The silence in the conference room had shifted.

It wasn't the usual kind—the professional, composed hush of late afternoon work hours. This one felt fuller. Thicker. Like it was carrying something neither of them wanted to name.

Richard stood by the window, reading over one of the contract clauses again, although his mind wasn't on the words anymore and behind him Maya sat at the long table. Richard decided that they would work here for the rest of the day so that Maya could rest her ankle.

 The light was soft now, spilling in through the tall windows in shades of gold and grey. Shadows stretched across the wood-paneled walls. 

They hadn't spoken in a while—not since reviewing the last slide edits. It wasn't uncomfortable, not exactly. Just... full, they worked like this—quiet and efficient.

Maya flipped to a new page in her notebook, her handwriting neat and careful, though she couldn't focus. She kept stealing glances at him when he wasn't looking. The way the light caught in his hair. The quiet furrow between his brows as he concentrated. The small things she'd never dared to notice before, or perhaps never let herself notice.

He had always been distant. Untouchable.

But he showed he was concerned in his own ways.

Now, sitting across from him in a room meant for meetings and strategy sessions, it felt impossibly strange how aware she was of his presence.

Outside the room, lights dimmed slightly as evening protocols triggered in the building. When Maya rose to stretch her legs and test the pressure on her ankle, the moment she reached the door, she tugged the handle softly—

Nothing.

She frowned and tried again.

The handle didn't budge.

"...Sir?" she said, glancing back. "It's not opening."

Richard was already behind her before she could say another word. His hand brushed against the doorframe above her as he tried the lock himself. It was subtle, but the brush of his sleeve against her back made her heart skip.

He exhaled. Low.

"It locks automatically after hours. I should've remembered."

She turned to face him, and for a breathless moment, they were too close.

She backed up a step, awkwardly, bumping into the side of the wall. The echo of it filled the room louder than it should have.

"I'll call security," he said.

But his phone had no signal. 

"The signal's blocked in this wing after hours," he murmured, running a hand through his hair, finally letting out a long, low breath.

"We'll wait," he said eventually. "Someone will check. They always do before locking up completely."

Maya gave a small nod and returned to her seat, the tension coiling tighter in her shoulders.

He walked to the table and leaned against the edge, arms crossed, the sleeves of his dress shirt faintly wrinkled. He never looked rumpled. Not once. But now there was a looseness about him, a quiet give, like the day had finally worn him down.

Maya lowered her gaze again, heartbeat steady but loud in her ears. She shifted slightly in her chair.

The silence returned. Only this time, it wasn't quiet at all.

It pulsed.

The room wasn't very large, and the distance between them had shrunk in an odd, unnoticed way. Without thinking, Maya reached for a pen that had rolled slightly too far. But her balance shifted wrong—her ankle twinged, and her hand hit the edge of the table too hard.

She winced, stifling a sharp breath.

In a blink, Richard was beside her.

"Don't—" He didn't finish the sentence. His hand was already on her wrist, steadying her, careful but firm.

Maya froze.

His fingers were warm. Gentle. The pressure light but undeniably real.

He noticed it too.

The contact.

It wasn't like the night he carried her, adrenaline surging and concern overriding thought. This was... different.

Deliberate.

He didn't move right away. And neither did she.

Her eyes flicked up, met his.

Something stilled between them.

He looked at her—really looked at her.

Not like a boss. Not even like a man trying to remain distant.

He looked like someone seeing something new. Or finally understanding something old. His eyes traced her expression slowly, as if memorizing it. As if trying to name the thing rising between them and failing to speak it.

Her heart thudded.

She couldn't explain the feeling either. Only that her entire body seemed to notice his closeness. The warmth of his hand. The small frown of concern on his face. How he didn't let go right away.

And how she didn't want him to.

Her lips parted slightly. She didn't know why. She wasn't going to say anything.

He did let go, eventually.

But his hand lingered at her elbow, as if his body hadn't quite caught up with the decision to pull away.

Their breath mingled in the quiet. Still no words.

There was no need.

Richard stepped back—slow, controlled—but his eyes didn't leave hers. Not until he turned, hands sliding into his pockets as he paced toward the other end of the room, jaw taut, brows furrowed like he was trying to lock the moment back inside himself. 

But it was already out.

He stood by the window, his back straight, his hands still in his pocket but his shoulders weren't as rigid as usual. Not frozen. Just... still.

And as Maya sat there, her pulse still racing, she realized...

That moment had changed something.

And neither of them would be able to pretend it hadn't happened.

She lowered her gaze, her fingers twisting together in her lap. Her ankle throbbed dully, but she barely noticed. Not with the echo of his touch still ghosting across her skin. Not with her chest full of quiet thunder.

Then, just before the quiet swallowed the room again, Richard turned slightly—only his head, just enough to glance at her over his shoulder.

His expression unreadable. Eyes too dark, too knowing.

He looked different.

Not colder.

Not softer.

Just... aware.

Of her.

Maya looked at him and held his gaze in the moment—eyes meeting, hearts loud and hands still but neither of them said a word.

Something undoubtedly swirled between them.

Not with noise.

Not with confessions.

But with closeness.

And the feeling that, even in silence, they were no longer strangers.

The overhead lights flickered once.

And outside the room, the lights kept dimming, the hallway stayed empty, and the door stayed locked.