Change always arrived quietly in the office — not as dramatic announcements, but as emails, whispers, chair movements, and the subtle scraping of keyboards shifting places.
That morning, Jeanna sat at her desk like usual, preparing for another day of routine tasks and occasional stolen glances. It became part of her silent rhythm — work, think, glance, deny, repeat.
But then Trixie tapped her shoulder.
"They're reshuffling the teams again," she whispered, like reporting a crime.
Jeanna blinked.
Her stomach dipped.
And soon enough, her name was called along with a small group — including Trixie.
They were moved.
Desks reassigned.
Chairs rolled.
Monitors dragged to new spots.
Jeanna's heart sank the moment she realized where she was being placed — not far, no — just far enough for it to matter.
Not in front of him anymore. No more hearing his voice across the desk. No more pretending to focus while catching a glimpse of him standing or stretching.
Now she sat behind another cluster, angled in such a way that turning to look at him would be obvious, suspicious even.
It was the kind of distance that didn't physically separate them much —
but emotionally, it felt like a quiet wall had risen.
Trixie settled beside her and sighed dramatically.
"Well… there goes the entertainment."
Jeanna forced a small laugh, but her chest felt oddly heavy.
She tried working. Truly tried.
But every now and then her thoughts drifted — if she turned her head right now, would she see him?
Did he notice she wasn't near anymore?
Did he care even the tiniest bit?
But she didn't turn.
She couldn't.
The action would be too obvious.
So she stared at her screen instead, and her heart learned the ache of a distance too small for the world to notice, but big enough for her to feel.
---
The next days came like soft waves — slow, steady, slightly colder.
Jeanna worked.
Trixie teased her with knowing glances.
And Jeanna tried forgetting the way her heart reacted when that familiar silhouette wasn't immediately in front of her.
On the second day, during lunchtime, she saw him.
Not directly — first she only heard voices. Then footsteps. Then laughter.
He walked past, alongside a girl from his team.
They chatted, side by side.
And when they exited toward the cafeteria, they sat together — again.
Jeanna's eyes lingered on them only for a moment, but it was enough to wound something soft inside her.
The girl was pretty.
Black hair that framed her delicate face, charming features, gentle voice, flawless skin — the kind of feminine confidence that drew attention effortlessly.
And Jeanna?
Petite. Quiet. The type who blended in, not stood out.
And she noticed something else — the girl's figure. Mature, attractive, physically confident in ways Jeanna never imagined herself to be.
Reality whispered cruelly:
Of course he'd choose someone like her.
Beautiful.
Graceful.
Everything Jeanna wasn't sure she could be.
She didn't cry.
The ache wasn't loud.
Just a small collapse somewhere deep inside — disappointment settling like a sigh inside her heart.
Trixie noticed her silence.
She also noticed the glances toward that girl.
She didn't tease today.
She just nudged Jeanna gently with her elbow — a silent "I see you" — and offered her snacks like quiet comfort.
Jeanna smiled, grateful yet aching, and tried to swallow down her hopes like they were too childish to admit existed.
---
Days passed, and the two continued walking together, talking together, sitting together.
And soon, whispers started around the floor.
"Are they dating?"
"They look cute."
"He's finally opening up to someone."
Rumors floated like dust, harmless to most — but to Jeanna, each one felt like a dull pinch.
Trixie heard them too.
She would glance at Jeanna with sympathy, but she never rubbed salt—she just stayed near, understanding.
Jeanna tried acting normal.
She worked harder.
She kept her head down.
Maybe this is good, she told herself.
Maybe this distance is the universe telling me to stop imagining things.
But at night, she wondered why it hurt when nothing had ever begun in the first place.
---
Life moved quietly again — until one morning, another reshuffle was announced.
Not as dramatic as a storm — just the calm, administrative kind that simply happened.
And this time, Jeanna was moved further — her fourth arrangement now. Trixie groaned while packing her things.
Jeanna tried pretending she didn't mind.
Maybe this is it, she thought.
Maybe this is where I finally stop looking.
But when she sat at her new desk and adjusted her monitor, she froze.
There — far, but visible.
Across a few clusters, just a line of sight away.
Ethan's desk.
She wasn't close.
Nowhere near the place where she once heard his voice without trying.
But she could see him — just barely, when she leaned slightly.
And somehow, that single glimpse made her smile — a small, shy smile to herself, unseen by anyone.
Maybe the universe didn't separate us completely, she thought.
She didn't look again — not yet.
Just knowing she could was enough.
---
The next afternoon, while she worked quietly, someone approached her desk.
A soft voice.
"Excuse me… you're Jeanna Mossvale, right?"
Jeanna looked up, blinking.
A girl smiled at her gently — familiar face, but Jeanna couldn't place it.
"I'm Marielle," the girl continued. "I used to be in Team Zephyr before. Now I'm part of Team Orion."
Zephyr.
Ethan's original team.
A small recognition sparked in Jeanna's chest — subtle but warm.
She nodded, trying to sound casual.
"Oh, Zephyr. That was… a pretty strict team, right? I heard the leader is tough."
Marielle chuckled, dramatic sigh escaping her.
"Vincent Chua? Strict is an understatement. I swear he hated me. I got transferred out, but he clung to Ethan like he was gold."
Jeanna's heart silently fluttered.
Ace. Important. Someone valued him.
"Oh, right," she answered softly. "I heard Ethan's their best performer. So I guess that makes sense."
Marielle smiled fondly.
"He is. Hardworking kid. Talented too."
Jeanna nodded, trying not to look too interested, too transparent.
But then curiosity slipped — "He seems kind too. Don't you think?"
Marielle laughed, gentle and teasing.
"He is. Like a little brother to me. I'm glad I got to work with him."
Jeanna's heart thumped lightly.
Little brother.
Not boyfriend.
Not lover.
But she didn't assume things — not anymore.
So she carefully added,
"I heard he's dating someone from your team though... the girl he's usually with during lunch?"
Marielle blinked, then burst out laughing softly.
"Oh no. Definitely not," she smiled. "That girl already has a boyfriend. Ethan's not dating anyone. Never has, actually."
The world stilled.
Jeanna didn't react outwardly — just nodded, hiding the tiny breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.
Inside though — like a soft spark, gentle, careful, not dramatic — something flickered back to life.
Not loud hope.
Not certainty.
Just a quiet whisper:
Maybe… not yet.
And Jeanna returned to her work with a calm face but a slightly lighter heart — not because she expected anything,
but because possibility, however small, is sometimes enough to make the heart breathe again.