Spring came quietly to Elyndra, like someone opening a window without meaning to.
The rain eased, the mornings softened, and everything smelled faintly of salt and something starting over.
Clara started running again—slowly, awkwardly, always stopping halfway to tie her hair.
She wasn’t chasing fitness; she was trying to remember how to move without purpose.
Every morning she ran past the harbor, where fishermen shouted across the docks and coffee carts steamed in the cool air.
For the first time in years, she liked being outside.
At work, the pace had changed too.
The company had merged departments, and now Clara and Adrian shared a project corner—a small desk cluster where coffee rings and spreadsheets coexisted.
It was chaos.
Organized, polite chaos.
“Can you pass me the report?” she asked one morning.
He handed it over without looking up.
“You know,” she said, “we’ve been sitting next to each other for two weeks, and you still act like I’m a ghost.”
“You make noise like one,” he replied.
“Insult accepted.”
He smirked, barely. “You’re unusually chipper today.”
“Must be the oxygen. I’ve started running.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Voluntarily?”
“Shocking, I know.”
Theo strolled by just in time to hear that.
“Wait, you run? Like, on purpose?”
“Yes, Theo.”
“Should I call the police? You might be kidnapped.”
“Go away.”
He winked. “You love me.”
“I tolerate you.”
“Close enough.”
Adrian watched the exchange with quiet amusement.
It was rare, seeing him relax enough to look almost normal.
When Theo left, he turned back to her.
“You have good friends.”
“I know. I keep them around for comic relief.”
He nodded. “Effective strategy.”
They both smiled.
For the next hour, they worked in comfortable silence.
Every so often, their hands brushed when they reached for the same paper.
Neither commented.
Later that afternoon, their boss asked them to review an upcoming release—an anthology about healing after loss.
“Fitting,” Clara muttered.
Adrian glanced at her. “You think people can actually heal?”
“I think we just get better at carrying things.”
He considered that. “So, not healed—just functioning.”
“Exactly. It’s the adult version of hope.”
He smiled faintly. “You have a strange way of being comforting.”
“I take that as a compliment.”
That evening, the office emptied out slowly.
Adrian was the last to leave, as usual.
Clara lingered too, pretending to organize her files.
When he finally shut down his laptop, he said, “Do you ever go straight home?”
“Define straight.”
He laughed quietly. “Dinner?”
She looked up. “You mean together?”
“Unless you have better plans.”
“I don’t,” she admitted.
They ended up at a small ramen place near the pier, the kind that smelled like soy and seaweed.
Steam fogged the windows, turning everything soft around the edges.
Adrian picked up his chopsticks awkwardly.
“You’re terrible at this,” she said.
“I analyze things. I don’t eat them elegantly.”
“Tragic flaw.”
He looked up. “And yours?”
“Overthinking. And sarcasm.”
“Self-awareness is progress.”
“Don’t push it.”
They ate quietly for a while, the kind of silence that felt full instead of empty.
The waitress dropped off the check.
Clara reached for it, but Adrian beat her to it.
“I’ve got it,” he said.
“You’re not winning points.”
“I’m not keeping score.”
Something in his tone made her stop arguing.
Outside, the night air was cool and clean.
They stood by the pier, the city lights flickering over the water.
“I didn’t think we’d ever get along,” she said.
“Neither did I.”
“And now?”
He shrugged. “Now, it’s interesting.”
“That’s one word for it.”
“Yours?”
“Unpredictable.”
He smiled, small and sure.
And for once, she didn’t fill the space between them with words.
She just stood there, listening to the water.
A week later, Clara’s world tilted again.
It started with an email—short, polite, and dangerous.
**From:** Julian Reed
**Subject:** *Editorial Collaboration Proposal*
She stared at the screen for a full minute before opening it.
The words were formal, clean, and distant, like he’d been ironed out of emotion.
He wanted to propose a co-editing project between his new firm and her division.
Professional, he called it.
“Strictly business,” he wrote.
She laughed under her breath. “Sure.”
Mae passed by and noticed her expression.
“What’s that face?”
“An echo.”
Mae frowned. “Julian?”
“Yeah.”
Mae groaned. “The man’s allergic to boundaries.”
“I thought I blocked him professionally.”
“You can’t block charm, unfortunately.”
“Then I’m screwed.”
“You’ll live. Just don’t take the meeting alone.”
Later that afternoon, her boss confirmed it—Julian’s firm was one of the new partners.
They’d be meeting next week.
“Play nice,” her boss said.
“I’m capable of civil,” Clara answered.
Adrian, standing nearby, glanced at her but said nothing.
That night, she couldn’t focus on anything.
The idea of sitting across from Julian again made her skin buzz—not from longing, but from memory.
He was like static; even silence with him had voltage.
When she told Adrian the next day, he simply said, “I see.”
“That’s it?” she asked.
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. Maybe something judgmental.”
“I try not to assume people’s motives.”
“Must be nice.”
“It’s efficient.”
“God, you sound like a robot again.”
He smiled. “Familiar territory.”
Then, more quietly, he added, “If you want, I’ll sit in on the meeting.”
She blinked. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because I don’t like the look on your face when you talk about him.”
It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t even protectiveness.
It was something steadier—like someone quietly standing between her and a storm.
She didn’t answer.
The next week came too quickly.
Julian walked into the conference room like nothing had ever broken between them.
Sharp suit, smoother smile.
“Clara,” he said, like her name still belonged to him.
“Julian.”
He turned to Adrian. “You must be the numbers guy.”
Adrian shook his hand. “And you must be the reason she started running again.”
Julian laughed. “Tough crowd.”
Adrian didn’t laugh.
The meeting went fine—on paper.
They discussed marketing angles, timelines, cost projections.
But beneath every sentence was something unsaid, a history both too big and too small to fit the room.
At one point, Julian leaned slightly closer.
“You look good,” he murmured.
Clara didn’t blink. “So do warning labels.”
Adrian looked up from his notes, expression unreadable.
When it was over, Julian lingered by the door.
“Maybe we can grab coffee sometime. To clear the air.”
“There’s nothing left to clear,” she said.
He smirked. “Always sharp.”
“Always learning.”
He left.
Clara stood still until the door closed.
Adrian watched her, silent.
Finally, she said, “You can say it.”
“Say what?”
“That he’s an ass.”
He nodded. “He is.”
She laughed—a shaky sound, but real.
Later that night, she sat by her window again, city lights flickering below.
It had been a long day, full of old ghosts and new steadiness.
She didn’t feel healed, but she felt anchored.
Her phone buzzed.
Adrian: *Still standing?*
She typed back: *Barely.*
Adrian: *That counts.*
She smiled, leaned back, and closed her eyes.
Outside, the rain started again—but it sounded different this time.
Not like an ending, but like something finally rinsing clean.
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