In the Quiet Between Us

The first thing Aysteia learned about working in a government building was that no matter how quiet a person wanted to live, someone would always find a reason to involve them in something. A missing document. A broken air conditioner. A visitor who refused to follow instructions. A colleague who wanted to complain about another colleague but somehow ended up discussing the latter's entire personal life before getting to the point. And, of course, handsome men. Particularly one handsome man who worked in the department just across from hers. "Have you seen him today?" Aysteia didn't look up from her phone. "Seen who?" "Razen." "Oh." "Oh?" Her colleague turned in her chair, visibly offended by the lack of enthusiasm. "That's all you have to say?" "What else do you want me to say?" "He's so handsome!" Aysteia hummed, her thumb scrolling through the pages of the novel she had been reading during the few precious minutes when nobody needed anything from the information desk. "Then go marry him." "Aysteia!" "What? You said he's handsome. Marriage is the next logical step." Her colleague smacked her arm. Aysteia laughed, finally looking up from her phone. It was barely nine in the morning. She was already tired of people. Not that she disliked her coworkers. Most of them were decent people, and a few had become genuine friends. She simply found that government offices operated on a peculiar kind of energy. People could arrive at work exhausted, complain about being exhausted, spend the entire morning discussing how exhausted they were, and somehow have enough energy to notice that a certain male employee had changed his haircut. Razen, apparently, had changed his haircut. Aysteia had not noticed. She knew who he was, of course. It would have been difficult not to. Their workstations were close enough that she saw him almost every day, whether he was walking past the information desk, talking to his colleagues, or heading to another office to follow up on documents concerning the construction of government buildings. His department handled the processing and approval work related to building construction, while hers was responsible for building maintenance and upkeep. Technically, their responsibilities were different. In practice, the entire building seemed to find a way to make everyone everybody else's business. Aysteia was assigned to the information desk, but her responsibilities extended well beyond answering inquiries. She kept track of concerns involving the building, coordinated maintenance requests, followed up on repairs, and made sure that things continued functioning as they were supposed to. If something went wrong in the building, someone would eventually come looking for her. If someone didn't know where to go, they came looking for her, too. If a visitor was lost, a light was broken, a room needed attention, or a complaint had reached the wrong office, Aysteia was expected to know what to do. She was, in effect, one of the people responsible for keeping the entire place running without anyone having to think too much about how it happened. It was a job she liked well enough. There was a certain satisfaction in being competent, in knowing where to direct people and how to solve problems. She liked the familiarity of her routine, the security of having work to do, and the fact that most days were predictable enough for her to sneak in a few chapters of whatever novel she was currently reading. She wasn't particularly interested in becoming the center of attention. Unfortunately, the information desk was practically a stage, and her colleagues had never learned to whisper. "He's coming," another woman announced. Aysteia continued reading. "Who's coming?" she asked, although she already knew. "Razen!" "Congratulations." "Can you stop reading for five seconds?" "Will the world end if I don't?" "You're impossible." "So I've been told." Her colleagues burst into laughter. Aysteia smiled to herself and scrolled down to the next paragraph. She wasn't blind. She had eyes, and those eyes worked perfectly well. Razen was handsome. Annoyingly handsome, if she was being honest. He had the kind of face that attracted attention without seeming to ask for it, and he carried himself with the easy confidence of someone who was comfortable wherever he went. He was tall enough to stand out in a crowd, well-groomed, and almost always looked presentable even on mornings when everyone else seemed to have dressed in the dark. There was nothing wrong with acknowledging that. She simply didn't see why his appearance required a daily departmental discussion. Handsome men existed. They walked around. They worked in offices. They bought lunch at the canteen and complained about paperwork like everyone else. It wasn't a supernatural phenomenon. Besides, Aysteia had never been particularly interested in making assumptions about people based on their appearance. She knew nothing about Razen beyond what she had observed from a distance and what her colleagues occasionally told her, most of which involved the words handsome, single, or imagine. Imagine what, exactly, remained unclear. She preferred to mind her own business. It was a peaceful philosophy. One that her coworkers seemed determined to challenge. "Good morning," a male voice greeted them. The change in the women around her was immediate. Aysteia didn't even need to look up to know that Razen had stopped by. "Good morning!" someone replied, sounding considerably more cheerful than she had sounded five minutes earlier when complaining about the office coffee. "Busy today?" "Not really," another colleague said. Aysteia nearly snorted. There were three pending maintenance requests, a visitor waiting for information, and a complaint about a leaking pipe that had somehow become her responsibility despite being located on the other side of the building. Not busy, apparently. Razen chuckled at something one of the women said. His voice carried easily across the small area, warm and