The days that followed were quieter, though not peaceful. Samantha noticed the difference in small ways—the careful pauses, the polite tone, the invisible line that had redrawn itself between her and Nathan.  

They still spoke daily. They still worked side by side. Nothing had changed, except everything.  

When she greeted him in the morning, he nodded like always, but the easy rhythm that used to exist had vanished. Conversations that once flowed now stopped just short of familiar.  

At first, she blamed herself. Maybe she had imagined the connection, or maybe she had crossed some unspoken rule. But then she caught him looking away a fraction too quickly, and she realized he felt it too.  

Neither of them mentioned it. They just adjusted—like people rearranging furniture after an argument, pretending the room still felt the same.  

Monday began with rain and deadlines. Samantha arrived early, the air heavy with the smell of damp paper and coffee. Miles was already there, spinning lazily in his chair.  

“Morning, emotionally unavailable coworker.”  

“Wow,” she said. “Going for subtlety today?”  

“I tried it once. Didn’t suit me.”  

She smirked. “What do you want, Miles?”  

“Nothing, except to confirm that you and Reed haven’t killed each other.”  

“We’re fine.”  

“Define fine.”  

She sighed. “Functional. Efficient. Professional.”  

He gave her a long look. “That’s a lot of words for *awkward silence*.”  

She threw a crumpled note at him. “Go do actual work.”  

He ducked, grinning. “Touchy. Interesting.”  

But the grin faded as he studied her face. “Hey, Sam… just—don’t forget there’s a life outside this place, okay?”  

She forced a smile. “I’ll pencil it in.”  

The week dragged. Projects, revisions, client updates—it all blurred into one long stretch of noise. Nathan’s door was always half-open, his expression unreadable.  

One afternoon, they ended up in the same meeting, sitting across from each other. The discussion was routine: figures, projections, deadlines. But every time she glanced up, his eyes were already elsewhere.  

When the meeting ended, she lingered behind, collecting stray papers just to fill the space. Nathan stopped by the door.  

“Good work,” he said.  

She nodded. “Thanks.”  

He hesitated, then added, “You seem… distracted.”  

“I could say the same.”  

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—recognition, maybe. “Busy week,” he said finally, and left.  

The door shut softly, but the quiet it left behind felt louder than anything else.  

On Thursday, Claire announced a minor celebration—an excuse to “boost morale.” The team gathered in the break room with cupcakes and cheap champagne. Samantha stayed near the back, nursing a drink that didn’t taste like anything.  

Nathan joined late, offering a polite smile before blending into the crowd. Miles, of course, made himself the center of attention.  

“Alright, everyone,” he declared, “a toast—to deadlines that don’t destroy our souls!”  

Laughter followed. Samantha lifted her cup but didn’t drink. Across the room, Nathan met her gaze for half a second. It wasn’t deliberate—it was instinct, like a reflex they both forgot how to suppress.  

Miles noticed, of course. He leaned over. “There it is again—the stare.”  

“Stop.”  

“I’m just saying, if tension were measurable, we’d need hazard pay.”  

“Miles.”  

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. But seriously, if you two keep pretending nothing’s weird, someone’s gonna explode.”  

“Maybe you,” she muttered.  

“Fair point.”  

He didn’t push further, but the look he gave her was all concern, no teasing.  

Friday came with the same rain that had started the week. Samantha sat at her desk, eyes unfocused, when Gideon’s name appeared on her phone screen.  

*Weekend escape. Two days. No laptops. Say yes before you think.*  

She stared at the message. Her first instinct was to decline—too much work, too much everything. But then she looked at her reflection in the dark window, and what she saw wasn’t ambition. It was exhaustion disguised as discipline.  

She typed: *Where?*  

*Coast. Train leaves tomorrow morning.*  

She hesitated for a few seconds, then replied: *Fine. I’m in.*  

The office was nearly empty that evening when Nathan appeared by her desk.  

“You’re leaving early?”  

She looked up. “Not really. Just not staying until midnight for once.”  

He nodded, but there was something careful in the gesture. “Big plans?”  

“Not exactly. I’m going out of town this weekend.”  

He froze for half a second, subtle but noticeable. “Oh.”  

“Gideon invited me.”  

He didn’t respond immediately. “That sounds… nice.”  

She raised an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s a foreign concept.”  

“Maybe it is.”  

There was a pause that stretched just long enough to matter.  

“Enjoy the time off,” he said finally.  

“Thanks. I’ll try to remember how to relax.”  

He gave a faint smile. “Let me know if you figure it out.”  

That night, she packed with mechanical precision—clothes, charger, notebook, the usual armor of routine. But when she zipped her suitcase, the emptiness in the room felt unfamiliar.  

She wasn’t running away, not exactly.  

She just needed to know who she was when she wasn’t orbiting someone else’s gravity.  

Rain tapped against the window again, softer this time. She thought about texting Nathan, about saying *don’t work too late*, but she didn’t. Some silences weren’t meant to be filled.  

Morning came gray and cold. The train station smelled of coffee and early departures. Samantha found her seat by the window, the hum of motion already vibrating through the floor.  

Gideon arrived a minute before departure, breathless but smiling. “You actually showed up.”  

“Barely.”  

He sat beside her. “You look like someone who needs three hours of sleep and a new hobby.”  

“I already have one. It’s called spreadsheets.”  

He laughed softly. “You’re impossible.”  

She smiled faintly. “You keep saying that like it’s news.”  

As the train pulled away, the city began to shrink. Towers blurred into distance, lights dissolving into gray. Samantha rested her forehead against the window, watching reflections flicker past—her face, Gideon’s, strangers she’d never see again.  

For the first time in months, she wasn’t checking her phone.  

She didn’t realize Nathan had opened her message thread that same morning, staring at their last conversation, before closing it again without typing a word.  

The train sped through the outskirts, the hum steady and low. Gideon dozed off beside her, his head tilted back, the rhythm of his breathing syncing with the rails.  

Samantha closed her eyes, but rest didn’t come. Her mind kept circling back—to the office, to Nathan’s careful expression, to the way he’d said “enjoy the time off” like it was both permission and a challenge.  

She wondered what he was doing at that moment.  

Then she forced herself not to.  

Outside, the landscape opened wide, fields unfolding beneath the pale light. It should have felt freeing.  

Instead, it felt like distance made visible.  

She pressed her palm against the cold glass, tracing the outline of her reflection until it blurred into the horizon.  

She didn’t know what she was running from.  

Only that she couldn’t stay still any longer.  

The train carried her forward, the city fading behind—a constellation of lights growing smaller, but never disappearing.