He didn’t hear from her for the rest of the morning, which wasn’t strange at all, but he noticed the quiet anyway. His focus drifted in and out while he worked through his inbox. A few coworkers messaged him, asking for small updates, nothing important. By the time the clock in the corner of his screen hit almost eleven, he pushed his chair back and went to refill his water bottle.

The office kitchen was half full. Someone reheated soup, someone else struggled with a jammed coffee pod machine. He filled his bottle, took a sip, and leaned against the counter for a moment. His mind finally settled into the pace of the day when his phone buzzed.

He checked it automatically.  

*You survived the morning?*

He smirked before typing back.  

*Barely. You?*

The reply came fast.  

*Two calls. One boring. One slightly less boring.*

*Sounds about right.*

*Any lunch plans?*

He hesitated, not because he didn’t want to answer, but because the question felt casual in a way that tugged at something subtle. Nothing dramatic, just a small shift.

*Nothing planned,* he typed.  

*You?*

*Thinking of picking up something downstairs later. I kind of want soup. Don’t know why.*

He thought about that.  

*Get the chicken one,* he wrote. *It’s good.*

*Noted,* she replied. *If it’s terrible I’ll blame you.*

He put his phone away and returned to his desk. Work finally picked up enough to pull him in for a while. When noon rolled around, most people gathered their things and headed out. He considered eating at his desk, but his brain felt too full for that. He needed air.

He grabbed his jacket and walked downstairs. The lobby smelled faintly like someone had opened a container of leftover noodles. He stepped outside, where the sun was sharp but the wind was cool.

A block down the street, he stopped by a small place that served sandwiches and soup near the window. He wasn’t hungry enough for a full meal, so he ordered a cup of tomato soup and bread. While waiting, he glanced at his phone again, though he wasn’t expecting anything.

Still nothing.

He took his order and walked to a narrow bench outside. The street wasn’t busy yet. He tore off a piece of bread, dipped it into the soup, and ate slowly. Halfway through, his phone buzzed.

*I got the chicken soup. It’s actually decent. Shockingly decent.*

He texted back:  

*Told you.*

*Fine, fine. You win this one.*

He set the phone down beside him and kept eating. A small breeze passed, carrying the smell of something fried from a nearby cart. People strolled past—students, office workers, someone walking quickly with a stroller. It was just another lunch hour, but it felt steadier today.

When he finished, he tossed the empty container and headed back to the building. The afternoon slid into a predictable rhythm until it was time for the call they were both on.

He logged in a minute early. A couple of coworkers appeared on the screen first. Small talk filled the audio while others joined. It wasn’t long before he spotted her name in the participant list. A moment later, her camera turned on.

She looked focused, wearing headphones and sitting in what looked like the corner of her living room. A mug sat near her elbow. When she noticed he was already in the meeting, she gave the tiniest nod—not obvious to anyone else, just enough for him to catch.

He didn’t react, but something settled in his chest.

The meeting wasn’t difficult. Mostly updates, quick check-ins, next steps. She spoke once, briefly, offering a suggestion that everyone agreed with. He gave two updates. Nothing felt strained between them. If anything, it felt easier than yesterday.

When the meeting ended, her camera flicked off before he could look again. He waited a few seconds, then closed his laptop and exhaled. His shoulders felt less tense than usual after these calls.

A few minutes later, his phone buzzed.

*You sounded tired.*

*Just a long morning,* he replied.  

*You sounded fine.*

*Lies. I’m running on soup and hope.*

He smiled.  

*Soup is powerful.*

*Don’t let the soup industry hear you say that.*

He replied with nothing more than a short “…” which made her send back:

*Exactly.*

The rest of the afternoon slipped by in small tasks. Around four, he stepped away from his desk and took a short walk around the floor, passing print stations and a few coworkers chatting by the windows. When he returned, he found another message from her.

*Do you ever take breaks?*

*I’m on one now.*

*Good. Movement is important.*

He typed back:  

*You taking your own advice?*

There was a pause.  

*Maybe.*

He leaned back in his chair, amused.

By the time the workday ended, the sun had already dimmed. He packed his things slowly, letting the office noise fade around him. As he stepped outside, the air felt cooler. The walk to the train station stretched ahead—soft streetlights, faint traffic, distant voices.

The train ride home was uneventful. When he reached his building, the lobby was quiet except for someone checking packages. He climbed the stairs, each step echoing softly.

On the third floor landing, he heard light footsteps above. A moment later, she appeared at the top of the stairs, holding a grocery bag with what looked like pasta and a carton of eggs inside.

“Oh,” she said, slowing down. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

She shifted the bag. “I went to the store near the corner. They had a ridiculous sale on eggs. Like, suspiciously cheap.”

“That sounds risky.”

“Probably. But I still bought them.” She frowned at the bag. “If I don’t show up at work tomorrow, assume the eggs killed me.”

“I’ll keep an eye out.”

They started walking up together.

“How was the rest of your day?” she asked.

“Not bad. Steady.”

“Same here. The soup helped. Not life-changing, but good enough.”

“Told you.”

She nudged him lightly with her elbow. “Yes, yes, you get full credit.”

They reached their floor. She stopped in front of her door and shifted the bag to one hand.

“Do you usually cook this late?” he asked.

“Sometimes. Depends on my mood. But I bought too many groceries to ignore.” She tilted her head. “You eat dinner yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Grab something before it gets too late. Don’t pull a ‘coffee counts as dinner’ move.”

He tried not to react too obviously. “I won’t.”

She unlocked her door, then paused, half-turned toward him.

“Thanks for today,” she said—not in a formal way, just straightforward. “The messages. The company. All of it.”

He nodded once. “You too.”

She gave a soft smile, small and quick.

“Good night,” she said.

“Night.”

She slipped inside her apartment, the door closing with a quiet click.

He stood there for a second longer, replaying the day in fragments—their messages, the quick nod on camera, the stairwell conversation, the easy rhythm that seemed to settle between them without anyone forcing it.

Nothing dramatic had happened.

But things were changing anyway.

He walked to his door, keyed it open, and stepped into the dim light of his apartment. As he dropped his keys into the bowl near the entrance, his phone buzzed again.

*I didn’t die from the eggs. Yet.*

He laughed quietly, alone in his living room, and typed back:

*Good. Try to survive until morning.*

*No promises.*

He shook his head, still smiling as he set the phone down.

It was just another Tuesday.

But the kind that left something warm lingering after the day was over.