Isabelle hadn't meant for it to come to this.
She'd promised herself she wouldn't let things with Robert — whatever this was — get tangled into her life like ivy around old stone. But the silence between them had stretched into something unbearable. Days turned into weeks of polite, distant emails. No shared coffee breaks, no small glances across the boardroom, no quiet, unspoken warmth between them.
So when the loneliness began pressing against her ribs, she opened the dating app again.
At first, it felt absurd. Her thumb hovered over the screen, uncertain. The faces that flickered by felt like strangers from another world — men with no real idea who she was, or what it meant to balance two children, a demanding job and the faint echo of a heart that still wanted more.
Messages began arriving faster than she could read them.
Some were clumsy attempts at charm, others crude or careless. A few made her skin crawl. She blocked those immediately, muttering under her breath, What am I doing?
For two days, she ignored the app. Then one night, she reopened it — and there was a match.
Will.
His photo was simple: neat shirt, open smile, eyes that looked genuinely kind. His bio was light, thoughtful, free of arrogance. A man who liked to cook, travel, and walk in parks with his dog. He seemed… ordinary. Comfortingly so.
She hesitated, then swiped right.
A message appeared instantly.
They chatted easily over the next few evenings. He asked about her favorite books, her weekends with the kids, her job. He was polite. He didn't pry.
By Thursday, when he asked if she'd like to meet for a drink on Friday, she surprised herself by saying yes.
It wasn't nerves that filled her stomach on Friday morning — it was guilt.
Ridiculous, she told herself, for feeling as though she were doing something wrong. But every time she caught herself thinking of Robert — his quiet voice, his half-smile, the way his eyes softened when he looked at her — she forced the thoughts away.
It doesn't matter anymore, she told herself. He's made his position clear. We're colleagues. Nothing more.
Robert had buried himself in work.
It was easier that way — easier to drown in reports and strategy plans than to think about what had happened that night in the cab.
He'd replayed it more times than he cared to admit: the way her eyes had widened when he kissed her, the warmth of her breath, the quiet shock between them. And then, the look she gave him when he apologized — soft, unsure, almost tender.
That look had haunted him for weeks.
So he did what he always did when things became too complicated — he withdrew. He worked from home more, gave curt, efficient replies, and convinced himself it was for her sake as much as his own.
You can't trust yourself around her, he reminded himself. And she deserves better than a man who's already broken.
Still, there were moments — fleeting, unguarded — when he'd catch her name in his inbox or imagine her passing through the corridors and feel that same restless pull in his chest. Then he'd bury it again. Distance was discipline. Discipline was safety.
The Riverbank Bar was warm and softly lit, filled with the gentle hum of conversation. Isabelle arrived a few minutes early, scanning the room nervously until she saw him — Will, waiting near the window, smiling as soon as their eyes met.
He stood to greet her, a little awkward, but polite and for the first time in months, she felt… excited. In that moment, she was not an assistant, not a mother juggling too much, but simply a woman.
Their conversation flowed easily. He was attentive, interested, charming in a quiet way. He didn't interrupt, didn't overshare. When he laughed, it was genuine, and it made her laugh too — softly at first, then more freely as the minutes turned to hours.
When the evening ended, she realised with faint surprise that she had enjoyed herself. Really enjoyed herself. There were no hidden motives, no unspoken rules, no invisible walls to tiptoe around. Just two people sharing a drink and some conversation.
For the first time in months, she felt lighter.
Robert spent the evening alone at his desk, the city stretching beyond the glass. He told himself he preferred it this way — the solitude, the order, the control. The distance between them had begun to feel almost normal, a line he refused to cross again.
Although he didn't know where she was or what she was doing, he reminded himself it was none of his concern.
He told himself that often.
He told himself until he almost believed it, it almost sounded true.
London's night air was cool as she headed home, her thoughts a quiet, tangled mix of emotions. Her phone buzzed, and she glanced down.
Will:I really enjoyed tonight. You're lovely company. I'd like to see you again, if you'd be up for it.
A small, involuntary smile touched her lips. She stopped on the corner, reading the message again under the glow of a streetlamp.
It wasn't fireworks or passion, but it was… nice. Gentle. Safe.
For a long moment, she just stood there, phone in hand, the city humming softly around her. And then, quietly, deliberately, she tucked every thought of Robert — his voice, his steadiness, that kiss — somewhere deep where she wouldn't have to feel them anymore.
There's no point, she told herself firmly. We're too different. Different lives, different worlds. It was never meant to be.
She typed a reply to Will — light, kind, and open — and then slipped her phone into her coat pocket.
As she walked the final stretch home, her steps were steady, her smile faint but real.