Amara noticed the change before she was ready to admit it.
It began with something small. Almost harmless.
A glance that lingered half a second too long.
A heartbeat that skipped when it shouldn't have.
A warmth blooming on her cheeks at the most inconvenient times.
Nowadays, every time Amara accidentally looked at Damian—really looked at him—she would immediately look away, her face burning as if she'd been caught doing something forbidden. Her fingers would curl slightly, her shoulders stiffen, and she would silently scold herself for reacting so strongly.
Get a grip, she told herself for the hundredth time.
But her heart refused to listen.
Just sitting next to Damian during meetings now made her hyper-aware of everything—the warmth radiating from his arm, the faint scent of his cologne, the steady rhythm of his breathing beside her. She found herself sitting straighter, smoothing her skirt unnecessarily, tucking her hair behind her ear again and again.
And then there were the accidental touches.
It always happened when they reached for the same document.
Their fingers brushing—just briefly—but enough to send a jolt straight through her chest.
Every single time, Amara's breath would hitch.
Her stomach would flutter wildly, as if a thousand butterflies had suddenly been released all at once.
"Oh—sorry," Damian would say softly, his fingers retreating instantly, his voice gentle but careful.
And Amara would nod too quickly, murmuring, "It's okay," even though her heart was already racing like she'd run a mile.
She never used to be like this with Damian.
Before, when Kael stood beside her—when he spoke close to her ear, when his presence loomed near—she had only ever felt nervous. Unsure. Small.
But this?
This was different.
This was warmth.
Anticipation.
A strange, sweet nervousness that followed her even after office hours.
At home, she found herself glued to her phone.
Waiting.
Refreshing her messages.
Telling herself she wasn't waiting for him—and then smiling like a fool when Damian's name appeared on her screen.
Damian: Did you eat dinner?
Amara: Just finished 😊
Damian: Good. Don't skip meals again.
Her lips curved upward automatically.
She'd reread his messages more times than she cared to admit.
She even started falling asleep with her phone beside her pillow—something she'd never done before. And when she realized it, she would laugh quietly at herself, burying her face into her pillow to hide her embarrassment.
This is ridiculous, she thought.
But her heart didn't think so.
People in the office noticed.
They always did.
Amara had changed.
She smiled more easily now. Laughed more freely. Her posture was more relaxed, her eyes brighter. There was a softness to her that hadn't been there before—like someone who no longer felt the need to shrink herself.
"She looks different lately," one of the girls whispered near the pantry.
"Right? She's glowing."
"And she's actually easy to talk to now. I thought she was eerie before."
Amara overheard bits and pieces, always pretending not to hear, but the comments followed her wherever she went.
Even though her fashion sense hadn't changed much—still modest, simple, a little old-fashioned—people no longer mocked it. Instead, they called it endearing.
"She's like… naturally pretty," someone said one afternoon. "Not flashy. Just warm."
And almost inevitably, the whispers shifted.
"Have you noticed Damian and Amara?"
"I think they are already dating."
"He looks different around her. He glows with the warmth of sunlight, yet among others he turns cold, like a blazing blizzard."
"I'm telling you, if they don't end up together, I'll riot."
The office began rooting for them openly.
People teased them lightly.
Invited them together to lunch.
Left only two seats empty at meetings—side by side.
And every time someone hinted at it, Amara's face would flush while Damian would simply smile—calm, composed, but with eyes that softened whenever they landed on her.
It was impossible not to notice.
Impossible not to feel.
Kael noticed too.
And it drove him insane.
His mood had been foul for weeks now.
The slightest inconvenience set him off.
A delayed report.
A misfiled document.
Someone speaking out of turn during meetings.
His subordinates learned quickly to tread carefully around him, whispering warnings under their breath.
"Careful. He's in a mood again."
Kael sat in his office more often than not, staring through the glass walls—his gaze always finding its way to Amara.
To Damian.
To the way Damian leaned slightly toward her when they spoke.
To the way Amara smiled at Damian without even realizing it.
It felt like a knife twisting in his chest.
That should be me.
The realization came uninvited—and unwelcome.
Kael clenched his fists.
He had admitted it to himself already.
He loved her.
And she was slipping further away from him every day.
Kael tried to talk to her.
Every single day.
He found reasons to call her to his office—but Damian was always there.
He waited for moments when Damian wasn't—but then Amara was surrounded by friends.
Laughing.
Busy.
Alive.
He tried calling her after office hours.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
She didn't answer.
By the fourth call, he stopped trying.
The silence on the other end felt louder than any rejection.
Kael sat alone in his office late that night.
The building was quiet.
Too quiet.
He loosened his tie, leaning back in his chair as regret settled heavily over him.
Why had he cared so much about pride?
Why had he let gossip dictate his actions?
Why had he let her walk away?
He remembered her eyes when she'd finally stopped pleading.
Clear.
Resolved.
Done.
The memory made his chest ache.
"I was such an idiot," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
The realization came too late.
And it hurt all the more for it.
That night, Kael called his friends.
"Drink with me," he said flatly.
They didn't ask questions.
They knew better.
By the time they arrived, Kael had already opened a bottle.
Then another.
Then another.
Laughter filled the room—forced, hollow.
Shots were poured.
Toasts were made.
But no matter how much alcohol burned down his throat, the image of Amara smiling at Damian remained painfully clear.
Her warmth.
Her laughter.
Her absence from his life.
Kael stared into his glass, the liquid trembling slightly.
"I really messed up," he murmured.
No one heard him.
Or maybe they did—but didn't know what to say.
As the night dragged on, Kael drank until the world blurred, hoping—desperately—that the ache in his chest would dull.
But regret, he learned, was far more stubborn than alcohol.
And somewhere across the city—
Amara was smiling at her phone.
Waiting for Damian's reply.
Unaware that one heart was finally learning what it meant to lose her—completely.