conversational, and he seemed perfectly at home among the people gathered around the desk. He knew how to talk to people. That was something Aysteia had noticed before. He didn't merely greet people and move on. He could turn an ordinary exchange into a conversation, ask questions, remember details, and make people feel as though he had genuinely been interested in what they were saying. It was probably why he had become friendly with several people in her department. Including one of Aysteia's closest friends. "Ays," her friend called, turning toward her, "Razen was asking about the event next week." Aysteia lifted her eyes. "Why are you asking me? I'm not the event coordinator." "Because you know everything." "I know where the bathrooms are and which office has a broken printer. That's not the same thing." Razen laughed. It was the first time that morning he had heard her speak directly to him, although she wasn't actually speaking to him at all. He looked at her. Aysteia looked back briefly, her expression perfectly ordinary. Then she returned to her phone. And just like that, she had dismissed him. Not rudely. Not deliberately. She simply had a novel to finish. For some reason, Razen found that amusing. He had seen her plenty of times before. It was difficult not to when their offices were so close together and the information desk was positioned where almost everyone passing through the building could see it. He knew her face. He knew which chair she usually occupied. He had seen her talking to visitors, laughing with her colleagues, carrying documents from one office to another, and occasionally walking past his workstation with the focused expression of someone who had somewhere else to be. He knew she was friends with one of the women he had gotten close to. He knew her name was Aysteia. What he didn't know was what to make of her. Sometimes, she seemed older than her age. Not physically, but in the way she carried herself when she was working. There was something composed about her when she dealt with people, a certain straightforwardness that made her seem considerably more mature than some of the other young employees in the building. She could be firm without raising her voice. When someone brought a concern to the information desk, she listened, asked the necessary questions, and directed the matter where it needed to go. She didn't appear intimidated by people simply because they were older or held higher positions. Razen had seen her deal with an impatient visitor one morning, calmly explaining a procedure three times before finally pointing the man toward the appropriate office. She hadn't lost her temper. She hadn't even looked particularly bothered. He had thought she seemed remarkably patient. Then, the following afternoon, he had watched her nearly lose her mind because someone had taken her food from the shared refrigerator. That had been a different experience entirely. He hadn't heard the beginning of the argument, but he had heard the end of it. "WHO THE HELL EATS SOMEBODY ELSE'S FOOD?" The entire corridor had gone quiet. Razen, who had been signing a document at his workstation, had slowly lifted his head. Aysteia stood near the refrigerator, holding an empty food container and looking as though she was prepared to summon the authorities. Her colleague was trying not to laugh. "Maybe someone was hungry," the woman suggested. "THEN THEY SHOULD BUY FOOD!" Razen had bitten the inside of his cheek. He hadn't expected that. The woman who spoke to visitors with the patience of a saint had apparently declared war over a missing lunch. It was, he had to admit, rather entertaining. And that wasn't the only contradiction he had noticed. There were afternoons when Aysteia barely spoke. She would sit behind the information desk, phone in hand, so absorbed in whatever she was reading that she seemed to have temporarily forgotten the existence of the building around her. There were mornings when she was laughing so hard with her friends that she had to put her phone down. And there were moments when a man would attempt to flirt with her, only to discover that her patience had a very specific expiration date. Razen had witnessed one such incident himself. A male employee from another office had stopped at the desk to ask Aysteia something. The conversation had started normally enough, but the man had lingered long after his question had been answered. "So, Aysteia, do you have a boyfriend?" She hadn't even looked away from the papers she was arranging. "Yes." "Ah, but is he treating you well?" "Better than you would." Someone nearby had choked on their coffee. The man laughed awkwardly, apparently unsure whether she was joking. "You're so strict." "I'm actually very nice. You should see me when I'm angry." Razen had been passing behind them at the time. He had kept walking, but not before hearing her mutter, "Pest." He'd laughed to himself all the way back to his workstation. Aysteia, he had decided, was a strange woman. Not strange in a bad way. Just difficult to categorize. And Razen, who generally found people relatively easy to read, wasn't accustomed to being unable to decide which version of someone he was looking at. He found himself looking at her more often than he intended. Not in any grand, romantic sense. He wasn't sitting at his desk imagining a future with the woman at the information counter. He wasn't even particularly certain whether she liked him. If anything, he suspected she barely thought about him at all. Which was unusual enough to catch his attention. He was accustomed to people being friendly. He was outgoing, enjoyed talking to people, and had little difficulty making acquaintances. His appearance had also never been a particular disadvantage in social situations. People tended to respond to him. Aysteia responded when she needed to. The distinction was small, but it amused him. Sometimes he would stop by to talk to her friend and find Aysteia listening to them with a mildly entertained expression. Other