THE WEIGHTOFSILENCE
1016 Words
*Nyra*
The office hums around me, a machine I don’t belong in.
Phones ring. Keyboards clatter. The faint scent of coffee drifts from the executive lounge, mixing with the metallic chill of the AC. Everything is moving… except me.
I sit at my desk, stiff and small, staring at the spreadsheet I’ve opened three times now, but the numbers blur. My stomach is empty. My chest feels heavier than my body can hold.
I didn’t sleep.
I spent the night tossing in my narrow bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying that night in my head until I wanted to claw the memory out. His hands. His voice. The way he said my name like I mattered…
And now, the way he looks right through me like I’m made of air.
I press my palms into my skirt to still the trembling.
A shadow falls across my desk.
“Miss Nyra,” his voice slices through the air.
My heart jerks. I lifted my head too quickly.
Cassian Rhys.
Sharp jaws, steel-grey eyes, a tailored black suit that probably costs more than I’ll make in two years. He stands over me like a verdict.
“Yes, sir?” My voice is too soft, too small.
“You didn’t respond to my last email.”
I fumbled with my tablet. “I— I was updating the files—”
“Excuses waste my time,” he says smoothly, leaning one hand on my desk. His watch glints under the fluorescent lights. “Fix it.”
I nodded quickly. “Y-yes, sir.”
He lingers a moment longer, his gaze sweeping over me once. Not slow enough to be personal. Just assessing. Like I’m a defective cog in his machine.
Then he walks away, leaving me cold in his wake.
I swallowed hard, my throat burning.
I blink down at my screen, but the numbers won’t stick. All I can feel is shame, pressing against my ribs until I can barely breathe.
I should hate him.
I want to hate him.
But the truth is uglier—
I still feel him.
And that makes me hate myself.
---
By lunchtime, my body feels like it’s running on fumes. I scroll through my phone, pretending to check messages, but really I’m staring at my banking app.
$3.18.
That’s all I have.
I can’t afford lunch.
I can barely afford bus fare back home.
So I stayed at my desk, watching the others leave in pairs, laughing and gossiping. I sip water from the cooler and let the ache in my stomach gnaw at me.
At 2:15 p.m., the hunger mixes with the exhaustion, and a sharp headache blooms behind my eyes. I press my fingers to my temple and exhale quietly.
Just get through the day.
---
*Cassian*
She’s too quiet.
All morning, she’s been sitting there, head down, moving like a ghost in my office.
Most interns chatter, laugh too loud, try to impress me—or at least pretend they exist. But Nyra? She doesn’t demand attention.
She… absorbs it.
Not in a way I can explain. Not in a way I like.
I catch myself glancing through the glass wall again.
She’s hunched over her desk, hand pressed to her temple. Her lips are pressed tight, and her skin looks pale under the bright lights.
She looks… breakable.
Something twists in my chest. Annoyance, maybe. Curiosity I didn’t ask for.
I force my eyes back to the quarterly reports.
This is ridiculous.
She’s just an intern. A line on a contract. A temporary shadow passing through my building.
So why does she stick in my head like a splinter?
---
*Nyra*
By 5 p.m., I’m running on nothing but fumes and humiliation.
I’ve made three trips to the bathroom today—two to cry, one to throw cold water on my face until my skin went numb. I can’t let anyone see me c***k. Not here.
Cassian called me into his office twice, each time to correct something small. His tone is never loud, but every word slices like a blade.
“You can do better.”
“Focus.”
“Try not to waste my time, Miss Nyra.”
Each syllable feels like a stone added to the pile on my chest.
When the workday ends, most of the floor clears out quickly. Chairs scrape, doors click, voices fade.
I stay.
I stay because the thought of going home to that empty, suffocating room with the $500 overdue rent notice taped to the door feels worse than sitting here under the hum of fluorescent lights.
The silence of the office wraps around me. My fingers hover over the keyboard, but my head is too heavy to keep upright. I rest it in my hands, just for a moment.
And for a moment, I let the tears fall silently.
---
The elevator dings.
I jolt upright, wiping my face with the sleeve of my blouse.
Footsteps echo across the marble. Slow. Certain.
Cassian.
Of course.
He’s leaving for the night. I can sense his approach before I see him. The air changes.
“Still here?” His voice is smooth, curious, maybe even faintly disapproving.
“Yes, sir,” I whisper, eyes glued to the screen.
He hums. Walks closer. I feel his presence behind me, heavy and sharp, but I don’t dare turn.
“You’re learning,” he says after a pause. “Good.”
A beat of silence.
Then the soft click of his shoes as he walks away.
The elevator doors close behind him, and the office falls silent again.
I sit there a long time, staring at the blinking cursor on my empty document, chest heavy with everything I can’t say.
---
I leave the office past eight. The city air hits my face, humid and heavy. I grip my bag and walk toward the bus stop under the streetlights, fighting the burn in my throat.
I tell myself tomorrow will be better.
But deep down, I know…
Tomorrow, I’ll walk back into that glass palace,
and he still won’t see me.
- Writer
