It happened in a narrow hallway, the kind where every step feels closer than it should. He had been leaning casually against the wall, talking, when she began to move forward—not fast, but steady, unyielding.
At first, he thought she was just passing through. But she didn’t veer away. She didn’t pause. Step by step, she entered his space until the air between them thinned and there was nowhere else for him to go. The wall at his back felt suddenly solid, almost too close.
Her eyes held his without wavering, her expression calm but unreadable. She didn’t touch him—she didn’t have to. The closeness spoke for her. He could feel her presence in every breath, in the faint scent of her skin, in the way her body occupied the last inch of distance he had left.
Then she stopped, leaving him caught between the wall and her unwavering gaze. She stayed just long enough for him to wonder what she might do next—then stepped back, as though the whole thing had been an accident. But he knew it wasn’t.