For a moment, neither of us moved away.
The space between us stayed close, almost suspended, his forehead still resting lightly against mine, our breathing slowly finding the same rhythm again, like everything had narrowed down to just this—just us, just now.
My hand remained where it was, warm against his skin beneath the open fabric of his shirt, not moving further, not pulling back either, simply there, steady, aware.
He exhaled quietly.
Not tension.
Not restraint alone.
Something in between.
Then his hand shifted slightly at my waist, not pulling me closer this time, but grounding me there, reminding me—gently, but clearly—that we weren't completely outside the world waiting for us.
"Fifteen minutes," he repeated, softer now.
I huffed out a quiet breath, the corner of my lips lifting faintly, my forehead still brushing his.
"I remember."
But I didn't move right away.
Neither did he.
Another second passed.
Then another.
And slowly—without breaking the closeness too abruptly—I pulled back just enough to look at him properly again, my fingers sliding out from beneath his shirt, though they lingered for a moment at the edge of the fabric before falling away completely.
His gaze followed the movement.
Then returned to mine.
Still steady.
Still controlled.
But not untouched.
"We should stop," he said finally, his voice calm, but quieter than before, like the words cost him just a little more than he let on.
I studied him for a second, searching for any sign of doubt, of hesitation—
but there wasn't any.
Just that same certainty he carried into everything.
I nodded once.
"Yeah," I said softly.
Not disappointment.
Not really.
Because this—whatever this was—didn't feel like something that needed to be rushed or taken all at once.
It felt like something that would stay.
Something that would wait.
I shifted slightly, easing off his lap, my hand briefly brushing his shoulder for balance as I stood, the distance between us returning—but not the kind that erased what had just happened.
He adjusted his shirt without hurry, refastening the buttons I had opened with the same precise movements, restoring that familiar image of control piece by piece.
But now I knew what was underneath it.
And so did he.
"Go get ready," he said after a moment, his tone settling back into something more composed, more aligned with everything waiting outside this house. "We don't have much time."
I nodded again, though my gaze lingered on him just a second longer.
"You too," I added quietly.
A small pause followed.
Then, just before I turned away—
he reached out, his fingers brushing briefly against my wrist, light this time, almost fleeting.
I looked back.
And for a split second, something softer passed through his expression again.
Gone almost as soon as it appeared.
"Don't take too long," he said.
Simple.
But not just about the event.
I understood anyway.
And with that, I turned and headed toward the hallway, toward getting ready, toward stepping back into everything we had to be out there—
while knowing that what we had here hadn't disappeared.
It was just waiting.
Just beneath the surface.
Exactly where we left it.
By the time we stepped back into the office, everything had already shifted back into place.
The air felt sharper again, more structured, like the building itself demanded focus the moment you crossed its threshold, and Chak moved through it exactly the way he always did—composed, precise, untouchable to anyone who didn't know better.
I followed a step behind him, slipping just as easily back into my role, my posture straightening, my expression settling into something neutral, controlled.
As if nothing had happened.
As if everything hadn't.
We split off without a word, him heading toward his office, me toward my desk, the distance between us returning—but not in a way that erased what had been there before.
I sat down, pulling my notebook closer before opening it to the clean pages I had started during the meeting, my pen already in my hand.
This time, I didn't drift.
Didn't lose focus.
Everything came back clearly—every point, every decision, every adjustment that had been made after we returned. I started writing the summary, structuring it properly, organizing the details with a clarity that hadn't been there earlier.
Numbers.
Key decisions.
Deadlines.
It all lined up.
For a while, the only sound around me was the quiet movement of people working, the low hum of the office settling back into its usual rhythm.
Then—
"Niran."
I looked up.
Pim stood beside my desk, tablet in hand as always, her posture straight, her expression composed—but there was something slightly different in her gaze this time.
Lighter.
More relaxed.
"I just wanted to inform you," she said, her tone still professional, still precise, "that this will be the first time since I've been Mr. Chak's secretary that I won't be attending one of his business events."
That caught me off guard for a second.
My brows lifted slightly.
