The office felt impossibly quiet that morning. My heels clicked against the floor, but even the sound seemed muted, swallowed by the lingering fog in my brain. My inbox glared at me like a judgmental friend. Emails piled up. Tasks awaited. Deadlines loomed. And somehow, the memory of last night — the hospital, Alex holding me, my mother screaming — still wrapped around me like chains.
I slid into my chair and exhaled, pressing my forehead against the cool edge of my desk. The world blurred. Just for a second, I wanted to disappear.
"Don't do that," a voice said softly.
I jumped, spinning around. Alex was leaning against my doorway, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. "Do what?" I croaked, my voice shaky.
"Pretend you're fine," he said, stepping inside. "You're not, and that's okay. I know you'd break if I left you alone."
My chest tightened. "I… I can handle it," I whispered, though I could barely convince myself.
He didn't respond immediately. He simply crossed the small space between us and leaned one hand lightly on the edge of my desk. Close enough to make my stomach flip, far enough to not crowd me. The air between us felt thick, electric.
"You really can't," he said, a faint teasing smile tugging at his lips. "Not without me, at least."
My lips twitched. "You're… staying?"
"Of course," he said casually, but the way he said it made it feel deliberate, intentional. "Somebody's gotta make sure you don't dissolve into a puddle before anyone even notices you exist."
I blinked, and something warm pooled in my chest. "You're ridiculous," I murmured.
"And yet, completely necessary," he countered, leaning closer. The faint scent of his cologne teased at my senses. I could feel it, subtle but overwhelming.
I tried to focus on my computer, on the screen full of tasks, but my fingers hovered uselessly over the keyboard.
"Do you want to take a break?" he asked suddenly, voice soft, low. My heart skipped. "Or… maybe just talk? I don't bite."
"You're really pushing it, Alex," I said, though I couldn't hide the small smile tugging at my lips.
He smirked, letting the tease linger. "Am I? Or am I just saving you from your own chaos?"
I turned my chair fully toward him. "You're definitely chaotic," I said, a laugh slipping past my lips despite myself.
He leaned closer, enough that I could see the faint curve of his smile, the way his eyes sparkled when he amused himself. "Only for you," he whispered, voice low and intimate.
Heat rushed to my cheeks. I couldn't look away. Couldn't stop the rapid thrum of my heart.
"You… you really think I need saving?" I asked, voice barely above a whisper, though my chest heaved with unspent emotions.
He shrugged, casual, teasing, but with something undeniably sincere in his gaze. "Maybe not. But I like being needed. Preferably by you."
I swallowed hard, words tangling in my throat. My hands shook slightly, and I realized — I didn't care that I was falling for him. Not right now. Not when he was here, steady, patient, impossible to resist.
"You're terrible," I said finally, trying to sound annoyed but failing spectacularly.
"And yet, irresistible," he shot back instantly, eyes locking with mine.
I laughed, shaky, breathless, and for the first time that day, I felt… lighter. Slightly.
He grinned, leaning back just a fraction, letting me have space but not leaving me entirely. "We'll get through this. Together."
And I wanted to believe him. I wanted to.
He leaned back against my desk just enough to give me space, but I could still feel the warmth radiating from him. My fingers hovered over the keyboard again, trying to pretend I was busy, but my mind kept drifting to the curve of his smile, the faint crease at his brow when he focused on me.
"You're avoiding work," he said, voice low, teasing. "Or is this some new form of self-torture?"
"I'm… thinking," I muttered, cheeks burning. "Very… very intense thinking."
"Uh-huh," he said, smirking, crossing his arms. "Thinking with red-rimmed eyes and a face that clearly wants to collapse onto someone's shoulder?"
My stomach fluttered. "I'm not collapsing," I said, though my voice wavered.
"You are," he said softly, leaning a fraction closer. "But don't worry. I'm here to catch you."
I laughed, breathless, and immediately regretted it — the sound seemed so fragile in the quiet office.
He tilted his head, gaze teasing. "Fragile, huh? That's a word I'd use for someone I'd probably flirt with relentlessly."
Heat pooled in my chest. "You—are—impossible," I said, trying to hide my smile behind my hand.
He chuckled, low and satisfied. "I like being impossible for you."
I shook my head, pretending to type, but my hands stayed frozen. "You know… I don't even know why I let you stay here. You're a distraction."
"I'm aware," he said, eyes glinting. "But a distraction you secretly like."
I wanted to deny it, but the warmth rising in my chest betrayed me. I dropped my gaze to the keyboard, fingers twitching nervously.
He leaned closer again, so close I could feel the faint brush of his arm against mine. "You're cute when you try to argue," he said, voice soft, teasing.
"Stop," I whispered, heart hammering.
"Can't," he replied, grin widening. "It's… kind of my job now."
The office suddenly felt smaller, warmer, less intimidating. My chest loosened slightly. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
"I can't believe I'm letting you do this," I said, shaking my head, but the laughter in my voice was real this time.
"Do what?" he asked, tilting his head, pretending innocence.
"This," I said, gesturing vaguely at the space between us. "Make me forget everything else for five seconds."
He smiled, soft now, sincere. "Then I'll just stay right here… until you need reality again."
And for a fleeting moment, in the fluorescent office light, with emails and deadlines and life pressing in from every corner, I believed that maybe… I didn't mind it at all.
He reached over casually and picked up my half-full coffee cup.
"Hmm… is this how you survive mornings?" he murmured, swirling it like a fine wine.
I froze. "Hey! That's mine!"
He grinned, taking a small sip. "Ah… bitter. Like you before caffeine."
