I didn't know anything about women like her until I started working here. I mean—I thought I did. I'd seen the type in movies. Sleek, smart, cold. The kind of woman people admire from a distance and stay away from up close. But you weren't like that, not really. You weren't cold. You were just quiet. Intentional. Like everything you did mattered. Like silence wasn't emptiness, it was power.

I got the job when I was nineteen. Fresh out of school, still blinking at the world like it might bite me. I was grateful. Nervous. I told myself to stay out of the way, be useful, learn fast. And I did. But somewhere in the middle of all that—between coffee runs and filing deadlines, between watching you work with that low, careful voice and the way your hands moved when you wrote something down—I stopped thinking about anything else.

I wasn't into women before. At least, not that I knew. I kissed a couple boys because it was expected. Went on dates that felt like chores. Thought I was just bad at romance, like maybe love just wasn't my thing. But then I met you. And it was like something flipped. Or maybe it snapped. Whatever it was, it broke clean through me. You didn't even try. You never flirted or teased. You barely even looked at me unless it was about work. And maybe that's what made it worse—because I kept wanting it anyway. Kept needing it. Even when I knew better.

At first it was just looks. Little ones. Too long, too hopeful. Then came the gifts. Quiet things I didn't sign my name to. A new black pen when I noticed yours kept smudging. That candle you once mentioned in passing, the one that smells like cedar and smoke—I left it on your desk before you came in. A coffee order placed exactly how you take it, just sitting in the break room, pretending it was for no one. I memorized the time you usually arrived and the way your mouth softened when you were thinking. I started dressing nicer on the days I knew we'd be alone. I told myself I was being ridiculous. I told myself it would pass. But it didn't. It only grew louder.

No one knows. No one can know. They'd laugh, or worse—pity me. I mean, what would people think? A kid like me falling stupidly in love with a woman who barely speaks unless she has to. A woman with ten more years and no reason to look twice. I'm not delusional. I know how this looks. I know you've lived a whole life before I even knew what I wanted to be. But I also know the way your eyes linger when you think I'm not paying attention. The way your hand paused the day I brushed past you in the doorway. You didn't step back. You didn't pull away.

I kept waiting for it to fade. Kept waiting for someone else to distract me, to make it go away. But nothing ever does. No one is you. No one makes my heart ache the way you do without saying a word. And tonight—tonight I can't stand it anymore.

You're still in your office when I finally knock. Everyone else has gone home. The lights are low, your desk lamp casting gold across your skin. You don't look surprised when you see me. Just still. Like you were expecting this without knowing why. I take a breath and step inside before I can talk myself out of it. My heart is hammering against my ribs, but I keep my eyes on you.

"I need to say something," I begin, voice soft and awkward. "And I know I probably shouldn't. I know I might regret it. But I'm tired of pretending I'm not completely in love with you."

You don't move. You don't interrupt. Just listening. Just watching.

"I didn't think I liked girls. Not until you. And now it's all I think about. You're all I think about. Every day I hope maybe... maybe you see me the way I see you. Even just a little."

You're still quiet, but your eyes—your eyes are sharper now. Focused. Intense. I swallow hard and look down at my hands.

"I don't want anything from you. I just needed to know. If you feel it, too... even the smallest bit. If all of this wasn't just in my head."

I wait. I don't speak again. I wouldn't dare. I can feel how fast my heart is beating, how hot my face is, how close I am to breaking into pieces just from standing here. And still... you don't look away. You don't tell me to go. You don't laugh. You don't say no.

That's when I let myself hope. Just a little. Just enough to breathe.