The street was loud_engines humming, people moved around him in a blur of sound and motion, yet Adrian heard none of it, his attention had already settled where it always did_on her. The way she moved through the crowd, each step calculated. Not too fast. Not too slow, just perfect to fit into the crowd. She always wore pale and dull colored outfits which did no justice to her skin tone
Some the brighter would suit her, he thought to himself.
Bright colors would make her stand out, he imagined she told herself. The curls on her hair placed perfectly and bouncing naturally as she walked on.
Such beauty with the slightest effort, he admired the fact she tried to change her routines because she noticed something. Both of them had something in common, they were aware and paid attention to tiny details. At least that's what he chose to believe. There was no harm in wanting to know what goes on in the life of this individual, he wanted to know what drawed him to her_maybe she had something, or a character that reflected in his past that made him feel at home and at peace.
He noticed she had a routine at work too. At exactly 7:28pm, she steps into the cafe, drops her bag and proceeds to wear her working apron before putting her hair up in a bun. He didn't like that, such beauty should be freed and not tied down.
She was the biggest highlight of his day, and he always looked forward to it every chance he could get. A flashback of the first time he saw her came to him, the feeling that something change that day was something he could brush off_more of like a shift, disrupting his routine. It was something he didn't plan, something that was out of his control. It was something he couldn't quite place his finger on. The feeling was bittersweet, which was what attracted him to her_wanting to know more about her not just because of her beauty alone because she indeed had such captivating features. But her restraint and quiet endurance. The contrast between her and others.
Why does she feel so familiar?, he questioned internally and why does she always move like she's bracing herself for impact?. He wondered if it was due to her past trauma of grief, always preparing for the worst to happen. He wanted to take that pain away from her not because he felt empathy for her but he wanted to see how different she would act and if she would have the same effect on him.
Adrian had rules. He always did—especially when it came to interacting with people. He knew how close was too close, where boundaries should sit, and why patience mattered more than impulse. Impulse was careless. Impulse led to mistakes. He had built his life around avoiding it.
And yet, these past few days, he found himself acting against those rules—and justifying it.
The text message hadn't been planned. That much was true. It wasn't something he had calculated days ahead or weighed against consequences. It happened in a moment where thought slipped past logic. His thumb had hovered over the screen longer than necessary, the words already fully formed in his head before reason could intercept them.
Different route.
Different shift.
Same you.
He hadn't meant it as a threat. Neither had it been meant as comfort.
It was simply the truth—and there was nothing wrong with that.
The street around him was alive in the way cities always were during the afternoon. Cars crawled past in uneven streams, engines humming and horns cutting through the air without rhythm. Voices overlapped—laughter, irritation, conversations he didn't bother to listen to. Heat clung to the pavement, rising in waves that distorted the edges of the road, the sun dull but persistent above it all.
Adrian registered none of it.
His attention had already settled where it always did—on her.
He watched her reaction the moment her phone lit up. The way her body responded before her mind caught up. The sudden paleness that washed over her face, the stiffening of her shoulders. The subtle pause in her movements, like her body had decided to freeze while her thoughts scrambled for direction. Her gaze lifted instinctively, scanning the street before she even realized she was doing it.
"Good," he muttered under his breath.
Not fear—awareness.
That was what he had intended. For her to know she hadn't imagined it. That the feeling she kept pushing aside, burying under rationalizations and self-doubt, was real. That she hadn't been wrong.
Doubt made people careless. It softened them. Made them dismiss instincts they should listen to.
Presence, however, sharpened people.
He wanted her alert. Awake. Tuned into the world the way he was.
The engine turning on had been intentional. The low rumble breaking through the noise around them, steady and unmistakable. The headlights cutting through the afternoon haze—brief, controlled, just enough to be noticed. He saw it in her eyes then, the flicker of confirmation, the way her breath caught before she could stop it. The way her hand tightened around her phone.
Satisfaction settled quietly in his chest.
Then his phone rang.
Once.
That was all it took.
The name on the screen was enough to pull him back into the world he actually belonged to. An emergency at work—one that required his attention immediately. He didn't hesitate. He never did when it came to things that mattered.
Adrian pulled away smoothly, the sedan blending into traffic as easily as it had appeared. No lingering. No reassurance. He didn't need to stay.
The effect had already been made.
By the time he reached his office, the day had dulled into something colder. The building stood tall and imposing, glass and steel reflecting the sky in muted tones. Inside, the air was cool—almost sterile—an intentional contrast to the chaos outside. His office was exactly the way he liked it. Dark wood. Grey furniture. Clean lines. Sharp edges. Everything in its place.
The space felt controlled. Quiet. Heavy in a way that pressed down rather than suffocated.
Adrian loosened his cufflinks, standing by the window as the city stretched beneath him, restless and unaware. He battled internally, briefly questioning whether he had lost control of the situation with Elora—or whether this was simply a deviation, a necessary adjustment.
He told himself he was still in control. That she was just… one variable. And variables could be managed.
He convinced himself this was necessary. That stepping back now was the logical choice.
That the worst was over.
After all, now things were mutual between them.
Even if she didn't know it yet.
The city settled into it's usual state, Adrian had already decided he was done thinking about her. Walking to the glass window of his office to look at how the streets were completely lit with lights from cars and streetlights. A call from his secretary drawing his attention back to reality, the day goes one with meetings, schedules which serves as a factory reset. People talking to him as he answers automatically, more absentmindedly but knowing the right words to say because it was something he was used to. He checks the time on his wristwatch.
As if expecting or rather anticipating something.
After office hours were over, he heads home, he notices the absence, but he doesn't go looking to fill it up. That bothers him more than her presence ever did. He subconsciously picks up her file and reads it again.
"This wasn't how it was supposed to go", he says softly.
He had already done what was needed and doesn't need to check again. Replaying her reaction after the realization, he wondered if it was too much or just the right amount of emotion displayed. I need to be certain.
Annoying
Adrian dismissed the thought just as quickly. Residual curiosity. Nothing more. Patterns always left a trail before fading. That was natural.
He would step back now. For good.
No more watching. No more adjustments. Whatever this was would resolve itself on its own. She would adapt. Life would go on as usual. And soon enough she would blur back into the background_where she belonged. The thought should have felt reassuring. But instead, it felt incomplete_a missing piece to his puzzle.
Adrian sat back down, glancing down at his desk_files needing his attention. He reached for his tablet and paused. Just for a second. Long enough to realize that clarity hadn't settled the way it usually did.
Not that it meant anything because it shouldn't.
Again, she was only a variable. One he had already accounted for.
And variables, once understood, no longer required attention and should be put away completely.
At least, that's what he told himself.