The next day felt heavy for Lina.
She tried to work, but her attention kept drifting, her hands pausing mid-typing, her thoughts circling the same painful loop. The images Clara sent, Tony's silence, the unanswered questions—they wrapped around her like chains.
Daniel noticed immediately.
He had been watching her from his desk, noticing the way her shoulders slumped, the way she stared at her screen without blinking, the way she seemed far away even when she was sitting right there.
During lunch break, he walked up to her quietly.
"You okay?" he asked, voice soft, careful, almost too gentle.
Lina lifted her eyes, forcing a small smile. "Yeah. Just… tired."
Daniel pulled out the chair beside her and sat. "Lina, I've seen you tired before. Today isn't tired. Today is… something else."
She looked away.
Her chest tightened a little.
Why was it so hard for her to say the truth?
After a few seconds, she sighed. "It's Tony. Things are… complicated."
Daniel nodded slowly, as if he already suspected. "I thought so. You haven't looked like yourself since yesterday."
She blinked. "You noticed?"
"I pay attention," he replied simply. "Especially when someone I care about looks like they're hurting."
Lina froze slightly. She didn't want to read too much into his words, but still—there was something in his tone. Something lingering. Something warm.
She shifted in her seat. "It's just… trust issues. Old history. Someone from Tony's past came back."
Daniel leaned back, studying her carefully. "And it affected you this much?"
"It's not just that," Lina whispered. "He didn't tell me she contacted him. I had to find out in a horrible way."
Daniel frowned. "That's not fair to you."
His voice was firm now.
"You deserve peace, Lina. Not stress. Not tears. And definitely not secrets."
Something in his tone, something quiet but insistent, wrapped around her. Maybe it was comfort. Maybe it was danger. Maybe it was both.
Lina swallowed. "It's not that simple."
"Maybe it should be."
His eyes lingered on her a second too long—long enough for her to feel it.
She stood abruptly. "I should get back to work."
Daniel didn't push. He simply nodded.
But the concern in his eyes stayed, following her even as she walked away.
The evening came too quickly, and the weight in her chest didn't lift.
When she wrapped up her work and stepped outside, her muscles ached with exhaustion—physical and emotional.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Tony.
Hey. Can we talk?
She stared at the screen for a long, heavy moment.
Then she turned it off.
Daniel approached just as she slipped the phone into her bag.
"Heading home?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"I could drop you," he said casually. "Your place is on my way."
She hesitated instantly.
This—this was where lines got blurry. Where right and wrong didn't look so obvious.
"I'm fine," she said.
"It's getting dark," he reminded her. "At least let me make sure you get home safely."
Lina looked at him. He truly meant well. He wasn't pushing, he wasn't trying to take advantage, he wasn't doing anything wrong.
Still…
Something felt too close.
Like the ground between them was shifting.
But tonight, she felt tired.
Emotionally drained.
And desperately in need of someone who didn't make her heart ache.
"Okay," she said finally. "Thank you."
Daniel smiled—a soft, careful smile—and unlocked the car.
As the car pulled away from the office, Lina stared out the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks of gold. Daniel didn't talk much. He just allowed the silence to sit comfortably, as if he understood she needed space to breathe.
At one point he glanced at her and said quietly, "You don't have to pretend with me. If you're hurting… you can say it."
She inhaled shakily. "It's just a lot."
"Tony?" he asked gently.
She nodded.
Daniel's grip tightened slightly on the steering wheel.
"Lina, no one who truly cares about you would let you drown in doubts like this."
She didn't reply.
Because in her heart… she wasn't sure if Tony had let her drown. Or if she had jumped into the water herself.
When they approached her street, Daniel slowed the car, turning toward her gate.
"I appreciate this," Lina said softly. "Really."
He smiled—warm, reassuring, but deeper than before. "You never have to thank me for caring."
The words landed somewhere she didn't expect.
Somewhere dangerous.
Before she could reply, he added, "If you ever need a friend… or anything… I'm here."
Lina swallowed hard. "Goodnight, Daniel."
She opened the door quickly and stepped out, needing distance—fast.
Daniel waited until she reached the gate before driving off.
His headlights faded down the road.
Across the street, in a parked car, Tony's world cracked a little more.
He had driven over with a plan—flowers on the seat beside him, apologies rehearsed, heart in his throat.
He wanted to fix things.
He wanted to hold her.
He wanted to make the storm between them disappear.
But then he saw Daniel's car pull up in front of her gate.
He saw Daniel step out first.
He saw Lina step out after, soft, tired, quiet.
He didn't wait to see her wave goodbye.
He didn't need to.
The sight was enough.
Enough to make his chest tighten.
Enough to make jealousy swirl like fire inside him.
Enough to make him feel replaced—whether it was true or not.
He dropped the flowers onto the passenger seat.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel.
His vision blurred with emotions he didn't want to name.
Why is he dropping her off?
Why didn't she tell me?
Has she already given up on us?
The questions clawed at him.
He drove home in silence.
No music.
No calls.
No messages.
Just silence.
The kind of silence that grows deep roots.
He wanted to call her.
He wanted to ask what was happening.
He wanted to tell her he still loved her, that the pictures meant nothing, that Clara meant nothing.
But pride—
That dangerous, quiet pride—
Held his fingers still.
If she wanted me, he thought bitterly, she would've told me where she was.
Pride became the wall neither of them knew how to climb.
And as the night deepened, their hearts drifted further apart—even though neither of them wanted distance.
Sometimes love breaks not because of betrayal…
But because two people are too hurt to reach for each other.