Alan
The hum of the city outside the office windows faded as we left the building, Cyril’s hand brushing against mine ever so slightly as we walked to the car.
Each step felt heavier than the last, weighted by the restraint we had forced ourselves to maintain all day.
I could feel her pulse beneath the brush of our fingers, a quiet reminder of the tension simmering between us.
I slid into the driver’s seat, Cyril settling beside me, her posture composed but undeniably alert.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air was thick, filled with all the words we wanted to say but hadn’t.
I rested my hand lightly on the steering wheel, the other hand brushing against hers.
“Alan,” she finally whispered, just above the hum of the engine starting, “I… I don’t know if I can pretend all da
