Something began to shift in the days after Ethan returned.
It wasn't loud or obvious — not the way office gossip usually spread like wildfire across cubicles and chat groups.
No, this change was quiet. Almost secret. Like a breeze brushing past unnoticed unless you were the one standing still enough to feel it.
Jeanna Mossvale wasn't sure when it started.
Maybe it was when he first walked back in, head down, adjusting his ID as if nothing happened and the entire floor hadn't spent days speculating about his dramatic "resignation."
Maybe it was the way his voice sounded that morning — calm but warm, greeting a coworker with the kind of smooth steadiness she didn't expect from someone who'd mysteriously vanished for a week.
Or maybe — and she would never admit this aloud — it was the way her chest thumped unexpectedly when she realized he was really there again.
Ethan.
Just the name made her inhale quietly.
She tried to be casual, tried to pretend nothing shifted inside her.
She arranged her files, clicked through emails, nodded at Trixie like everything was normal.
But it wasn't.
Not when she could feel him sitting just a few desks away again.
Not when her heart seemed suddenly aware of his presence, like it had been on standby until he returned.
So she glanced — tiny, sneaky, harmless peeks.
Or so she thought.
But Jeanna was terrible at subtlety.
Because what she called glancing looked more like soft, lingering stares — those innocent doe-eyed looks that lingered just long enough to make someone feel like their soul was being quietly examined.
And Ethan noticed.
---
Ethan stretched in his chair, leaning back, arms raised above his head after hours of typing.
He needed the stretch — the shift from sitting to standing helped him think.
But the moment he straightened, he felt it again.
Eyes.
Soft, round, curious eyes.
He turned slightly and — there she was.
Jeanna, staring right at him.
Not aggressively. Not flirtatiously.
Just… observing.
As if she was trying to read him like some quiet mystery novel.
For a second they held eye contact — only a second — but he felt it like a ripple across still water.
And then she jerked her gaze away, pretending to stare at her screen with the intensity of someone reading the national constitution.
Ethan blinked.
Too bold to stare at someone like that, he thought, suppressing a laugh.
At first, he thought she was just reacting to his movements — he admitted it, he used to stand up randomly just to see if she'd look.
Back then he did it intentionally, half teasing himself about it.
Now?
Now he wasn't even trying and she was the one caught staring.
And that…
That did something to him.
He wasn't used to someone looking at him with curiosity rather than expectation.
And he definitely wasn't used to someone looking at him like he mattered just by existing in a chair.
He shook his head, pretending to scroll something important, but the thought slid in anyway:
She really does look like that dream girl…
The one from when he was younger — long-haired, soft-voiced, pure in the way only innocence and quiet sincerity can create.
Someone who doesn't rush love.
Someone who believes in trust, in peace, in God, in loyalty without needing to say it loudly.
The kind of girl who loves simply, not dramatically.
He chuckled internally.
Don't jump to fantasies, Ethan. Ideal is mindset, not face. Calm down.
Still…
He stood up a little less that day.
---
She had no idea she stared that long.
In her mind, it was just a small moment — a harmless check, a simple curiosity.
But in reality, her gaze lingered.
Because something about him pulled at her thoughts again and again — not loudly, not like a crush, but like a tune she couldn't stop humming even when she didn't notice she started.
She looked at him and wondered:
Why him? Why now? Why does he feel… different?
At first he annoyed her — always suddenly standing, always moving, always catching her attention when she wasn't asking for it.
It felt disruptive, irritating even.
But when he disappeared for a week and people whispered rumors, she realized she noticed his absence.
And when he returned, she realized something had softened inside her without permission.
She didn't fall in love easily — she never thought she could.
She believed in slow feelings, steady trust, peaceful companionship.
Nothing rushed.
Nothing dramatic.
Yet here she was, staring innocently like a confused deer every time Ethan stretched.
Her face warmed.
She forced herself back to work.
---
Trixie saw everything.
Every glance.
Every sudden straight-back posture.
Every suspiciously timed screen-looking moment.
She sipped her coffee like she was watching a soap opera.
"Oh this is gonna be fun," she whispered to herself, eyes sparkling with chaotic delight.
She didn't interfere — not yet.
She just waited.
Observed.
And quietly rooted for the universe to throw these two introverted, oblivious weirdos at each other's faces.
---
A Few Days Later
Ethan's behavior changed.
He stretched less.
Stood up less.
The man who used to randomly stand just to avoid stiffness suddenly sat like his chair was holding him hostage.
Because every time he even hinted he might move, he'd feel it again — those big doe eyes.
And in his head he could still see her soft stare every time he blinked.
It was chaos.
Soft chaos.
Quiet chaos.
The most dangerous kind.
He refused to admit it but his thoughts kept drifting:
She looks like she reads Wattpad.
Or watches K-dramas and cries quietly.
Or listens to anime soundtracks.
Voice like a 13-year-old… absolutely unfair.
She was petite too — the kind of height anime artists give the shy main girl.
Except she wasn't a drawing.
And she wasn't just shy — she was observant, thoughtful, oddly fierce behind that soft mask.
Intriguing.
Unexpected.
And once noticed, impossible to ignore.
---
Meanwhile… Jeanna
She stared again.
Only for two seconds this time.
Or maybe five.
She didn't know anymore.
She just wanted to understand him.
Why he felt familiar.
Why his presence felt calm, grounding, quietly meaningful.
And she hated it.
And liked it.
And pretended none of it was happening.
---
Neither of them spoke about it.
No obvious confession, no dramatic realization.
Just glances.
Just curiosity.
Just two hearts quietly adjusting themselves without asking permission —
as if preparing for something neither of them planned,
but both of them might already be stepping toward.
Slowly.
Softly.
Like a story that didn't need rushing.