get offended when I snap or shut him down. If anything, he just…adjusts. Softens. Waits.
Who does that? Who stays when it’s not easy? I turn my head slightly, staring at the wall now instead of the ceiling.
He does.
That thought settles in quietly, without drama. He shows up. Again and again and again. And I don’t know what to do with that. Because it leaves me with no excuse. If he were careless, I could dismiss him. If he were shallow, I could ignore him. If he were predictable, I could manage him. But he’s none of those things. He’s…
steady. And that makes him dangerous in a completely different way.
I am tired. Not physically. Something deeper than that. Tired of holding everything so tightly. Tired of always being the one who leaves first. Tired of building walls and then living inside them like they’re the only safe place left. Tired of pretending I don’t want what everyone else seems to have so easily.
Connection. Presence. Someone who stays. The thought feels foreign. Uncomfortable. But also…tempting. I let out a slow breath, the tension in my shoulders easing just a little. I don’t want to fight him anymore. For once, I don’t want to pushsomeone away just because I can. I turn onto my side, pulling the blanket closer, curling into it slightly.
What if…The thought is quiet. Fragile. What if I don’t run this time? What if I just…let it happen? Not everything. Not all at once. Just a little. Let someone see the parts I usually hide. The messy ones. The ones I keep locked away because they’re too much, too complicated, too difficult to explain. I close my eyes. If there is someone I could even consider trusting, even briefly—It’s him.
And that realization doesn’t feel as terrifying as it should. It feels…quiet. Like something inside me has stopped fighting for just a moment. Just long enough to breathe.
CHAPTER 39
ISHIKA
The office is quieter at night. Not silent—never completely silent—but softer in a way that makes everything feel more…honest. The hum of machines fades into the background, footsteps disappear, conversations dissolve, and what’s left is just work and thought and whatever you’ve been trying to avoid all day.
I prefer this version of the world. It doesn’t ask questions. It doesn’t look at you too closely. It lets you exist without needing to explain anything.
I sit at my desk, shoulders slightly hunched, pencil moving over paper with the kind of focus that only comes when I’ve been at it for hours. Lines, textures, placements—I refine everything again and again, adjusting things that most people wouldn’t even notice.
But I would. And that’s enough reason. This office—his office—is almost done in my head now. The way the light will fall across the walls. The way the space will open up instead of closing in. The way it will feel less like a place people sit in and more like a place people stay in. For some reason, I want his office to be warm and inciting, like he is.
I pause, tapping the pencil lightly against the edge of the page, scanning the layout one last time. Something still feels off. I shift in my chair, tucking one leg beneath me, leaning closer. Maybe the seating needs to move slightly. Maybe the color needs a softer transition. Maybe—I erase a line and redraw it.
Better. A small breath escapes me.
I didn’t even realize I was holding it. When I finally sit back, stretching my arms above my head, my spine protests quietly. I glance at the clock.
It’s late. Very late. Of course it is. Time disappears when I work like this. I gather the sheets, stacking them neatly, sliding them into the folder with a quiet sense of completion settling somewhere inside me. Not perfect. It will never be perfect. But close enough to feel right.
I shut down the lights in my area, locking up carefully, double-checking everything out of habit.
Then I step out into the corridor. And that’s when I notice. The faint light spilling out from his office. My steps falter. For a second, I just stand there, staring at that soft glow slipping through the glass.
He’s still here. Something in my chest tightens unexpectedly.
Why?
He didn’t have to stay. He had meetings. Calls. A life outside this place. But somewhere inside my heart I know he’s here for me. People don’t stay late for me. People don’t rearrange their day around me. People don’t…I exhale slowly, annoyed at the direction my thoughts are taking.
It’s probably work. He’s the CEO. He stays late. That’s normal. Still…my feet move before I can convince myself otherwise. I walk toward his office, steps quieter than usual, like I’m trying not to disturb something fragile. The door is slightly open. I push it gently. And then I stop at the sight. He’s asleep. Head resting on his folded arms, shoulders slightly slumped forward, the table lamp casting a warm, soft light across his face.
Everything about him looks…different. Not the sharp, confident man who walks into rooms like he owns them. Not the one who teases me until I want to throw something at him or punch him square in the face. Not the one who always has something to say. Just…him. Still and so unaware. Peaceful in a way I’ve rarely seen before.
My chest tightens again, this time in a way that feels heavier. He stayed. For what? Work? Or—No. I shake the thought away immediately. Don’t go there. Don’t assume things. Don’t make this something it isn’t. And yet…No one stays this late for no reason, especially if they’re sleepy. I step inside quietly, closing the door behind me without a sound. The room feels warmer than the hallway. More…intimate.
I walk toward the desk slowly, like I’m afraid of breaking something just by being here. Up close, he looks even more unfair.
The soft light traces the line of his jaw, the slight curve of his lips, the way his hair has fallen messily across his forehead.
