By the time Elena made it back to her apartment that night, the day had already emptied her. it had totally wrung her out like a damp cloth, leaving only the throb of exhaustion behind.
Her supervisor had been unusually curt, her coworkers tight-lipped with glances that made her feel like a ghost drifting into work late. She'd pushed through the hours anyway, shelving books, assisting students, and pretending she wasn't aware of her headache pulsing beneath the surface like a second heartbeat.
But despite the day's weight, there was something, or rather someone lingering in her thoughts like the soft hum of a melody she couldn't shake.
The stranger at the pharmacy.
The pharmacist with quiet eyes and a voice like something warm.
Nate.
She hadn't even gotten his full name, not properly. And still, his presence clung to the corners of her mind like the scent of cinnamon after a December morning, it was subtle, stubborn, and oddly comforting.
She kicked off her shoes, hung her coat on the arm of the couch, and stood by the kitchen counter for a long moment, staring at her phone.
The screen was still dark, but she could picture the moment he'd dictated those numbers.
She hadn't forgotten them. In fact, she remembered them better than she remembered the bus schedule that had ruined her morning.
Elena pulled her phone closer, turned on the light above the stove for ambiance, and sat with her knees tucked under her at the small breakfast bar.
Then she typed slowly, deliberately.
E > Hi, this is Elena, the girl from the pharmacy this morning. Thank you for helping me. I'd love to send the money back for the medicine and cab. Can you please send your account info?
She read it twice.
It was simple and friendly. No pressure.
And then: Sent.
The message delivered with two gray ticks. followed by no "typing…" bubble. No reply.
She waited a few minutes, then set the phone aside, chewing on the inside of her cheek.
Maybe he was busy. Maybe he didn't check his messages often.
Maybe it was dumb to care.
But even as she brushed her teeth and climbed into bed, the silence stayed with her. She told herself she'd forget about it by morning.
Only, she didn't.
Two days passed and the week moved with its usual speed, but her curiosity remained lodged like a stone in her shoe. it was annoying and persistent.
By Thursday, while sitting in the staff lounge with a cold sandwich and a half-finished crossword, she gave in again. She;d sent another message.
E > Just following up in case you missed my first text. I'm still happy to send the refund. Hope your week's been good.
She tapped send before she could change her mind.
Again, nothing.
The second silence was heavier than the first.
That evening, over microwaved noodles and soft lo-fi playing from her Bluetooth speaker, Elena brought it up to Iris.
They were both perched at opposite ends of the couch, with Elena in her favorite oversized cardigan, and Iris with her hair in two space buns and her laptop open on her knees.
"I texted the guy from the pharmacy," Elena said casually, picking at her food.
"The one from Monday?" Iris asked, looking up.
"Yeah. Twice, actually."
"Ooooh." Iris set the laptop aside. "And?"
"He didn't reply."
"Not even a thank-you?"
Elena shook her head. "Nope. Just read it, I guess. Or ignored it."
Iris raised an eyebrow. "You sure you saved the right number?"
"I didn't save it. I remembered it. I'm good with numbers."
"Elena," Iris deadpanned, "you also once tried to unlock my phone with the garage code."
"Okay, usually good with numbers."
Iris laughed, but the warmth in her voice returned a second later. "Maybe he's just weird about texting. Some people are like that."
Elena shrugged, trying to seem unbothered. "Yeah. Probably. Not a big deal."
But as Iris dove back into her design portfolio and the silence returned, Elena found herself staring out the window, her gaze catching on the thin layer of frost gathering along the street lamps.
She wanted it not to matter.
But she kept thinking about how his eyes had crinkled slightly when he smiled.
The quiet, steady way he'd handled her chaos.
The way he'd stepped out into the cold for her.
The way he'd looked at her like she was more than just another customer.
Meanwhile…
Nate had stared at the message for longer than he cared to admit.
The first one had come in just before closing time on Monday night. He'd seen it while wiping down the counter, with her name on the screen, a small smiley face included like a gentle nudge.
He'd hovered over the keyboard, thumb ready to reply.
But he didn't.
Because he knew replying would open something.
And he wasn't sure he was ready.
He told himself he was being practical. Professional. That letting a moment pass between them didn't mean it had to be more.
But then the second message came.
And that one?
That one he read three times.
He saved the number in his phone without really meaning to.
Just "Elena" with no last name.
He even opened his banking app once, half-considering sending her the account number just to be polite.
But he didn't do that either.
Instead, he tapped his screen off, placed the phone face-down on his nightstand, and sat in the quiet with the weight of her words resting heavily on his chest.
He wasn't ready.
Not for the curiosity she stirred.
Not for the unexpected ache of wanting to know how her day went.
Not for the memory of the way she'd said his name like it meant something.
So, he stayed quiet.
And told himself silence was the simplest form of self-preservation.
