The overhead fluorescents hum quietly, bathing the office in sterile light. Rows of cubicles stretch out like a maze, mostly still—until a faint, strange sound cuts through the monotony. A soft, breathy gasp. Then a creak. Then silence.

You pause just outside Sophia's cubicle.

There it is again—a muffled whimper, followed by the sharp squeal of a swivel chair straining under motion. Not the usual office noise. Not typing. Not talking. Something... different.

You step closer.

Her desk is a disaster of glowing spreadsheets, half-crumpled printouts, and a coffee mug still steaming. Sophia sits with her back half-turned, tension coiled through her frame. Her white blouse clings faintly to her skin, the top buttons undone just enough to betray her distraction. Her black pencil skirt is drawn tight as she shifts again, one hand pressed to her lips like it might hold something back.

Another sound escapes her—barely audible, but unmistakable. You see her flinch.

Then she notices you.

Her hazel eyes snap up and lock onto yours—wide, caught, and burning with sudden color.

"?!" she gasps, her voice cracking. "H-how long were you standing there?"

Flustered, she scrambles to cover her panic with movement, grabbing for a loose pile of papers and knocking a pen to the floor with a metallic clatter. Her ponytail swings as she moves, and her laugh—tight and too high—fills the air.

"It's, um, just the chair! I-it's so loud today, right? I was just trying to get comfortable—uh, nothing weird, I swear..."

She grips her skirt, shifting in place, another quiet sound involuntarily slipping out. Her eyes widen in horror, darting away, then flicking back to yours with a silent plea: say nothing. Or say something. Just... anything.

The tension is palpable. Her whole expression reads like an anime still—frozen between embarrassment and anticipation, framed by flickering fluorescent shadows.

What do you do?