The next day 10:00AM
Noel sat at her desk, the soft hum of the robotics lab vibrating through the floor. Her white blazer was crisp, her ponytail neat, and her company tablet blinked with her first task: Assist with QA documentation for Ava03 deployment.
She exhaled slowly.
Clay had mentioned it during orientation—Ava03 was the next generation of floating assistant bots, designed for hospital triage and elder care. Her job was to shadow the QA team, take notes, and flag any inconsistencies in behavior or speech patterns.
She grabbed her tablet and headed toward the testing bay.
Inside, the room was bright and sterile. Three Ava03 units hovered silently, their chrome bodies gleaming under the LED lights. A technician nodded at her. "You're Noel? Clay said you'd be joining us."
"Yes," she said. "I'm here to observe."
He handed her a clipboard. "We're running empathy simulations today. Watch for tone, timing, and any glitches in emotional response."
Noel nodded, heart thudding.
The first Ava03 approached a mannequin dressed as a hospital patient. Its voice was soft, feminine. "Hello, Mr. Jenkins. I see your heart rate is elevated. Would you like me to play calming music?"
The technician scribbled notes.
Noel watched closely. The robot's tone was gentle, but its timing felt off—too fast, too rehearsed.
She made a note: Empathy response lacks natural pause. Suggest delay between scan and speech.
The second Ava03 hovered toward a simulated elderly woman. "Good morning, Ms. Alvarez. Your medication is scheduled for 9:00 AM. Would you like assistance walking to the dining hall?"
Noel tilted her head. The voice was perfect. But the robot didn't wait for a reply—it simply turned and floated forward.
She scribbled again: No response window. Needs to wait for verbal or physical cue.
The third Ava03 malfunctioned mid-sentence, its voice glitching into static. The technician sighed. "We'll reboot that one."
Noel kept writing.
She felt focused. Useful. Like her observations mattered.
As she stepped out of the testing bay, clipboard in hand, she nearly bumped into Alexandria.
He wore a charcoal vest over a black shirt, sleeves rolled, tablet in hand. His storm-colored eyes met hers, amused.
"Already knee-deep in robot diagnostics?" he asked.
She smiled. "I flagged two empathy issues and one glitch. Not bad for a first hour."
He nodded, impressed. "You've got an eye for nuance."
"I've got a heart for people," she said.
He paused, then gestured toward the elevator. "Lunch break?"
She nodded. "I could use one."
As they walked together, Noel felt something shift—not just in her job, but in herself.
She wasn't just surviving anymore.
She was starting to belong.
After work, 8:00PM
when Noel stepped onto the rooftop terrace of the apartment complex. The city stretched out before her—quiet, glittering, distant. She leaned against the railing, the wind tugging gently at her ponytail, her white blazer catching the soft glow of the overhead lights.
She heard footsteps behind her.
Alexandria appeared, dressed in a black hoodie and joggers, his black haircut tousled by the breeze. He didn't speak right away. Just stood beside her, hands in his pockets, gaze fixed on the skyline.
"I figured you'd be up here," he said softly.
Noel smiled faintly. "Needed air. Needed quiet."
He nodded. "Same."
They stood in silence for a while, the hum of the city below like a distant heartbeat.
Then Alexandria spoke.
"My mother was a nurse," he said. "Worked double shifts at a trauma center. She used to come home with blood on her shoes and stories she couldn't finish telling."
Noel turned to him, listening.
"She raised me and my little brother alone. My father left when I was six. No note. No goodbye. Just gone."
Noel's breath caught. "I'm sorry."
Alexandria shrugged. "I used to wait by the window every weekend. Thought maybe he'd come back with a reason. Or a gift. Or anything."
He paused, eyes distant.
"He never did."
Noel reached out, touched his arm gently.
Alexandria continued. "When I was fifteen, my brother got caught in a crossfire. Wrong place, wrong time. He didn't make it."
Noel's eyes welled. "Alexandria…"
"My mother never recovered," he said. "She stopped sleeping. Stopped smiling. I started working nights at a tech shop just to keep the lights on."
He looked at her.
"That's why I build things now. Robots. Systems. Order. Because chaos took everything from me."
Noel didn't speak. She just stood beside him, the wind brushing past them like a quiet witness.
"I didn't know," she said finally. "You always seem so… composed."
He smiled faintly. "Composure is armor."
She nodded. "I wear mine too."
He looked at her. "What's yours made of?"
"Grief," she said. "And hope. And a little bit of jazz."
He chuckled. "That's a good mix."
They stood together, the city glowing below, the stars blinking above.
"I'm glad you're here," he said.
"I'm glad you found me," she replied.
And in that quiet rooftop moment, surrounded by wind and memory, two people who had lost so much began to find something new, Not just connection.
But understanding.