Even as he caught himself thinking about her the next morning, when snow dusted the windows again and the red scarf she wore flashed through his thoughts like a misplaced bookmark in a story he hadn't meant to start.
- - - -
Saturday afternoons in early spring always carried a strange kind of in-between energy. Not quite warm, not quite cold. Not yet bursting into bloom, but no longer buried under winter's silence.
Elena stood in front of the mirror, tying her hair up into a low knot and smoothing the flyways at her temple with the heel of her palm. Her outfit was casual, consisting of mom jeans, white sneakers, and Iris's old oversized hoodie she'd "borrowed" three months ago and never returned. It still smelled faintly of Iris's rose-sandalwood body spray and too many late nights spent watching bad reality TV.
Their weekend hangouts had become something of a ritual. No plans. No pressure. Just comfort, laughter, and lazy companionship. And after the strange week she'd had, Elena needed that more than anything. Today, they were meeting up at her place, but she'd dropped by to pick up some forgotten documents from her last visit.
She tugged the sleeves over her wrists, slung her bag across her chest, and headed toward the door. As she locked up, the old building groaned quietly, with pipes hissing through the walls, distant footsteps echoing down the stairwell, the faint hum of someone's TV from a floor above.
Just as she reached the last bend in the stairwell, the door swung open below and someone stepped into view. He was tall, lean, and mid-motion as he pulled the sleeve of his coat over his wrist. His head tilted upward, as if sensing movement.
Their eyes locked just as her foot paused on the step.
So did his.
The hallway light caught the curve of his jaw and the faint stubble along it. He wore a dark green flannel shirt under a slate gray coat, his hair a little tousled like he'd run a hand through it while debating whether or not to leave.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then, almost in sync, both broke into an awkward half-smile.
"Elena," he said first, sounding more surprised than anything.
"Nate," she replied, her voice equally stunned.
He blinked, then gave a soft laugh. "Well… this is unexpected."
"You live here?" she asked, heart skipping just slightly.
He nodded. "Top floor, that's the third floor," Nate said with a faint smile.
"Ah. My friend's on the second," she replied, gesturing vaguely downward. "I'm just a regular guest."
Their words floated in the space between them, suspended like the dust motes spinning lazily in the stairwell light.
Of all the buildings in this part of town. Of all the stairwells on all the Saturdays.
And yet… here they were.
"Small world," he added, stepping aside to let her pass, though he didn't continue up right away.
"Ridiculously small," she agreed, her hand brushing the railing as she descended the last few steps to his level.
There was a pause.
One of those moments that stretched long and slow—not uncomfortable, but uncertain, like both of them were carefully testing the edges of something new.
"I didn't know you lived around here," she said finally.
"I've been here almost two years. Not the most exciting apartment, but it's… quiet."
"Yeah, I spend most of my weekends here anyway."
That earned a soft chuckle from him.
Their eyes met again.
And for a breath, it felt like they were both remembering the same morning—her wild hair and hangover, his quiet generosity, the missed texts.
She shifted slightly. "Hey, about the messages… I wasn't sure if I wrote your number wrong or—"
"You got it right," he said gently.
"Oh." Her brows lifted, caught somewhere between relief and confusion. "Then I guess you just—"
"I saw them," he said. "I meant to reply. I just… didn't."
His tone wasn't dismissive. If anything, it was quiet, even cautious. Honest.
Something flickered behind his eyes, something she couldn't quite read.
Elena nodded slowly. "That's okay."
Another beat passed. She could hear footsteps above now, someone moving furniture, the faint vibration of music through the walls.
"I'm actually heading back to mine, Iris is waiting there for me" she said, filling the silence. "We do this lazy weekend thing. No plans, lots of snacks."
Nate smiled faintly. "That sounds like the best kind of tradition."
"What about you? Got any exciting Saturday plans?"
He lifted one shoulder. "Laundry. Maybe groceries. That's as wild as it gets."
She laughed softly, her body relaxing. "A true rebel."
Their gazes held for a moment longer than necessary.
And then, like someone had gently turned the page on whatever this chapter was becoming, she gave a small nod and said, "Well… enjoy the laundry."
"Thanks. Enjoy the snacks."
She turned, descending the rest of the stairs, and he didn't move until the door clicked shut behind her.
The cab ride back to hers was to be short, but Elena found herself oddly distracted just before it began, her fingers brushing idly over her phone as she replayed the moment on the stairwell.
Of course he lived there.
Of course they'd run into each other just when she was convincing herself to forget.
When she stepped out of Iris's building, her phone buzzed.
1 New Message – Pharmacist
P > Have a safe trip home.
Just five words. Simple. Soft. Unassuming.
But her heart tightened slightly as she read them,
And when she looked up at the sky, the clouds had parted just enough to let a warm sliver of evening sunlight cut through.