Overtime at the Office
The office was unusually quiet that night. Most of the staff had left hours ago, leaving behind empty desks and the soft hum of the air conditioner. The glow of the computer screen cast a pale light across the room, reflecting in my tired eyes as I typed away, finishing the report that couldn’t wait till morning. I thought I was alone—until I heard the faint click of heels on the tiled floor. She appeared in the doorway, balancing a stack of files against her chest. The dim lights made her silhouette even more striking. Her blouse clung to her in ways that made me swallow hard, and the way she brushed a loose strand of hair from her face made the room suddenly feel warmer. “You’re still here?” she asked softly, a note of surprise in her voice. “Deadline won’t wait,” I replied with a tired smile. “What about you?” She stepped inside, dropping the files gently on the desk across from mine. “Same story,” she said, her voice carrying that subtle weariness we both understood. Then she leane...