A mutter and a cough was a brand new day in this city. I awoke with my massive red blanket over me as I exited the laminated wooden floor. A soft creak could be heard through the silent apartment. The silence was deafening and only made me want to scream. My mind was a flurry of thoughts, a sea of doubt, and a pit of despair. The sun was still low in the sky, the soft rays of light barely reaching my apartment. The clock on the wall read 7:30 am, I still had time before I had to go to work. The air was cold and crisp, the chill biting my skin. I got dressed and prepared myself for the day ahead.

My workplace is at the bottom of The Pic de Verre, an enormous office building made of glass and steel. It has a sleek and modern design, fitting with the surrounding buildings. It towered over the other skyscrapers in the area and was a fantastic sight. The lobby is filled with people going about their day. It was a bustling scene, the sounds of people talking and shoes clacking against the marble floors could be heard throughout. Some elevators lined the walls and led to various building floors.

As I walked through the lobby, I noticed a poster for "The Dirty Crow." The poster was bright and colorful, and its logo was a bird wearing a top hat and holding a microphone. Below the logo, it read, "Come see The Dirty Crow perform live on the 15th of October at The Crest! Tickets available at the door or online!" I wasn't too familiar with this band, but I was curious to see who they were.

The elevator ride was long and tedious, and it was extremely slow. The creaks of the gears grind from within the furbished wood walls of the elevator. There stood a man with a casual-elegant look that caught my darting eyes. He was tall, his blazer was a deep navy blue, under his shoulder he carried a thin laptop, on his left he had a folder of loose papers. His hair was still frazzled, his loafers were a clean shade of brown that glistened the light that reflected onto it, his scent was that of orchids on a battlefield that gave off a coldness and hopefulness. The way his stance is abl—

“Hey.”

His voice cut through my trance like a gilded blade.

I perk up, my face turning a deep red. My words come out garbled, and I try hard to compose my already busted language.

His eyes, his lips, his eyes, his nose, his everything was just-

WHO ARE YOU

I shake my head and regain composure.

"Uh, hello."

He looks at me with an unamused expression, He stands by the elevators, opened up shafts

"So, is this your floor?"

I think for a moment, then shrug.

"Eh, it's okay."

…

…

…what?

“…Huh?” he breaks the silence

“Shit, I mean yeah, this is my floor, sorry. I guess I'm just not used to the people here."

I awkwardly laugh and give him a thumbs up.

"Well, I hope you have a good day," I say 

“Uh huh,” his expression blanked, and he shrugged and walked away. It was as if the conversation had ended when I spoke.

With that, the doors close as we head on floor 41.