The rooftop was quiet, wrapped in the hush of midnight. Noel leaned against the railing, her white blazer catching the soft glow of the overhead lights. The city below shimmered like a distant memory, and beside her, Alexandria stood still—hands in his hoodie pockets, gaze fixed on the skyline.
They hadn't spoken in a few minutes. The silence between them wasn't awkward—it was heavy, meaningful. The kind that held everything they didn't know how to say.
Noel turned slightly, her eyes meeting his.
Alexandria's breath hitched.
He took a small step closer.
His storm-colored eyes searched hers, and for a moment, the air between them felt electric. His hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to reach for her—just lightly, just enough to say I see you. I feel this too.
Noel didn't move.
She didn't need to.
Her presence was steady, open, waiting.
Alexandria's fingers curled into his palm.
He looked down, then back at her.
His voice was low. "I should go."
Noel blinked. "Okay."
He hesitated again—just long enough for her to see the conflict in his eyes. Wanting. Resisting. Protecting something fragile inside himself.
Then he turned.
His footsteps were soft against the rooftop tile. Noel watched him walk away, his silhouette framed by the city lights, his snow-white hair catching the wind.
He didn't look back.
She didn't call out.
The door closed behind him with a quiet click.
Noel exhaled, slow and steady.
She wasn't disappointed.
She understood.
Some wounds take time.
Some connections need space to grow.
She stayed on the rooftop a little longer, letting the wind wrap around her like a blanket, letting the silence settle into her bones.
And when she finally went inside, she carried something with her—
Not regret.
But possibility.
It was nearly 2:00AM when Alexandria stepped out of the elevator, rubbing the back of his neck after a long night of reviewing code. The lobby was dim, lit only by soft sconces and the glow from the vending machine. He paused mid-step.
There, curled up on the sofa near the front desk, was Noel.
She wore a pajama set—pink shorts and an off-the-shoulder T-shirt—and her iPhone 15 lay beside her, screen dark. Her legs were tucked beneath her, one arm draped over a throw pillow, her breathing slow and steady.
Alexandria's eyes widened. He walked over quickly, crouching beside her.
"Noel," he whispered. "Why aren't you sleeping in your apartment?"
She stirred, blinking up at him. "I don't have a bed yet. The floor's uncomfortable. It's alright—the apartment staff said I could sleep down here."
Alexandria frowned. "No. You can crash at my place until you get a bed or couch. Come on."
Noel sat up slowly, brushing her hair back. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely."
She grabbed her phone and followed him toward the elevator, her steps quiet against the tile.
His apartment was on the twelfth floor, tucked into a corner with a panoramic view of the city. As he opened the door, warm light spilled into the hallway.
Noel stepped inside and paused.
The walls were covered in abstract art—bold strokes of fire, skulls, naked women, and a tiger mid-roar. The kitchen had a chrome island and matte black cabinets. The living room was minimalist, but the art gave it pulse.
Alexandria gestured down the hall. "Come on. I'll show you the room."
He opened the bedroom door and stepped aside.
"You can sleep in my bed," he said. "There's an iPhone charger in the drawer."
Noel smiled, touched by his kindness. "You're so kind. Thank you."
The room was white—walls clean, soft lighting overhead. Pop abstract art hung above the desk and near the bed: music notes, food illustrations, more skulls. The king-size bed had a black frame with LED lights glowing faintly along the sides. There was no TV, just a sleek work desk by a large window that offered a perfect view of the city skyline.
Alexandria nodded once, then gently closed the door behind her.
Noel walked to the nightstand, plugged in her phone, and crawled into the bed. The sheets were warm, soft against her skin, but the room itself was cool—just enough to make her burrow deeper.
She tugged the covers around her shoulders, eyes fluttering shut.
"I feel so comfortable in here," she murmured.
She inhaled deeply.
"I smell chocolate chip," she whispered, "with a hint of Gravité cologne."
She snuggled her head into the standard pillow, the scent wrapping around her like a lullaby.
And within minutes—
She was fast asleep.
11:00AM.
The morning sun filtered through the glass walls of Halston Robotics as Noel stepped into the building, dressed in a fitted navy blazer, cream blouse, and tailored slacks. Her hair was pulled into a sleek bun, her expression focused. Alexandria arrived moments later, wearing a charcoal suit with a black turtleneck.
They exchanged a quiet nod in the lobby before heading to the briefing room.
Clay Thomas stood at the head of the table, tablet in hand. "Today's assignment is a full diagnostic and reprogramming of the Ava04 prototype. It's been glitching during multi-tasking simulations—overloading when asked to process emotional cues and physical commands simultaneously."
He looked at Noel and Alexandria. "You'll each take a unit. You have four hours. If you can't stabilize it, we'll have to delay the rollout."
Noel nodded. "Understood."
Alexandria cracked his knuckles. "Let's do it."
In the lab, Noel sat across from her Ava04 unit, its chrome body hovering silently. She pulled up the diagnostic interface, scanning lines of code and behavioral logs. The issue was buried deep—conflicting subroutines between empathy recognition and motor control.
