The week blurred into one long stretch of motion — code, meetings, and caffeine stitched together by willpower.
Willow's department was running on fumes and adrenaline, pushing to finish their current healthcare interface upgrade before taking on the next big thing.
She'd promised Malik the final rollout would be flawless before the Star Engineering proposal meeting next week. That meant late nights, black coffee, and the quiet hum of screens long after most of the office had gone home.
She didn't mind. Busyness was armor.
The noise of work left no room for ghosts.
Her phone buzzed across the desk, breaking her focus.
She glanced down — and froze.
Zane Reyes.
The message preview glowed on the screen.
Zane: You're impossible to reach. I'm starting to think you're avoiding me.
Her thumb hovered over the phone. She wasn't avoiding him — not exactly.
She was postponing him.
There was a difference.
On impulse, she scrolled upward — and winced.
A handful of messages blinked in pale blue, still unread.
One missed call. Then another. Both late at night. Both unanswered.
For a second, guilt slipped through her calm like static.
He'd reached out more than once, and she'd chosen silence each time — not cruelty, just self-preservation dressed as discipline.
She finally typed a reply:
Willow: Not avoiding. Just busy. Deadlines are carnivorous this week.
The reply came faster than she expected.
Zane: Carnivorous? Should I worry about the survival rate of your team?
She exhaled softly — not quite laughter, not quite relief.
Willow: We're fine. Mild casualties. The coffee machine didn't make it.
Zane: Tragic. I'll send flowers.
Her lips curved before she caught herself.
This was dangerous. The kind of lightness that made her forget the rules she'd built to keep from falling.
She flipped the phone face-down on her desk and turned back to her monitor.
Focus. Logic. Code.
By Friday, she'd almost convinced herself it didn't matter.
The kiss, the messages, the electricity between them — all neatly boxed and filed in the back of her mind.
Malik appeared at her office door around noon, balancing an espresso cup and chaos in equal measure.
"Okay," he said, "you're not gonna believe what IT did."
Willow didn't look up. "Given that introduction, I probably will."
"They sent the company-wide QA reminder to everyone instead of just the dev team. HR, finance, cleaning staff — all invited to your test run tomorrow."
Her head snapped up. "Everyone?"
He nodded solemnly. "Even the guy who runs the vending machines. He RSVP'd yes."
Willow blinked, then groaned. "Perfect. A cross-departmental seminar on code validation. Just what I needed."
"Look at it this way," Malik said, deadpan. "If the power grid fails, we'll have a full audience to panic efficiently."
That earned him a short, unwilling laugh. "You realize I'm holding you personally responsible for this circus?"
He raised a hand. "Guilty as charged. I'll bring popcorn."
"Bring earplugs," she countered, shaking her head.
"Duly noted." He gave her a quick grin and vanished down the corridor, still chuckling.
The laughter stayed behind like a faint echo, loosening something tight in her chest. For a fleeting moment, the world felt lighter — like maybe not everything had to be dissected or controlled.
Then her phone buzzed again.
Zane.
Zane: Survived another day?
Willow: Barely. My meeting tomorrow now includes HR, finance, and the janitorial team.
Zane: The multidisciplinary dream. I'm sure innovation will follow.
Willow: Someone will probably ask if code comes in gluten-free.
Zane: I'd pay to hear that.
Willow: I'll record it. Sell tickets. Retire early.
Zane: Or tell me about it over coffee.
Her fingers hesitated. He made it sound so easy. So harmless.
But easy was dangerous.
Willow: Not this weekend. I've got final reports to file and a proposal to prep.
Zane: Right. Work first.
No emoji. No follow-up. Just those two words — quiet and steady.
She told herself she'd reply later.
She didn't.
That night, the apartment was silent except for the faint hum of the fridge and the low rhythm of traffic beyond the window.
Willow sat at her desk, reviewing the project completion checklist for the fifth time. Every box ticked felt like another inch of distance between her and what she wasn't ready to face.
The lavender diffuser hissed softly beside her. She'd begun to hate the smell — too calm, too deceptive. It didn't smell like peace anymore. It smelled like pretending.
Her phone buzzed one last time.
Zane: Goodnight, Willow.
No pretense. No teasing. Just simplicity.
She didn't answer.
Instead, she reached for the remote, dimmed the lights, and leaned back in her chair — watching the faint reflection of her own face in the window glass.
The city shimmered outside, restless and alive.
She pressed her palm to her chest, as if to quiet the pulse that wouldn't settle.
She wasn't angry. She wasn't confused.
She was just… waiting.
Waiting until she could look at what was happening and name it properly. Until she could open it like a wound without flinching.
For now, she would do what she did best.
Shelf it.
Catalog it.
Return to it later, when her hands weren't shaking.
She turned the phone facedown again, the screen still glowing faintly beneath her fingertips, and whispered to herself — half a promise, half a lie:
"After the meeting. Then I'll decide."
Outside, the night kept its own secrets.
Inside, Willow sat motionless — a woman caught between calculation and feeling — pretending the silence between them wasn't growing louder by the hour.