I groaned, covering my face. "You're impossible."
"Maybe," he said, leaning on the edge of the desk. "But I make mornings better. Admit it."
I peeked at him, narrowed eyes, trying to hide the tiny smile tugging at my lips. "You're really pushing your luck, you know."
"Is that a challenge?" he asked, eyes twinkling.
"I don't… I don't even know what to call this," I admitted, voice trembling just slightly. "Distraction? Torture?"
He tilted his head. "Both?"
I rolled my eyes, trying to focus on the screen. My hands hovered over the keyboard, but I kept sneaking glances at him. He caught my gaze every time, never looking away.
"You know," he said, suddenly serious but soft, "you don't have to be strong all the time, Zarah."
I felt the weight of the words, warm and grounding. "I know," I whispered.
"But do you believe it?" he pressed, leaning just a fraction closer. "Because I do."
Heat spread through me, and I quickly looked back at the screen, pretending to type.
Then he nudged my elbow lightly with his. "And maybe," he said, smirk returning, "I also believe you're adorable when you try to focus while thinking about me."
I froze again. "You… you're impossible," I repeated, laughter and frustration mixing together.
"And yet," he said, voice soft, leaning back just enough to give me breathing room, "you're still letting me do it."
I let out a shaky breath, finally allowing the smallest smile. "Maybe… just a little."
"Good," he said, satisfied. "Because I plan on staying right here. Making sure you survive the day… and maybe stealing a few more sips of your coffee while I'm at it."
I groaned, shaking my head, but my chest felt lighter than it had in days. Somehow, despite emails, deadlines, and the weight of the world, he'd made the office feel… safe.
And dangerous. And entirely, completely distracting.
I was scrolling through the latest emails when I felt it — a brush of his fingers against mine as he reached for a folder on my desk. My chest jumped, and I yanked my hand back like I'd touched fire.
"Oops," he murmured, not even looking embarrassed. "My bad. Didn't mean to—uh—distract you."
I cleared my throat, pretending nothing happened, but my fingers tingled for longer than they should have.
Then he leaned across my desk again, this time to grab a pen I'd been using. His arm pressed lightly against mine. I could feel the heat through the thin fabric of my blouse.
"You're really tense," he said softly, voice teasing but gentle. "Do you always sit like this?"
I shook my head, trying not to look at him. "No… yes… I mean—maybe. Focused."
"Focused, huh?" He smirked, holding the pen like a sword. "Seems to me you're trying really hard not to notice me."
I looked up, caught him staring. Not just looking — staring. And my heart did that stupid thing, like it wanted to run straight into his chest.
"I am not," I lied, heat creeping up my neck.
"Uh-huh," he said, finally smiling and leaning back just slightly, giving me the tiniest reprieve. "Sure you're not."
I opened my mouth to protest, then stopped. My laptop screen blurred. Somehow, just being in the same room as him made everything else — the emails, the deadlines, the exhaustion — feel distant.
Then, when he reached over again to adjust a paper, his fingers grazed mine once more. This time, I didn't pull away. I couldn't. I could feel the sparks, the warmth, and it made my stomach flip in ways that were unfair and ridiculous.
"You really are impossible," I muttered under my breath.
"And yet," he said softly, leaning closer, "you keep letting me get away with it."
I swallowed, heart hammering. And just like that, the office felt smaller, warmer, somehow dangerous — and entirely, completely distracting.
My phone vibrated on the desk. I glanced at the screen, heart thumping like it wanted to leap out of my chest.
"Hospital," I whispered, and almost dropped it.
"Hello?" My voice came out tight, cautious.
"Zarah Morgan?" a calm, professional voice asked.
"Yes—this is she."
"This is Dr. Louis from St. Jude's. I'm calling to update you on your father. He's… stable now. The surgery went well, and he's resting comfortably. You don't need to worry at this moment — he's safe."
I felt the air leave my lungs in a rush, then fill again with something light, fragile, like hope.
"Oh… thank God," I breathed, gripping the phone as if letting go would make him vanish. "Thank you… thank you so much."
Dr. Louis' voice stayed calm. "We'll continue to monitor him closely, but for now, he's out of immediate danger. You can come visit later this afternoon if you wish."
"I… yes. I'll be there," I said, barely above a whisper, tears prickling my eyes.
I hung up, my legs suddenly weak. Relief pooled in my chest so full it was almost painful. And then I realized — I wasn't trembling from fear anymore. Just… release.
Alex, who had been leaning casually against the edge of my desk, noticed instantly. His gaze softened as he reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from my forehead.
"Everything okay?" he asked quietly, but there was an edge of hope in his voice I hadn't heard before.
I blinked rapidly, still trying to process the news, then let myself grin, shaky but real. "He's… stable. My dad's safe."
A small, genuine smile tugged at his lips, and the tension in his shoulders eased. "That's… amazing, Zarah. I'm so glad."
I laughed softly, a sound I hadn't realized I'd been holding back. "I can… breathe again. I… I can actually breathe."
He stepped closer, close enough that our shoulders brushed, but not in a way that was threatening — more… comforting. "See? You survived the worst. Now you just have to survive me teasing you all day," he said, voice warm, low, playful.
I shook my head, letting out a soft chuckle. "I think surviving you might be even harder than surviving my mom."
He grinned, a glint in his eyes that made my stomach flutter. "Challenge accepted."
And for the first time in days, sitting in my office, relief flooding every corner of me, I realized… maybe this day wasn't going to be entirely terrible. Maybe, just maybe, it could be… a little dangerous in the best possible way.