The knock lingered in the air for only a second before Chak's hand slowed against my back and then stilled completely, and I felt the shift in him again—that quiet, controlled return to the version of himself the rest of the world was allowed to see—yet he didn't move away from me, not immediately, not yet.
"Five minutes," he said, his voice calm but firm, directed toward the door without raising it, without needing to, because even that small response carried enough authority to be understood.
Then, before the moment could fully slip away, he leaned closer.
I felt his breath first, warm against my ear, and then his voice—lower now, softer, meant only for me.
"You always come first," he whispered, each word deliberate, steady, "even if it's just five minutes… as long as it's with me."
Something in my chest tightened instantly, not painfully, just enough to make me aware of how deeply those words settled in me, and before I could respond, his lips brushed mine in a gentle, unhurried kiss—soft, but not fleeting, lingering just enough to make it real, to make it stay.
When he pulled back, I looked at him, searching his expression, still close enough that there was no space for anything false between us.
"Chaky…" I murmured quietly, the nickname slipping out without thought, natural in a way it never was anywhere else, "after work… will we have some time for just the two of us, or are we going straight to the event?"
He held my gaze for a moment, considering, calculating—because of course he was—but with me, it never felt cold.
"About an hour," he replied, his tone steady, certain. "We'll have time."
I smiled, small but genuine, the answer settling easily inside me.
"That's more than enough."
For a brief second, I didn't move.
Then I let out a quiet breath and leaned just slightly closer again, not wanting to let go of the moment yet.
"I don't want to go back to work," I admitted, softer now, almost reluctant, my fingers still lightly holding onto his shirt. "I want to stay here… with you. I don't even mind sitting on your lap while you work."
That finally made him smile.
Not the controlled one.
The real one.
It was subtle, but I saw it—the way it reached his eyes just slightly before he leaned back a little, giving me just enough space to shift.
"At home," he said, a hint of warmth still in his voice, "you can do that."
Then, more firmly, though not unkindly—
"Now we stand up."
I sighed quietly under my breath, but I didn't argue.
Instead, I pushed myself up from his lap, the loss of contact immediate and noticeable, even if I tried not to show it, and as soon as I was fully standing, his hands moved again—not to pull me back this time, but to adjust my shirt, smoothing the fabric, fixing the slight creases like it mattered more than it should.
I watched him for a second before reaching out myself, doing the same to him, straightening his collar, brushing away something invisible from his shoulder, my fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary.
Neither of us commented on it.
We didn't have to.
Then, just as I turned to leave, I paused.
It wasn't planned.
I just… did it.
I leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his lips—short, but certain—before stepping back without waiting for a reaction, because if I stayed any longer, I knew I wouldn't want to leave at all.
I turned and walked toward the door, opening it and stepping out into the office like nothing had happened.
But the moment I did—
I saw her.
One of the coworkers, standing not too far away, her expression tight, unmistakably annoyed, her eyes locking onto me the second I appeared.
"Finally," she said sharply, her voice edged with irritation. "What were you doing in there for so long?"
I didn't slow down.
Didn't hesitate.
I looked at her, my expression calm, controlled—colder than I usually let it be.
"That's none of your business," I replied evenly, my tone leaving no space for further questions.
And then I walked past her.
Straight to my desk.
Sat down.
And continued working—
as if my heart wasn't still somewhere back in that office,
as if five minutes hadn't just meant everything.
I tried to focus.
I really did.
My eyes were on the documents in front of me, my pen moving in steady, practiced motions across the page, notes forming where they needed to, corrections precise, controlled—everything exactly the way it should be.
And yet—
none of it felt entirely real.
Because part of me was still there.
Still on that couch.
Still leaning into him.
Still hearing his voice, low and close, meant only for me.
*You always come first.*
My hand paused for just a fraction of a second before I forced it to move again, pressing the pen a little more firmly against the paper as if grounding myself through something simple, something tangible, something that didn't feel like it could slip away the moment I stopped paying attention.
