Saturday arrived quiet, almost unreal after the chaos of the week. The office smelled faintly of paper and cleaning polish, the hum of the few computers still on blending with the soft morning light spilling through the windows. Most people were gone, the chairs tucked neatly under desks, the usual buzz replaced by a rare stillness.
I wandered to my desk, laptop in hand, pretending to catch up on emails while secretly glancing at my phone. Another message from Alex had popped up before I even sat down:
"Survived Friday?"
I smiled despite myself. My fingers hovered for a moment, then typed:
"Barely. You?"
"Always. You made it look easier than it was. That counts for something"
I leaned back in my chair, trying to focus on the work in front of me, but my mind kept replaying those words. Just a few lines, and yet it felt so… personal, almost intimate, in the way he said things without really saying them.
I walked past the empty offices on my way to the coffee machine. The hallways were quiet except for the soft click of my heels, and I almost felt daring when I noticed movement through the glass on the executive floor. Alex was there, jacket off, sleeves rolled, leaning over his desk. I froze for just a second—our eyes met, not for long, just enough. That small flicker of acknowledgment, the tiniest curve of his lips, sent heat rushing through me.
I looked away quickly, pretending to study the coffee machine, my hand fidgeting with the cup. He didn't move, didn't gesture, just watched. And somehow, that made everything feel more charged than if he had come over.
Later, I returned to my desk to find a new message waiting:
"Do you always look this good before ten?"
I choked slightly on my coffee, my heart racing. The office was empty, the light warm and golden, but I felt suddenly exposed. I typed back carefully, trying to sound calm:
"Funny,I was just making coffee, nothing else."
"I know. That's what makes it dangerous"
I laughed quietly to myself, shaking my head. Dangerous. He had a way of making simple words feel heavy, meaningful.
The morning drifted by with more messages, each one a thread pulling at my attention. He commented on small things—my schedule, my coffee choice, even a draft headline I'd sent the day before. Nothing inappropriate, nothing overt—but every message made me feel more aware, more seen, more… noticed.
By mid-afternoon, the office had thinned even further. I was gathering files when Marcus appeared silently by my desk.
"Alex checked in" he said casually. "He's… pleased. Said you handled yourself well, even on a quiet Saturday."
I blinked at him, half-surprised. "Really?"
Marcus shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. "He noticed. That's all I can say. And you know him—when he notices, it counts."
After he left, my phone buzzed again. Alex.
"Enjoying the calm? Or missing the chaos already?"
"A little calm is nice," I typed back. "But the week did make me appreciate Saturday."
"Good. Then you can enjoy it. But don't get too used to peace. Mondays come quick"
I grinned, leaning back in my chair, my pulse still thumping from the subtle dance of attention, the teasing, the way he made space for a connection without ever overstepping. The flirtation was sharp, playful, personal—but always just out of reach.
As the sun began to lower in the sky, spilling light across the polished floors, I realized something. It wasn't just that he noticed me—it was the way he made me notice myself. Every glance, every message, every fleeting moment of awareness made me more alert, more aware, more alive.
And I couldn't deny that I was enjoying it.