times, she would join the conversation for thirty seconds, deliver a comment so unexpectedly blunt that everyone laughed, and return to her phone as though she had contributed nothing of significance. He began to notice the little things. She liked reading on her phone. She used her hands when explaining something she felt strongly about. She had a habit of tilting her head when she was skeptical of what someone was saying. When she was genuinely amused, her face changed entirely. Her eyes brightened, and she laughed without seeming to care whether the sound was particularly graceful. And when she was annoyed? Well. Razen had already learned that it was best not to be the person responsible. He didn't know what any of these things meant. He only knew that he noticed them. And, for a man who had plenty of work to do, that was a mildly inconvenient development. By ten thirty, Aysteia had answered twelve inquiries, followed up on two maintenance requests, directed a visitor to the correct office, and received a message from her supervisor asking her to check on a room where the air-conditioning had apparently stopped working. She was in the middle of updating her records when her friend leaned across the desk. "You're coming with us for lunch, right?" "Where?" "The canteen." "Obviously. I'm not walking to another building for lunch." "Razen's coming, too." Aysteia continued typing. "Good for him." Her friend stared at her. "Do you ever get excited about anything?" "Food." "Besides food." "Sleep." "Aysteia!" She laughed. "What do you want from me?" "Nothing. I'm just saying, he's nice." "I didn't say he wasn't." "And handsome." "You've established that." "And single." Aysteia finally turned in her chair. "Are you recruiting for him?" Her friend dissolved into laughter. "You're so annoying!" "You started it." That was the thing about Aysteia. She could be perfectly pleasant, even affectionate, but she wasn't particularly interested in pretending to share someone else's enthusiasm simply to make them happy. If she liked something, she said so. If she didn't, she usually said that, too. And if she didn't have an opinion, she saw no reason to manufacture one. She returned to her work, unaware that Razen had just walked past the desk and caught the tail end of the conversation. He hadn't intended to listen. He simply had excellent timing. "Recruiting for whom?" he asked, stopping beside her friend. Aysteia closed her eyes for half a second. Lord, give me patience. Her friend, on the other hand, looked delighted. "For you!" Razen raised his eyebrows. "For me?" "Apparently, you need help." "Do I?" "Don't mind her," Aysteia said, still looking at her screen. "She's been like this since birth." "You're talking about me as if I'm not here." "Would you prefer that I wait until you leave?" Razen laughed. There it was again. That peculiar ease with which she spoke to him, neither particularly impressed nor particularly intimidated. He rested a hand on the edge of the desk. "You're always reading something, aren't you?" Aysteia looked up. For the first time that morning, he had asked her a question directly. She glanced at her phone. "Usually." "What are you reading?" "A novel." He waited. She returned to her screen. He laughed softly. "Okay. What novel?" Aysteia told him the title. He didn't recognize it, but he asked what it was about. And, because she genuinely enjoyed talking about stories when someone actually wanted to hear about them, she gave him a brief explanation. A brief explanation that turned into a discussion about fictional characters making terrible decisions, which somehow became a conversation about why people stayed in relationships that were clearly making them miserable. Razen found himself leaning against the desk, listening. Aysteia spoke with more animation when discussing something she cared about. She had opinions, plenty of them, and she wasn't afraid to explain her reasoning. "I just don't understand why people keep choosing things that make them unhappy," she said. "I mean, I understand that life isn't easy and you can't just walk away from every problem. But there's a difference between working through something difficult and repeatedly choosing something that hurts you." "Sometimes people think it'll get better." "Then they should look at whether it's actually getting better." "And if they love the person?" She shrugged. "Then they love the person." He smiled. "That's it?" "What else do you want me to say?" "I don't know. That love makes things complicated?" "It does make things complicated. It doesn't make everything acceptable." Razen studied her. There was no bitterness in her voice. No particular hostility toward relationships. She spoke as though she were explaining something obvious, something that didn't require an elaborate argument. "And if the relationship doesn't work out?" he asked. Aysteia leaned back in her chair. "Then it doesn't work out." He laughed. "You're very practical." "Thank you." "That wasn't necessarily a compliment." "I'll take it anyway." Her friend, who had been watching their exchange with growing interest, suddenly found an urgent reason to organize the papers on her desk. Razen noticed. Aysteia did not. Or perhaps she did and simply couldn't be bothered to acknowledge it. "Anyway," she said, returning to her work, "if you're going to stand there, you might as well help me convince the maintenance people to fix the air-conditioning upstairs." He looked at her. "Is that an official request?" "It's a desperate plea for the survival of the employees on the second floor." "Should I put that in the report?" "Please do. Use those exact words." He laughed again. Then his phone rang, and he had to leave for a meeting. "See you at lunch?" he asked her friend. "Of course!" He glanced at Aysteia. "See you." She lifted two fingers in a distracted wave without looking up. "Bye." Razen walked away smiling. He couldn't quite explain why that conversation had been so enjoyable. They hadn't discussed anything particularly