Around me, the office carried on as usual—keyboards clicking, quiet conversations threading through the space, the occasional sound of footsteps passing by—but there was a subtle shift in the air, something I couldn't ignore even if I wanted to.
I could feel it.
The glances.
Not all of them.
But enough.
I didn't look up right away.
I didn't need to.
I already knew.
Still—
after a moment, I let my gaze lift slightly, just enough to confirm what I felt.
A few people quickly looked away.
Others didn't.
And her—
she didn't even try.
The same coworker from before was still watching me, her expression unchanged, sharp, almost accusing, as if she expected something from me, as if she had the right to.
I held her gaze for exactly one second.
No more.
No less.
Then I looked back down at my work.
Unbothered.
Or at least—
that's how it appeared.
Because the truth was, I didn't care what she thought.
Not enough to let it matter.
Not enough to let it reach me.
A quiet notification sound pulled my attention briefly to the side, and I glanced at my screen, expecting something work-related, something routine.
But it wasn't.
Unknown Number
My brows furrowed slightly as I opened the message, a faint unease settling in before I even read it.
"Be careful."
That was it.
No explanation.
No name.
Just two words sitting there, simple and vague, yet carrying a weight that didn't feel accidental.
My fingers hovered over the screen for a second longer than necessary.
Then I locked it.
Set it aside.
And forced myself to focus back on the documents in front of me.
It could be nothing.
A mistake.
A wrong number.
Or—
it could be something else.
I exhaled slowly, steadying myself, pushing the thought away before it could grow into something bigger than it needed to be.
Work first.
That's what mattered right now.
Still—
without meaning to, my gaze drifted briefly toward his office door.
Closed.
Silent.
Untouchable to everyone else.
And yet—
I knew exactly what was behind it.
I lowered my eyes again, a faint, almost invisible smile touching my lips before disappearing just as quickly.
One hour, I reminded myself.
Just one hour.
And somehow—
that felt like enough to get through anything.
I forced myself deeper into the rhythm of work, letting numbers, notes, and structured lines pull my attention back into something steady, something predictable, even if my mind kept slipping—quietly, persistently—back to him, to the warmth of his hand against my back, to the way his voice had softened when no one else could hear it.
Time moved.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Just enough to feel it.
And then—
my phone vibrated again.
Short.
Subtle.
But enough to break through everything else.
I didn't reach for it immediately.
I told myself I wouldn't.
That I would finish the sentence I was writing first, that I would stay focused, that I wouldn't let every small thing pull me away—
but I still picked it up.
Because somehow—
I already knew.
My screen lit up.
Chak
My fingers relaxed instantly, something in me easing before I even opened the message, and when I did, the words were exactly what I needed without me realizing I had been waiting for them.
"Meet me at the car in 30 minutes."
That was it.
Simple.
Direct.
So like him.
And yet—
I felt my lips curve into a small, quiet smile that I couldn't quite hold back, no matter how composed I tried to stay, because those words didn't just mean a meeting—
they meant *time*.
Ours.
I exhaled softly, almost silently, my thumb hovering over the screen for a second before I typed back.
"I'll be there."
I stared at the message for just a moment longer after sending it, as if letting it settle, letting the reality of it sink in properly this time.
Thirty minutes.
Not an hour.
Less.
Sooner.
Better.
I locked my phone and placed it back on the desk, straightening slightly in my chair as I forced my focus back onto the documents in front of me again, but this time—
it was different.
Lighter.
Easier.
Because now I wasn't just waiting for the end of the day.
I was counting down.
Without meaning to, my pen started moving faster, more efficiently, my thoughts clearer, sharper, as if everything had aligned just a little more now that I knew I would see him again soon—not across a desk, not with distance, not with restraint—
but outside.
Away from all of this.
I didn't look toward his office again.
I didn't need to.
Because now—
I knew exactly when.