He didn’t think much about the morning after it passed. Work filled most of his day, the kind of steady tasks that didn’t demand creativity, just attention and patience. But even with the usual rhythm taking over, he caught himself checking his phone more often than he meant to.

By midafternoon, he forced himself to put the phone face-down and pushed through a few overdue assignments. The office felt unusually quiet—maybe because half the team was working from home, maybe because the cloudy weather outside muted everything.

When five-thirty rolled around, he logged out, packed up his things, and took the elevator down to the lobby. The rain from earlier had dried up, leaving the sidewalks damp and shiny under the streetlights. It wasn’t dark yet, but the sky had settled into that early-evening shade of blue that made everything feel slower.

He walked toward the train station, hands in his pockets, letting his mind drift. It wasn’t a busy night. Traffic was light. A couple of people waited at the crosswalk, bundled up in light jackets. Nothing out of the ordinary.

On the train, he found a seat near the window. The ride home was short, only a few stops, but he watched the city pass by anyway—store signs lighting up, people heading into small restaurants, the sky flipping from blue to gray.

When he reached his building, he pushed open the front door and stepped into the lobby. Someone was sorting packages again, and the elevator hummed somewhere above. He headed for the stairs.

As he climbed to the second floor, he heard the sound of grocery bags rustling from above. By the time he reached the third floor landing, she came down the steps carrying two full bags—one in each hand—and a loaf of bread tucked under her arm.

He blinked. “Again?”

“Don’t,” she said immediately, breath slightly uneven. “Don’t say a word.”

“That’s a lot of groceries.”

“Look, I went in for pasta sauce. One jar. Just one.” She shifted the bags so they wouldn’t cut into her fingers. “But they had these giant packs of noodles for cheap. And bread was on sale. And then I remembered I didn’t have fruit. And then—”

“Let me guess,” he said. “Another suspicious sale.”

“Multiple suspicious sales,” she admitted. “I’m weak.”

He held out a hand. “Give me one.”

“I can carry them.”

“You could. But you’re choosing not to.”

She narrowed her eyes at him before finally surrendering one of the bags. “Fine. But if I drop anything, I’ll blame you.”

“That’s fair.”

They continued up the stairs. The bag wasn’t heavy for him, but it wasn’t light either.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. I just didn’t think it through. Again.” She nudged the bag in his hand with her elbow. “Thanks, by the way.”

“No problem.”

When they reached their floor, she stopped in front of her door and fished for her keys. The bread almost slipped from under her arm, and he caught it with his free hand before it hit the ground.

She let out a short laugh. “You’re saving my dinner and my dignity at the same time.”

“I do what I can.”

She unlocked her door and held it open with her hip. He handed her the grocery bag and the bread.

“You cooking tonight?” he asked.

“Yeah. Something simple. Probably noodles, since I now own enough to feed the entire building.” She leaned the bags against the wall inside her entryway. “What about you?”

“Probably going to order something,” he said. “Haven’t decided.”

“You should eat something warm,” she said. “It’s one of those nights.”

He nodded. “I will.”

She looked at him for a second, expression softer than usual, like she was deciding whether to say something else. Instead, she stepped back and said:

“Text me if you order something terrible. I’ll make fun of you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She gave him a small wave before closing the door.

He walked into his own apartment and set his things down. The living room felt still, quiet in a way that didn’t bother him. He changed out of his work clothes, tossed his jacket onto the back of the couch, and washed his hands.

He debated cooking, but he knew himself well enough to give up quickly. He ordered dinner from a nearby place that made decent fried rice and a good soup. While waiting, he sat on the couch and scrolled through a few unrelated messages.

A buzz interrupted him.

*Made too much pasta. Again.*

He smiled lightly.

*How much is too much?*

*Enough for three people. Maybe four. Unclear.*

*Impressive.*

*Not impressive. Tragic.*

*At least you’ll have leftovers.*

*True. Unless eggs betray me first.*

He shook his head, amused.

*How are the eggs doing?*

*They’re fine. Suspiciously fine.*

He set the phone aside as his food arrived. After grabbing it from the lobby, he returned upstairs and sat at his kitchen counter to eat. The fried rice was warm, the soup even better. Simple, but exactly the kind of comfort he wanted without thinking too hard.

He finished eating and cleaned the counter. When he finally sat back on the couch, he checked his phone again.

A new message waited.

*Do you ever feel like midweek is just a blur? Like you blink and suddenly it’s night?*

He typed:

*Yeah. Today felt like that.*

*Same. But at least dinner didn’t explode, so I’m counting it as a win.*

He leaned his head back against the couch.

*What did you make?*

*Noodles. With sauce. Very high level stuff.*

*Sounds complicated.*

*Please don’t encourage me.*

A pause.

Then:

*But it tasted decent.*

He let that sit for a moment before answering.

*Glad to hear it.*

Another message came through almost instantly.

*You sound tired.*

He huffed a quiet breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.

*Long day. Normal long, not terrible.*

Another pause.

*Want to take a walk later? Just around the block. If you’re up for it.*

The question wasn’t heavy. Not loaded. Just casual. Simple. Like most of their conversations lately—comfortable without pushing.

He considered it for a few seconds, though the answer was obvious.

*Yeah,* he wrote. *Let me know when you’re ready.*

*Give me ten minutes. I need to convince myself to leave the warm apartment.*

*Understood.*

He stood, changed into a hoodie, and grabbed his keys. Before leaving, he checked the hallway through the peephole. Empty. He stepped outside, locked the door behind him, and waited a moment.

Her door opened exactly eight minutes later.

She stepped out wearing a light jacket and holding her phone.

“I’m ready,” she said. “I’ve accepted the cold.”

“It’s not that cold.”

“It’s emotionally cold.”

He laughed under his breath. “Let’s go.”

They headed down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. The sky had turned darker, a deep blue sliding toward night. The air was cool but not sharp. They fell into an easy pace, walking side by side without hurrying.

A few blocks away, a small bakery was closing. The workers stacked chairs and wiped down tables. She watched them while walking.

“Kind of nice being out when it’s quiet,” she said.

“Yeah.”

They stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light. A car passed slowly, headlights reflecting off the wet pavement.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. Just… midweek brain.” She shrugged. “Needed air.”

“Same here.”

She glanced at him briefly, then looked forward again. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course.”

They crossed the street and continued around the block. A few leaves skittered across the sidewalk. Someone walked a dog wearing a tiny jacket. A couple passed by, talking about something that sounded like dinner plans.

Nothing unusual. Nothing dramatic. Just a normal evening.

But walking beside her felt natural—like they’d done this more times than they actually had.

When they reached their building again, she stopped at the front door.

“Thanks,” she said. “That helped.”

“Anytime.”

They walked upstairs together. At their floor, she paused in front of her door.

“Get some rest,” she said.

“You too.”

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, then stepped inside with a small wave.

He unlocked his door and went in, the quiet settling around him again. But the quiet felt different now—lighter, less lonely.

He set his phone on the table.

A message buzzed a few seconds later.

*Good walk. We should do that again sometime.*

He typed back:

*Yeah. We should.*

And for the first time that week, the day didn’t feel like it ended in a blur.  

It ended in something simple, steady, and quietly good.