important. They hadn't exchanged numbers or made plans. He hadn't learned much about her beyond the fact that she liked novels and had strong opinions about people's decisions. Yet, as he returned to his workstation, he found himself thinking about something she'd said. Love doesn't make everything acceptable. He wondered whether she had always thought that way. He wondered whether she had learned it from experience. Then he glanced at the stack of documents waiting for his signature and forced himself to concentrate. He had deadlines to meet. Aysteia, meanwhile, had already forgotten the conversation. Not because she hadn't enjoyed it. She had. Razen was easy to talk to, and she appreciated people who could hold a conversation without making everything feel like an interview. He had a good sense of humor, and he seemed genuinely interested in what she was saying. But it was only a conversation. He was a colleague who happened to be handsome, sociable, and more entertaining than she'd initially expected. She had work to finish, a novel waiting for her, and a lunch break she intended to spend eating something decent. There was no reason to make anything more of it. Besides, she had a boyfriend. A seven-year relationship. A future she had spent years imagining. Razen was simply Razen. And Aysteia was perfectly content to leave it at that. For now. At lunch, the canteen was crowded. The familiar noise of government employees filling tables, exchanging stories, and complaining about work drifted through the room. Aysteia arrived with her friends, carrying her food and looking forward to the rare pleasure of eating without someone asking her to find a document or follow up on a broken fixture. Razen was already seated with two colleagues. He looked up when she approached. "There she is." Aysteia stopped. "Who?" "The woman who refuses to acknowledge my existence." She stared at him. Then she pulled out a chair. "I acknowledged your existence this morning." "You waved at me without looking." "That counts." "Debatable." She sat down and began arranging her food. "Are you always this talkative?" "Usually." "Condolences." His colleagues laughed. Razen put a hand over his chest. "That was cruel." "You'll recover." He looked at her for a moment, then shook his head, smiling. The conversation moved on. Someone brought up a colleague's upcoming birthday. Another person complained about traffic. Razen told a story about a recent gathering that had everyone laughing, and Aysteia listened while eating. She wasn't silent. She contributed when she had something to say, occasionally delivering a comment that made the table erupt in laughter. But she didn't compete for attention. She didn't need to. At one point, Razen asked whether she ever went out with her friends. "Sometimes." "Sometimes?" "When I feel like it." "What do you do when you don't feel like it?" "Stay home." "Doing what?" "Reading. Sleeping. Existing." "That sounds exciting." "It is. You should try it." He laughed. "I like going out." "I noticed." "You don't sound impressed." "I'm not trying to impress you." The answer came so naturally that the people around the table laughed again. Razen grinned. "Fair enough." He wasn't offended. If anything, he found her refreshing. Aysteia didn't appear to be trying to win his approval, and that made their exchanges surprisingly easy. He didn't have to worry about every word being interpreted as a flirtation, and she didn't seem interested in turning an ordinary conversation into something more. They could simply talk. When lunch ended, everyone returned to their respective offices. Aysteia went back to the information desk, checked the messages she'd received, and resumed her responsibilities. Razen returned to his department, signed the documents he'd been avoiding, and began preparing for an upcoming deadline. The day continued. The building hummed with its usual activity. Visitors came and went. Phones rang. Printers jammed. Someone complained about a missing signature, and someone else complained about the heat. Nothing remarkable happened. Except that, sometime during the afternoon, Razen found himself glancing toward the information desk again. Aysteia was sitting in her usual chair, her chin resting on one hand, her phone held in the other. She looked absorbed in her reading, oblivious to the movement around her. A few minutes later, she burst out laughing at something on the screen. Then she looked around, realized that several people had noticed, and immediately composed her face. Razen had to look away to hide his smile. He didn't know her well. He didn't know what she was like outside the office, what she worried about when she couldn't sleep, what she wanted from life, or what kind of person she became when she was truly hurt. He didn't know that she had already begun preparing for futures she hoped she'd never have to live. He didn't know that the woman who appeared to be going nowhere in particular had quietly imagined a dozen different ways to get there. And Aysteia didn't know that the man who seemed to have everything figured out was carrying the disappointment of a future that had stopped making sense. For now, they were simply two people working in neighboring departments. He had his deadlines. She had her maintenance requests. He had a master's degree to pursue. She had a novel to finish. Neither of them was looking for anything. Neither of them knew that, in the months to come, an ordinary conversation would turn into a friendship, that friendship would become a refuge, and that a spare room in an apartment would eventually become the beginning of a life neither had planned. For now, there was only the familiar government building, the daily noise of their colleagues, and the information desk where Aysteia sat with her phone in hand. And Razen, who had begun to notice that whenever he looked in her direction, he seemed to find something worth looking at. He told himself it was nothing. He had no reason to think otherwise. Not yet.