The silence between them didn’t vanish—it simply changed shape.  

It wasn’t the kind that bruised anymore; it lingered like the quiet after a long conversation, when neither person wants to be the first to speak again.  

Samantha noticed the difference in how Nathan looked at her—less cautious, more measured, like he was still learning the new distance between them.  

She wasn’t sure what they were now, but she knew what they weren’t: strangers pretending not to care.  

Work had a strange way of smoothing over emotion.  

Deadlines didn’t pause for anyone’s feelings, and routine was its own kind of truce.  

By the second week, things almost felt normal again.  

Almost.  

On Tuesday, Miles cornered her near the copier, holding two coffees.  

“You’re coming to dinner Friday, right?”  

“What dinner?”  

“The one I organized to celebrate surviving another quarter without mass resignation.”  

She smirked. “So, a funeral with food.”  

“Exactly.”  

She hesitated. “Who’s going?”  

“Everyone. Claire, the interns, Nathan—”  

She blinked. “Nathan?”  

Miles raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, Nathan. You know, our boss. The guy you occasionally tolerate.”  

“Right.”  

“You should come. It’s not a date, it’s emotional CPR.”  

She took the coffee, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”  

“And yet,” he said, “you’re still listening.”  

Friday came with crisp air and the faint scent of autumn in the city.  

They met at a small restaurant tucked behind a narrow alley, one of those hidden places that only locals knew.  

The lights were warm, the tables crowded, laughter spilling into the street.  

Samantha arrived last. Miles waved her over with both arms like she might miss him otherwise.  

“Sam! Seat of honor, right here between Claire and the man himself.”  

She froze. “Miles—”  

“Already told them you’re on your way.”  

Nathan looked up from his drink as she approached. For a second, neither said anything. Then he stood, ever so slightly, as she took her seat.  

“Hi,” she said.  

“Hi.”  

It was absurdly formal. Claire smirked behind her glass.  

Dinner went better than she expected.  

The wine helped. So did Miles’ relentless commentary.  

Nathan was quieter than usual, but not distant. He even laughed once—an actual laugh, soft and low, almost unfamiliar.  

Samantha pretended not to notice how the sound startled her.  

At one point, Miles leaned across the table. “You know, for a group of overworked corporate zombies, we clean up pretty well.”  

“Speak for yourself,” Claire said.  

Samantha rolled her eyes. “This was your idea, Miles.”  

“And look how happy everyone is!”  

Nathan gave him a sidelong glance. “That’s debatable.”  

Miles grinned. “Admit it, you’re having fun.”  

Nathan didn’t answer, but his smile—small, genuine—was enough.  

Later, when the check arrived and everyone began to disperse, Samantha reached for her coat at the same time Nathan did. Their hands brushed again, familiar now, but still enough to make her forget her next word.  

“Heading home?” he asked.  

“Yeah. You?”  

“Walking. It’s not far.”  

“Same.”  

He nodded once. “I’ll walk you part of the way.”  

She hesitated. “You don’t have to.”  

“I know.”  

And that was that.  

The night was colder than she expected.  

They walked side by side, the city quieter than usual.  

Streetlights flickered on wet pavement, and the distant hum of cars filled the silence between footsteps.  

For a while, they said nothing.  

Then Nathan spoke. “I’ve been second-guessing myself a lot lately.”  

She glanced at him. “You? That seems... unlikely.”  

“It’s true.”  

“About work?”  

“About everything.”  

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I used to think being sure was the same as being right.”  

“And now?”  

“Now I’m not sure about either.”  

She smiled faintly. “Welcome to the rest of us.”  

He looked over, his expression softer than she’d ever seen it. “You ever stop pretending you have it together?”  

“All the time,” she said. “I just don’t tell anyone.”  

He smiled, quiet and rueful. “Good strategy.”  

They reached the corner where the street split into two narrow lanes. She stopped. “This is me.”  

Nathan nodded, but didn’t move.  

“Thanks for walking me.”  

“Anytime.”  

The words hung between them, warm in the cold air.  

She could’ve left it there.  

She almost did.  

Then she said, “Nathan?”  

“Yeah?”  

“I’m tired of pretending things are simple.”  

He studied her for a long moment, his eyes unreadable.  

“I know,” he said finally.  

A pause.  

“Me too.”  

And that was somehow enough.  

The rain started suddenly, as if the sky had been waiting for the confession.  

Nathan glanced up. “You’ll get soaked.”  

“There’s a café,” she said, pointing across the street. “Come on.”  

They ran, laughing under the drizzle, the kind of laughter that didn’t need to be explained.  

Inside, the café was nearly empty.  

Soft music played through hidden speakers, and the air smelled of espresso and something sweet.  

Samantha shook the rain from her hair, then caught him watching.  

“What?” she asked.  

“Nothing,” he said too quickly.  

She raised an eyebrow.  

He looked away, smiling just enough for her to notice.  

They ordered two coffees and found a corner table by the window.  

Outside, the rain streaked the glass in thin silver lines.  

For once, they didn’t talk about work.  

Nathan leaned back, watching the street. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How quiet feels different depending on who you’re with.”  

She nodded. “Some people make silence feel heavy.”  

“And others?”  

“They make it feel safe.”  

He turned to her, something thoughtful in his gaze.  

“Which am I?”  

She smiled, tracing the rim of her cup. “Ask me another day.”  

He chuckled softly. “Fair.”  

The rain softened, turning to a whisper.  

They sat there for a long time, saying very little,  

and somehow, it felt like the most honest conversation they’d ever had.