DANIEL
There's a strange quiet that settles after hours in the office. The kind that makes you hyper-aware of everything—your footsteps against the tile, the distant hum of the HVAC, the occasional car outside slicing through the dark. And tonight, it's not the silence that gets to me. It's the memory of her voice in it.
I hadn't meant to text her. Not really. It wasn't a plan. It was a moment—an impulse I gave in to because I didn't trust myself not to go back and see if she was still there.
And now that I have, now that she's answered... I don't know what to do with it.
Still thinking about that chart?
It was casual. Safe. But the truth was anything but.
She replied. She replied.
Still thinking about you.
I never hit send and regretted it faster. The second those words left my phone, I knew I'd gone too far. Not because I didn't mean them. But because she'd know I did.
The minutes tick by.
No response.
And still, I can't bring myself to regret it. Not entirely.
