She saw his name on the log-in board that night.
Just a single word, a digital sign-in. But for Ness, it felt like the sun had broken through weeks of unrelenting grey.
He was back.
Her heart fluttered so fast she had to minimize the screen, pretending not to care. Pretending not to feel everything all at once — the relief, the joy, the ache of waiting finally dissolving into breathless gratitude.
She didn't see him that night. Not in the hallways. Not by the elevators. Not even in the usual quiet corners of their floor. But it didn't matter.
Just knowing he was there again — somewhere in the same floor or building — was enough to steady her heartbeat a little.
That was the first day.
The next day, she caught a glimpse of him. By accident.
She had stayed a few extra minutes, chatting with friends, not ready to leave just yet. Something in her had told her to linger — maybe hope, maybe intuition.
As they made their way outside the production floor to go to the pantry, she walked ahead, smile softening her face until she noticed him. Outside the production floor, sitting near the lockers, his laptop open in front of him— the usual, familiar presence.
She quickly erased the smile from her lips, not wanting to give anything away. She walked straight ahead, eyes down, heart doing wild, dizzying turns. She went to the water station first, trying to calm herself, pretending nothing had shifted inside her.
But then her friend whispered beside her, eyebrows raised:
"Who's that guy outside? He was watching you the whole time. Like… really watching."
Ness didn't turn around. She didn't have to. The thrill down her spine was enough to confirm it.
He had been looking at her. Following her with his eyes — from the door to the water station.
And only when he noticed that her friend was staring at him too, with a question mark on her face — did he return to his laptop, pretending to be busy.
Her hands shook quietly as she sipped her water.
The moment was nothing, and yet it was everything.
Another night passed. Another quiet miracle.
She was waiting outside for her ride, phone in hand, watching the shadows stretch beneath the streetlights when she saw someone stepping off the mini bus.
It was him.
From a distance. Familiar silhouette. Same quiet stance. Same air of solitude.
Ness looked away quickly, afraid he might catch her staring and think she was following him — or worse, still clinging to something that never was.
She told herself not to look again. But curiosity always found its way through her chest.
When she glanced back, thinking he'd already disappeared into the building, she saw him.
He was staring at her.
Not a quick glance. Not an accidental look.
His gaze was steady, unreadable, caught between memory and meaning.
She panicked, eyes darting back to her phone like it held the answer to whatever was happening in her chest. She didn't look back again until she was sure the moment had passed.
When she did, he was already gone — standing inside the lobby, waiting for the elevator.
But something had changed.
He had looked.
And in that brief exchange, she felt it: the spark that never really went out. The connection that had faded but not vanished. The beautiful ache of something unfinished quietly knocking on her ribs again.
She didn't know what it meant. Or if it meant anything at all.
But that night, she rode home with a heart full of unanswered questions — and a smile she couldn't quite hide.
Just seeing him again — after all that silence — felt like breathing for the first time in months.