Monday came too slowly and then all at once.
I tried not to think about her that morning - Harper, with her copper curls and dusky brown eyes. But the truth was, she'd taken up space in my mind in a way that felt new. Not invasive, exactly. Just persistent. Like a hum under my skin I couldn't quite shake.
The office buzzed with its usual Monday chaos: printers jamming, keyboards clicking, the smell of over-brewed coffee lingering like a bad decision. I kept my head down as always, settling into my cubicle and queuing up my inbox like it was the only thing that mattered.
But around ten-thirty, I heard her laugh.
It was light and quick - like the flick of a match.
I didn't even know I was turning my head until I saw her. She was standing near the copy machine, talking to a woman from HR - Jasmine, I think. Harper's hands moved as she spoke, animated but graceful, like she knew how to hold a room without trying.
I forced myself back to my monitor, cheeks warm.
Jude leaned over from the neighboring cubicle, eyeing me with that smirk he always wore when he thought he was being clever.
"You got a thing for Harper, huh?"
My stomach dropped. I didn't say anything.
He chuckled. "Relax. I'm not judging. Everyone here's got a thing for someone. It's an office. It's what we do instead of quitting."
I tried to smile. Failed. "She's just… cool."
"Cool," Jude repeated, drawing out the word like he was trying it on for size. "Sure. Let's go with that."
He turned back to his screen, and I let out the breath I didn't know I'd been holding.
Later that afternoon, Harper passed my desk.
She gave a small knock on the divider and leaned in. "Hey, Carly. You free for lunch today?"
It took me a full two seconds to understand the sentence.
"Yes," I said too quickly. "I mean - yeah. Sure."
"Cool," she said with a smile. "See you at noon?"
She walked off like it was nothing. Like she asked people to lunch all the time.
Maybe she did.
But as noon approached, I couldn't stop tapping my pen against my leg.
I met her downstairs in the cafeteria. She'd already snagged a booth by the far window again, like before. This time, she waved when she saw me.
I slid into the seat across from her.
"You always sit by the window?" I asked, unwrapping my sandwich.
"Usually," she said, tearing a corner off her wrap. "It's the only place that doesn't smell like boiled eggs."
I laughed. "Fair point."
A few bites passed in silence. Not uncomfortable. Just… thoughtful.
Then she looked at me, really looked. "So, Carly. Tell me something about you."
I hesitated. "Like what?"
She shrugged. "Anything. Something no one here would guess."
God. Where to start?
That I liked thunderstorms because they drowned out the noise in my head?
That I once kissed a girl in the back of a library and spent two years trying to forget it?
That I didn't know how to be myself without apologizing for it?
I settled on, "I play the piano."
Her eyebrows lifted, pleasantly surprised. "Really?"
"Yeah. Since I was nine."
"That's beautiful. Do you still play?"
I nodded. "Sometimes. Mostly when I can't sleep."
Harper smiled, the corner of her mouth tugging in that soft, easy way that made her feel like sunlight. "That's a great reason to play."
She took a sip of her soda, then said, "I used to dance."
I blinked. "Really? Like, professionally?"
"Well, ballet when I was younger. But life happens, you know?"
"Yeah," I said quietly. "It does."
Her phone buzzed on the table, and she glanced at it briefly before muting it.
"My roommate," she explained. "Probably forgot her keys again."
That word - roommate - registered in my brain with irrational curiosity. I didn't ask for details. Didn't want to assume. Or hope.
Instead, I asked, "What made you choose accounting?"
She made a face. "I didn't. It kind of… chose me."
"Same."
She chuckled. "What did you want to do?"
I paused. "Something quieter. Something where people didn't always expect you to be anything."
She tilted her head, like she understood more than I said.
Then she asked, "Do you ever feel like you're watching your life from the outside?"
My heart thudded.
"Every day," I whispered.
We didn't say much after that. Just finished our food and sat there a while, watching the way the light filtered through the blinds.
I wanted to ask her what she was thinking. I wanted to ask a hundred things I didn't have the courage to say out loud.
But instead, we went back to work.
The rest of the week felt like stepping over small landmines of emotion.
Little things set me off - her laugh down the hallway, the way she said my name in passing, the crease between her brows when she focused on her screen. I hated how much space she was taking up inside me. I loved it too.
Friday rolled around and Harper stopped by my desk again.
"Some of us are grabbing drinks tonight. You coming?"
I hesitated.
She noticed.
"No pressure," she added. "Just thought I'd ask."
"Where?"
"Bar down on 6th. Nothing fancy."
I found myself nodding. "Okay. I'll try."
She smiled. "Hope you do."
And just like that, she was gone again.
The bar was louder than I liked. Dim lights, sticky floors, and the constant hum of happy people letting their workweek go. I spotted Jude near the pool table, already a drink in hand. Harper stood a few feet away, talking to Jasmine and someone else I didn't recognize - a tall guy with a sharp jaw and a denim jacket.
Harper saw me and smiled. A real smile. Like I'd done something good just by showing up.
She walked over, brushing my arm lightly. "You came."
"I said I'd try."
"You did more than that," she said.
We ended up at a booth with a few others, but she sat next to me. Close. Close enough that our arms touched sometimes when we reached for our drinks. Close enough to smell the soft citrus of her perfume.
We talked about stupid things - TV shows, office rumors, our least favorite client emails. But underneath it, there was something humming. Tension. Awareness. Something neither of us named.
At one point, she leaned in and said, "I like talking to you."
I looked at her. "You talk to lots of people."
"Yeah, but it doesn't always feel like this."
And there it was.
The air shifted.
Before I could say anything else, Jude returned with another round, the spell broken.
But I knew what I felt.
I just didn't know what to do with it.
That night, lying in bed, my phone buzzed with a message.
It was Harper.
"Thanks for coming tonight. I'm glad you did."
I stared at it for a long time, fingers hovering over the screen.
Then I typed back:
"Me too."
And just before I fell asleep, another text came through:
"See you Monday, Carly."
But this time, it didn't feel like a goodbye.
It felt like a door slowly opening.