"Really?"
She nodded once.
"Yes. Usually, I handle coordination on-site, but this time…" a small pause followed, just enough to make the shift noticeable, "…it seems I'm not needed."
Something in the way she said it made me understand.
Not confusion.
Not concern.
Just quiet acknowledgment.
I glanced down at my notes for a second before looking back at her.
"I guess that means things are under control," I said lightly.
Her lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile—professional, but real.
"It would appear so."
A brief silence followed, comfortable in its own way, before she adjusted her grip on the tablet slightly.
"In that case," she added, her tone softening just a fraction, "you should enjoy it."
The words landed more directly than I expected.
Not just about the event.
I held her gaze for a second, then nodded.
"I will."
She inclined her head once, satisfied, before stepping away, already moving on to whatever came next in her schedule.
I watched her go for a moment, then looked back down at my notebook.
My pen hovered over the page.
Then continued moving.
But this time—
there was something else beneath the focus.
Something quieter.
Something that hadn't been there before.
And no matter how much I tried to keep my attention on the summary, on the work, on the structure of everything in front of me—
a small part of me was already somewhere else.
Somewhere later.
Tonight.
And I had a feeling—
it was going to be anything but simple.
I had just finished structuring the last section of the meeting summary when the quiet rhythm of the office shifted again—subtle, but noticeable enough to pull my attention up from the page.
Anamarija and Vikran.
They walked in together, her presence impossible to miss even in a space like this, where everything leaned toward neutral tones and controlled movement. She carried herself with that same effortless confidence as always, her gaze scanning the room briefly before landing on me.
I leaned back slightly in my chair, a small smile forming without thinking.
"How was yesterday?" I asked, my tone light but curious, knowing full well that if anything interesting had happened, she wouldn't just casually drop it in the middle of the office.
Her lips curved just slightly, but instead of answering, she tilted her head.
"I'll tell you later," she said, her voice smooth, carrying just enough intrigue to make it clear it was intentional.
Of course.
I huffed quietly, shaking my head a little.
"Is my brother inside?" she asked then, already shifting focus.
"Yeah," I replied, nodding toward his office.
That was all she needed.
Without another word, she turned and headed straight for his office, Vikran following just behind her, silent as always but observant, his presence steady in a way that matched hers without competing with it.
The door closed behind them.
And just like that—
the office returned to its usual rhythm.
I didn't think too much about it.
Just went back to work.
My pen moved again, finishing the final adjustments, double-checking details, making sure everything aligned the way it should. Time passed quickly when I was focused like that, the outside world fading into something distant.
So when the door opened again, I almost didn't notice at first.
Almost.
But then I looked up.
Anamarija stepped out first, Vikran right behind her, and instead of heading out or back toward wherever they had come from, she walked straight over to Pim's desk—and sat down.
Just like that.
Like she belonged there.
I blinked once, my pen pausing mid-line as I watched her turn in the chair to face me, one leg crossing over the other, completely at ease.
Before I could say anything—
more movement.
Amara.
Non.
And then Pim.
They approached together, the small shift in the group's energy immediate, like something was about to happen without anyone explicitly saying it.
Anamarija noticed Pim first.
She started to stand, a natural gesture, ready to give the seat back—
but Pim stopped her with a small motion of her hand.
"You can stay," Pim said calmly.
No tension.
No insistence.
Just quiet permission.
Anamarija studied her for half a second, then nodded once and settled back into the chair, completely unbothered, as if that had been the expected outcome all along.
Vikran moved slightly behind her, standing just to the side, his presence close but unobtrusive, like a silent anchor.
Amara stepped a little closer, her curiosity already visible.
"So?" she asked, not bothering to hide it. "How was it?"
Non leaned in just slightly too, clearly just as interested, even if he didn't say anything right away.
For a brief moment, Anamarija said nothing.
She let the silence stretch just enough to pull everyone in, her gaze moving from one to the other before finally settling.
Then she leaned forward just slightly, her expression shifting into something more deliberate.
"Listen," she said.
And just like that—
everyone did.