CHAPTER EIGHT — THIN WALLS
1075 Words
If Yoko had to describe the new atmosphere in the office, she would call it:
Dangerously awkward.
Something had shifted after the investor crisis. The balance between her and Faye felt different — less hostile, more fragile. Like a glass cup sitting too close to the edge of a table.
One small push and everything would shatter.
She tried to ignore it.
Tried to return to the old routine.
But it was hard to pretend nothing had changed when Faye Malhotra suddenly kept looking at her like she was a complicated puzzle instead of a daily headache.
Tuesday began calmly enough.
No disasters.
No emergency meetings.
No spilled beverages.
Which, in Yoko’s experience, was already suspicious.
She was sorting through contracts when Faye stepped out of her office.
“Yoko.”
“Yes?”
“My laptop.”
Yoko frowned. “Your laptop?”
“It won’t turn on.”
Ah. Technology betrayal. A classic.
She followed Faye inside and crouched beside the desk.
“Did you try charging it?”
“Yes.”
“Restarting?”
“Yes.”
“Threatening it?”
Faye crossed her arms. “You think you’re funny.”
“Occasionally.”
Yoko pressed a few buttons, unplugged cables, and finally managed to revive the stubborn machine.
“There,” she said triumphantly. “You just needed a reset.”
Faye watched her closely. “You’re disturbingly good at fixing problems.”
“It’s a talent.”
“An annoying one.”
Yoko smiled. “You’re welcome.”
For a moment they stood there — too close, in the quiet privacy of Faye’s office.
Yoko suddenly became very aware of the soft scent of Faye’s perfume, something warm and subtle that lingered in the air.
She straightened quickly.
“Anything else, Madam Malhotra?”
Faye cleared her throat. “That will be all.”
The words sounded slightly unsteady.
Yoko pretended not to notice.
At 3:00 p.m., the Bangkok sky decided to open up and drown the city.
Heavy rain hammered against the glass walls, turning the skyline into a blurry watercolor painting.
The air conditioning kicked into overdrive, making the office uncomfortably cold.
Yoko shivered at her desk.
Of course she had forgotten to bring a jacket.
Perfect.
“Come here,” Faye called from her office.
Yoko grabbed her tablet and went inside.
“Take notes,” Faye said, already focused on her screen.
They worked side by side for nearly an hour, going through reports and schedules.
Yoko tried to concentrate.
Tried not to think about how cold it was.
Or how close she was sitting to Faye.
Apparently, she failed at hiding it.
“You’re shaking,” Faye said suddenly.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re clearly not.”
Before Yoko could argue, Faye reached for the blazer draped over her chair.
“Here.”
She held it out.
Yoko stared. “Oh, no, you don’t have to—”
“Take it.”
It wasn’t a suggestion.
Reluctantly, Yoko slipped it over her shoulders.
The fabric was warm. Soft. Smelled faintly of Faye.
Her heart did an uncomfortable little flip.
“Better?” Faye asked.
“Better,” Yoko admitted quietly.
Their eyes met.
Held.
Too long.
Yoko looked away first.
“Thank you.”
Faye nodded and returned to her work as if nothing unusual had happened.
But the air between them felt heavier than ever.
By evening, the storm outside showed no sign of stopping.
Employees hurried out one by one, eager to beat the flooded streets.
Yoko finished the last of her tasks and prepared to leave.
“Your driver is here,” she told Faye.
“And you?”
“I’ll take the BTS.”
“In this rain?”
“I’ve survived worse.”
Faye frowned. “I’ll have my driver drop you.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary.”
“It is.”
Yoko hesitated. “Madam Malhotra, I’m fine, really—”
“Yoko,” Faye said firmly, “don’t argue with me about your own comfort.”
Something about the way she said it made resistance impossible.
“Okay,” Yoko murmured.
The car ride was quiet.
Rain drummed against the windows as Bangkok traffic crawled along like a tired animal.
Yoko sat stiffly at first, then gradually relaxed into the leather seat.
“Where do you live?” Faye asked.
“Thonburi side.”
Faye gave a small nod. “Long commute.”
“I’m used to it.”
Another silence.
The city lights reflected on wet streets, turning everything into streaks of gold and red.
Yoko stared out the window, painfully aware of Faye sitting beside her.
At one point the car jerked slightly, and Yoko instinctively reached for the door handle.
Faye’s hand landed on hers at the same time.
Skin against skin.
Warm. Sudden. Electric.
They both froze.
“Sorry,” Yoko whispered.
“It’s fine,” Faye replied just as quietly.
Neither moved for a second too long.
Then Faye pulled her hand away.
The space between them somehow felt smaller after that.
When they finally reached Yoko’s building, the rain had softened to a gentle drizzle.
“Thank you for the ride,” Yoko said.
“You’re welcome.”
She opened the door, then paused.
“And… thank you for the jacket.”
Faye glanced at it. “Keep it for now. Return it tomorrow.”
Yoko nodded. “Goodnight, Madam Malhotra.”
“Goodnight, Yoko.”
Their eyes met once more.
There were a hundred unsaid things in that look.
Yoko escaped before she could analyze any of them.
Upstairs in her small apartment, she leaned against the door and let out a long breath.
“This is getting out of hand,” she muttered.
She slipped off Faye’s blazer and held it for a moment.
Then, against her better judgment, she brought it to her face and inhaled softly.
“Definitely out of hand.”
Across the city, Faye stood alone in her quiet penthouse, rain tapping against the balcony windows.
She replayed the car ride in her mind.
The accidental touch.
The way Yoko had looked at her.
She rubbed her temples.
“This is inappropriate,” she whispered.
Assistant.
Employee.
Too young.
Too complicated.
Faye knew all the reasons it was a terrible idea.
Yet none of them stopped the one persistent, unwelcome thought:
She had liked holding Yoko’s hand.
And that, more than anything, terrified her.
- Writer
