It began so casually that he almost convinced himself it was nothing. She had shifted her chair just slightly, leaning in to make a point, her voice dropping into a softer register as though she were sharing a secret with him alone. But what caught him off guard wasn’t her words—it was her nearness. The faint, deliberate brush of her shoulder grazing his. The unmistakable scent that clung to her skin, a perfume with warmth and spice, carrying a suggestion of something forbidden.
He inhaled before he could stop himself, and she noticed—of course she noticed. Her lips curved into the faintest trace of a smile before she tilted her head away, as if the closeness had been an accident, as though she hadn’t meant to let him feel the heat of her breath near his ear. But her hand remained on the table, fingertips tapping, so close to his that if either of them shifted just slightly, they would touch.
What unsettled him most wasn’t the nearness but the denial of it. She carried herself with practiced nonchalance, as though leaning in had been no more significant than adjusting her chair. And yet, she lingered in that space. Her words floated casually, but her body told a different story: the tilt of her chin, the way she allowed her blouse to slip just far enough for him to notice, then adjusted it only after she was sure his eyes had lingered.
It became a rhythm, a game played in silence. She leaned closer again, pretending to point something out in his notebook, her hair grazing his cheek. He tensed, every nerve alive, but she pretended not to feel it. Her hand slid across the page, unnecessarily close to his, then withdrew with feigned obliviousness. And yet, beneath the performance, there was intention. He could feel it in the way she timed her movements, in the deliberate pauses that left him trapped between desire and restraint.
When she finally pulled back, the absence of her presence felt like a loss. The space between them seemed wider, colder. But then her eyes found his, holding them just a second too long, and he knew she was daring him to bridge the distance himself.
He didn’t. Not yet. Instead, he sat in the charged silence, the ghost of her perfume still hanging between them, wondering how long she would keep pretending—and how long he could keep playing along.