The elevator was slow. Slower than usual.
Nayla stood beside Raka, her tote bag pressed against her side, a plastic container of leftover cookies clutched in her hand. They had just come back from her friend Lia's small gathering a rare event Nayla had agreed to attend only because Raka had been invited too.
"I told you they'd be nice," he said, elbow nudging her lightly.
"They were," she admitted. "Especially after the wine kicked in."
He chuckled. "You were quiet."
"I am quiet," she said, giving him a look.
"But I mean… more than usual."
"I didn't know most of them."
"You knew me."
She paused, then said, "That's the only reason I stayed longer than an hour."
The elevator dinged and opened on her floor.
As they stepped into the hallway, she noticed the silence. The soft hum of the fluorescent lights. The faint scent of someone's laundry detergent drifted from another unit.
She turned the key in her lock.
Raka lingered near the door as she stepped in. He didn't ask to come inside, but he didn't leave either.
"You can stay a while if you want," she said, surprising herself.
His eyebrows lifted slightly. "Sure?"
She nodded. "It's Friday. No early meetings."
Inside, she offered him tea again. He accepted, even though she was sure he didn't like jasmine as much as he claimed to.
They sat on the floor near the window this time, their legs stretched out, feet occasionally bumping. The city outside was alive but distant. The windows muted the chaos into a soft lull.
Nayla didn't realize how close he was until their shoulders brushed.
She didn't move.
Neither did he.
"Can I ask you something?" he said, voice softer now.
"Hmm?"
"Why do you always flinch when someone tries to get close?"
She looked down, heart kicking in her chest.
"Habit," she replied. "Protection. I don't like being seen unless I choose it."
He nodded, like he understood more than he let on.
"You don't flinch with me anymore," he added.
She glanced at him. "That's because you don't demand to see."
Silence settled between them again.
He turned slightly, his hand resting beside hers on the rug.
"What would happen," he asked slowly, "if I did this?"
He inched his fingers closer until they brushed hers. No pressure. No grip. Just contact.
Nayla looked down at their hands.
"I'd probably overthink it," she said, "and then think about it for the next three hours."
He smiled. "And after that?"
"I'd probably wish you'd do it again."
He turned fully now, gently taking her hand, not tight, just enough.
"I've wanted to hold your hand since the second coffee," he admitted.
"That long?"
"Yeah. But you always had them in your pockets."
She laughed, quietly and surprised.
He squeezed once and let go, like proving he could without keeping it.
She didn't flinch. Not this time.