He woke to the faint sound of rain tapping against the window, the kind that didn’t pour but whispered across the glass. The room was dim, and he checked his phone only to realize he’d woken a few minutes before the alarm. Tuesday had ended quietly, and Wednesday seemed determined to start the same way.

He stretched, sat up, and let the soft gray light fill the room. For a moment, he stayed still, listening to the rain. It wasn’t heavy enough to be inconvenient—just enough to wrap the morning in a slower kind of mood.

When he got to the kitchen, he made coffee out of habit. While it brewed, he scrolled through his notifications. Nothing urgent. No messages. He wasn’t expecting one this early, but he still noticed the empty screen.

He drank half his mug before grabbing his jacket and bag. The hallway felt cooler than usual when he stepped outside. The rain made the stairwell smell faintly like concrete and damp clothes. He took the stairs down, hands in his pockets.

As he reached the lobby, the front door opened from the outside. She stepped in, shaking light raindrops from her hair while holding a bright yellow umbrella that looked a little too cheerful for the weather.

“Oh—hey,” she said when she saw him.

“Morning,” he said. “You went out already?”

“Needed tea. Real tea. I woke up craving it.” She lifted the cup in her hand. “The place down the block opens early.”

He nodded. “Good commute weather.”

“It’s tolerable. At least it’s not windy.” She glanced at him. “You heading in now?”

“Yeah.”

She shifted her umbrella, folding it neatly before pushing a strand of damp hair behind her ear.  

“Did you eat breakfast yet?”

“Not yet.”

She stared at him with a very specific, pointed look.  

“Don’t start another morning with just coffee,” she said.

He held up his free hand. “I’ll grab something.”

“Good.” She stepped past him toward the elevators, then paused. “If the rain gets worse, don’t blame me for tempting fate.”

“How is tea tempting fate?”

“I don’t know. It just feels like it.”

He followed her to the elevator more out of instinct than intention. When the doors opened, they stepped inside. The small space hummed as it moved upward. Their reflections stood side by side in the metal panel—calm, slightly tired, quietly familiar.

She spoke first.

“You sleep okay?”

“Yeah. You?”

“More or less.” She sipped her tea. “My eggs survived the night. Thought you should know.”

“That’s good news.”

“I figured you’d be relieved.”

The elevator chimed, and the doors opened. They walked into the hallway together.

She unlocked her apartment door, stepping halfway inside before turning back.  

“Have a decent day. Nothing fancy. Just decent.”

“You too.”

She smiled—small but warm—and closed her door.

He stood there for a moment before heading to his own. The brief interaction left a quieter, steadier feeling in his chest, like the day had already settled into a rhythm before it even started.

By late morning, work had swallowed most of his attention. A few coworker messages, a couple of small tasks, and a mild headache from staring at charts for too long. He stood to stretch his legs and went to refill his water.

While crossing the office, his phone buzzed.

*Did you actually eat breakfast or did you lie to me?*

He stopped walking and typed:  

*I grabbed a sandwich.*  

*You?*

*I had toast. Plain toast. Truly thrilling stuff.*

*Living dangerously.*

*Always.*

He pocketed his phone and finished filling his bottle. Something about these exchanges made the day easier—not distracting, just grounding.

After lunch, the rain finally slowed. The sound was softer now, barely noticeable unless he focused on it.

Around two, she messaged again.

*Do you ever get that weird middle-of-the-week fog?*

He wrote back:  

*Every week.*

*Great. Not just me.*

He leaned back in his chair, letting the conversation sit there.

The afternoon meeting was short. He contributed a few lines. She didn’t speak this time, not because she seemed withdrawn but because the meeting didn’t need her input. Still, she kept her camera on, her expression neutral but present. Every so often, he caught her glancing sideways at something off-screen—probably a notebook or a reminder.

When the call ended, his phone buzzed immediately.

*You looked extremely done.*

*It was a long meeting,* he replied.

*It was a long ten minutes.*

He snorted softly.

*Plans later?* she asked.

He thought about it.  

*Not really. You?*

*Grocery run. I used the last of my pasta sauce yesterday.*

*Exciting.*

*Thrilling, actually.*

He didn’t respond right away. His fingers hovered over the screen before he finally wrote:

*If you need help carrying stuff, let me know.*

There was a three-dot typing bubble.  

Then it disappeared.  

Then returned.

Finally she sent:  

*I’ll be fine. But… thanks.*

He nodded to himself, even though no one was around to see it.

The day continued without incident until early evening. He packed up, left the office, and headed for the train. By the time he reached his building, the rain had stopped completely. The air smelled clean, and the pavement glowed faintly from earlier showers.

Inside, he started up the stairs. At the second floor landing, he heard footsteps below, moving upward at a steady pace. He didn’t need to guess this time.

When she reached him, she was carrying a reusable grocery bag that was clearly heavier than she’d predicted.

“That looks like more than pasta sauce,” he said.

“It escalated,” she admitted. “The store had sales. Multiple suspicious ones.”

“You and suspicious sales.”

“I know, I know.” She adjusted her grip. “I’m regretting decisions.”

“Give it here,” he said, holding out a hand.

“No, I’ve got it.”

“You’re carrying it like you don’t got it.”

She exhaled. “Fine.” She handed him the bag carefully. “But if anything breaks, you’re responsible.”

He took the weight easily. “Noted.”

They walked up the stairs together.

“So,” she said, “did you actually have a decent day like I told you to?”

“More or less.”

“Same here.” She climbed the last few steps. “Thanks for carrying that. I promise I don’t always buy this much.”

“I believe you.”

“You shouldn’t. But thanks anyway.”

They reached her door. She unlocked it, holding it open with her hip while he handed the bag back.

She paused before going inside.

“Are you eating dinner tonight?” she asked.

“Yeah. Eventually.”

“Good. Just checking.” She hesitated. “And… thanks for earlier. The offer.”

“Anytime.”

She nodded, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly.

“Good night,” she said.

“Night.”

She disappeared into her apartment, and he walked to his own door. Inside, the room was quiet again, but not empty. Something about the day lingered—a calm, steady shift that didn’t need to be named.

He set his keys down, took off his jacket, and pulled out his phone one last time.

A new message waited.

*Eggs survived another day. I feel unstoppable.*

He shook his head softly, warmth settling in the center of his chest.

*Keep the streak going,* he typed.

*Working on it.*

He placed the phone aside and exhaled.

It was only Wednesday.

But the week was starting to feel different in ways he couldn’t ignore anymore.