The sound of silence. The clock marked the end of the workday, but no one seemed in a hurry to leave. The office lights, already dimmed, gave the room an air of secrecy. Just the two of us. And the sound of his fingers drumming absently on the desk. I tried to stay focused on the reports, but his presence… took over everything. It was impossible to ignore the scent of his perfume that insisted on lingering in the air, the way he watched me when he thought I wasn't noticing. There was something there—a tension that wasn't spoken aloud, but felt in every breath. "You haven't left yet?" he asked, without looking up. "I have things to finish," I replied, trying to sound firm. "Always so dedicated…" I said, and this time, his gaze followed. It was at that moment that time seemed to slow down. The hum of the air conditioning, the distant click of a printer, the beating of my heart… Everything blended into the feeling of being about to cross an invisible line. He stood up slowly and walked to my desk. Every step echoed in the silence. There was no touch, no inappropriate word—but the air between us was pure risk. That distance, short enough to feel the heat of anyone who gets too close. "This could be a problem," I murmured, more to myself than to him. "So... maybe we should pretend it didn't start." His voice was calm, sure. "What if it's too late to pretend?" I asked. He smiled. A small, dangerous smile, the kind that carries guilt and desire at the same time. And that's how it stayed. No sudden movements, no forbidden gestures. But the feeling... that something had already happened, even though it hadn't, was impossible to deny. I left later that night, my heart racing and my mind on fire. Between reports, promises, and silences, we left something there—suspended in the air. Something no one saw, but whose name we both knew very well.