She frowned, fingers flying across the keyboard.
Across the room, Alexandria worked on his own unit. His brow furrowed as he tried to isolate the error. The robot kept freezing mid-task, its voice glitching when asked to lift objects and respond to emotional prompts.
Noel paused, then rewrote a section of code that rerouted the emotional processing through a secondary buffer. She tested it—success. The unit responded calmly, lifted a tray, and asked, "Would you like assistance?"
She smiled. "Got it."
Alexandria, meanwhile, cursed under his breath. His unit had just dropped a tray and misread a simulated patient's distress as laughter.
Noel glanced over. "Need help?"
Alexandria shook his head. "I've got it."
She didn't press. She knew his pride ran deep.
He dug into the code again, tracing the error to a feedback loop in the empathy module. It was subtle—buried beneath layers of logic. He rewrote the loop, tested it, and watched as the unit hesitated, then responded correctly.
"Would you like water?" it asked the mannequin.
Alexandria exhaled. "Finally."
Clay entered the lab, checking their progress. "Noel, excellent work. Alexandria, good recovery."
They both nodded.
Later, in the break room, Noel poured herself a cup of tea. Alexandria joined her, loosening his tie.
"You crushed that assignment," he said.
She smiled. "You did too. Eventually."
He leaned against the counter. "I was overthinking it. Trying to brute-force the fix instead of listening to the rhythm."
Noel sipped her tea. "Sometimes the code tells you what it needs. You just have to be quiet enough to hear it."
He looked at her, admiration flickering in his eyes. "You're good at that."
She shrugged. "I've had to learn."
They walked back to their desks together, the hum of the lab surrounding them.
Alexandria glanced at her. "You ever think about building something of your own?"
"All the time," she said. "But right now, I'm learning how to build with others."
He nodded. "That's harder."
"But worth it," she replied.
They reached her desk. He paused, then said, "Thanks for not rubbing it in."
She smiled. "I like you better humble."
He laughed, then turned to go.
And as Noel sat down, she felt something shift—not just in her skill, but in her place here.
After work Alexandria and Noel had dinner at a Chinese restaurant.
The Chinese restaurant was tucked into a quiet corner of the city, its red lanterns glowing softly in the dusk. Inside, the air was warm and fragrant—ginger, garlic, sesame oil. The walls were lined with faded calligraphy and watercolor dragons. A soft instrumental version of "Moon River" played overhead.
Noel and Alexandria sat in a booth near the window, dressed in their work clothes but visibly relaxed. The day had been long, the assignment demanding, but now they had space to breathe.
They ordered quietly—orange chicken, vegetable lo mein, jasmine tea.
For a while, they ate in silence, the clink of chopsticks and soft music filling the space between them.
Then Noel set her chopsticks down.
"I haven't told you much about my past," she said, voice low.
Alexandria looked up, eyes steady. "You don't have to."
"I want to," she said. "I need to."
She stared at her tea, fingers trembling slightly.
"My mom was a seamstress. My dad worked in a factory until it shut down. We lived paycheck to paycheck. Some nights, dinner was just rice and salt."
Alexandria didn't interrupt.
"When I was sixteen, my dad got sick. Lung cancer. He didn't have insurance. We sold everything—furniture, jewelry, even my mom's sewing machine—to pay for treatment."
Her voice cracked.
"He died anyway."
Alexandria's jaw tightened.
"My mom changed after that. She stopped laughing. Stopped singing while she worked. I tried to hold us together, but I was just a kid."
Noel's eyes welled.
"She passed away two years later. Heart failure. I found her on the kitchen floor."
A tear slipped down her cheek.
"I didn't cry at first. I just cleaned the house. Called the coroner. Made tea. Like it was just another chore."
Alexandria reached across the table, gently took her hand.
Noel's shoulders shook.
"I lost everything. The house. The car. I slept in shelters. Took welding classes because they were cheap and promised jobs. But even that didn't last."
She wiped her face, but the tears kept coming.
"I've been alone for so long. I forgot what it feels like to be safe."
Alexandria's grip tightened.
"You're not alone now," he said softly.
She looked at him, eyes red, voice trembling. "Why are you so kind to me?"
"Because I see you," he said. "Not just the pain. The strength. The way you keep showing up."
Noel sobbed quietly, the weight of her story finally released.
Alexandria didn't let go.
He didn't look away.
He just stayed.
The waitress brought more tea, sensing the mood but saying nothing.
Noel sipped slowly, her breathing steadying.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Don't be," Alexandria said. "You're allowed to feel. You're allowed to break."
She nodded, eyes still glassy.
"I don't know what comes next," she said.
He smiled gently. "We figure it out. One day at a time."
They sat together in the soft glow of lantern light, the city outside moving on, but inside that booth—Time slowed.
And something sacred unfolded.
Not romance.
Not rescue.
Just two souls, finally seen.