HIDDEN FREQUENCIES

ALMOST NORMAL

ETHAN POV

Ariana returned to Novaris three days after the accident.

I saw her before she saw me.

She stepped out of the elevator quietly, dressed like nothing had happened.

Pale blue shirt.

Black trousers.

Hair tied back loosely.

A small bandage still wrapped around her palm.

The cut near her cheek had almost faded.

Almost.

She walked to her desk, placed her bag down, opened her laptop, and started working.

As if she had not walked into a collapsing lab.

As if she had not stopped something no one else in that room understood.

As if I had not spent three days replaying that moment in my head.

The core glowing.

The glass cracking.

Everyone running.

Ariana moving toward danger.

Her hand on the regulator.

The chair changing.

I had questions.

Too many.

But I did not ask them.

Not today.

Maybe not tomorrow either.

For once, I understood that some answers could not be forced out of people.

Especially not Ariana Parker.

Especially not by me.

The office felt strangely normal that morning.

Phones rang.

Employees moved between cabins.

Someone near finance was arguing with the printer.

A manager walked past with three coffees and the expression of a man who had lost all hope.

Normal.

Almost.

Then Richard entered my office without knocking.

Of course.

Richard never knocked properly.

He treated doors like decorative suggestions.

He walked in wearing sunglasses, holding a file in one hand and coffee in the other, looking like the entire world had personally offended him.

“The research floor is a disaster,” he announced.

I looked at him.

“Good morning to you too.”

“No. There is nothing good about this morning.”

He dropped the file onto my desk.

“It smells like burnt metal, broken ambition, and expensive decisions.”

I opened the file.

“How expensive?”

Richard removed his sunglasses dramatically.

“Do you want the number before or after my emotional breakdown?”

“Before.”

“Cruel.”

“Richard.”

He sighed.

“The containment chamber will take at least a week. Maybe more. The glass is gone. The lower frame is damaged. Two regulators melted. One engineer said the word impossible six times in one sentence.”

“Replace everything.”

“That is exactly the kind of sentence rich people say before ruining my budget.”

“You are also rich.”

“Emotionally, I am middle class.”

I looked up at him.

He looked completely serious.

For the first time in three days, I almost smiled.

Almost.

Richard noticed.

“Oh, good. You still have facial muscles.”

“Don’t start.”

“I already started.”

He leaned against the chair in front of my desk and followed my gaze through the glass wall.

Ariana was typing at her desk.

Calm.

Focused.

Untouchable.

Richard’s expression shifted slightly.

“She’s back.”

“Yes.”

“She looks fine.”

“She is not fine.”

Richard looked at me.

“You asked?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know?”

I looked at her bandaged hand.

“Because people who are fine don’t pretend that hard.”

Richard was silent for exactly three seconds.

A personal record.

Then he said, “That was deep. I hated it.”

I ignored him.

He tapped the file.

“So what do you want done?”

“Rebuild the chamber. Reinforce everything. No shortcuts.”

“That sounds expensive.”

“Do it.”

He sighed like I had personally attacked him.

“One day, I will open a bakery. No machines. No explosions. No CEOs asking me to spend millions before lunch.”

“You would burn the bakery down.”

“Probably. But at least it would smell better.”

I looked back at the file.

“And Richard?”

“Yes?”

“No unnecessary reports to Ariana today.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Today?”

“She just came back.”

For once, he didn’t joke immediately.

Then he nodded.

“Fine. No unnecessary reports.”

“Thank you.”

He turned to leave, then stopped near the door.

“You know, for what it’s worth…”

I looked at him.

He nodded toward Ariana.

“She scared all of us that day.”

I said nothing.

“But not because she was weak.” His voice lowered slightly. “Because she wasn’t.”

The room went quiet.

For once, Richard did not ruin the moment with a joke.

Then he immediately ruined it.

“Anyway, I’m going to yell at engineers now. It’s good for blood circulation.”

He left.

I stared at the closed door for a second.

Then looked back at Ariana.

She was still working.

Still pretending.

Still here.

For now, that was enough.

A soft knock came at my door fifteen minutes later.

I looked up.

Ariana stood outside with a file in her hand.

“Come in.”

She entered quietly and placed the file on my desk.

“Your eleven o’clock investor call has been moved to twelve. The Singapore documents are ready for review.”

Professional.

Calm.

Almost normal.

Almost.

“Thank you.”

She nodded.

“Also, Richard asked me to inform you that he is not speaking to the finance department unless they apologize to his calculator.”

I looked at her.

“His calculator?”

“That was his exact wording.”

“He’s dramatic.”

“He said the same thing about you.”

Of course he did.

For one second, the corner of her mouth almost moved.

Not a smile.

Almost.

I should not have noticed that much.

But I did.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

Her face became guarded immediately.

Of course.

I kept my voice calm.

“I mean the cuts.”

She looked down at her bandaged hand.

“They’re fine.”

“That sounds like something you say when you are not fine.”

“That sounds like something you say when you want to annoy me.”

“Is it working?”

“A little.”

The answer came too quickly.

Then she seemed to realize it.

For the first time that morning, the air between us did not feel sharp.

Just careful.

I leaned back slightly.

“Did you take the medicines?”

She stared at me.

“You sound like a parent.”

“I sound responsible.”

“You sound suspiciously proud of it.”

“I’m trying something new.”

“What? Responsibility?”

“Not making you angry before noon.”

A small breath escaped her.

Almost a laugh.

She looked away before I could see it properly.

Too late.

I had already seen enough.

“You failed,” she said.

“It is only eleven.”

“Exactly. Early failure.”

“Tragic.”

She adjusted the file on my desk.

“The investor call needs the revised numbers before twelve.”

“I’ll review them.”

“And the legal team wants your approval on the Singapore agreement.”

“I saw the email.”

“Did you read it?”

“I opened it.”

“That is not the same thing.”

I looked at her.

She looked back, completely serious.

For a moment, I almost forgot the last three days.

Almost.

This was what she was supposed to be doing.

Not standing in collapsing labs.

Not bleeding.

Not saving people.

Just this.

Schedules.

Files.

Meetings.

Quiet arguments about unread emails.

Ordinary things.

Safe things.

I wanted to keep her here, in this kind of normal.

Not because she was fragile.

Because she mattered.

And because I was beginning to understand that caring about someone did not mean pulling them closer to danger just because they knew how to face it.

“I’ll read it,” I said.

Ariana studied me for a second.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Before the meeting?”

“Yes.”

“Without me reminding you three times?”

“Let’s not become unrealistic.”

This time, she did smile.

Barely.

But it was there.

Small.

Fast.

Gone almost instantly.

Still, it hit harder than it should have.

Because she did not smile at me often.

Not anymore.

And the fact that she had done it now, even for half a second, felt like being handed something delicate I had no right to hold.

She cleared her throat.

“I’ll remind you twice.”

“That seems fair.”

“It is generous.”

“I appreciate your kindness.”

“You should.”

The silence that followed was softer.

Not healed.

Not easy.

But softer.

Then her eyes moved briefly to the window behind me.

Not toward the research floor.

Not toward the past.

Just outside.

The city was bright beyond the glass.

For once, she looked less like she was preparing for a fight.

“You should eat something,” I said before I could stop myself.

Her eyes returned to mine.

“What?”

“You skipped breakfast.”

“How do you know that?”

“You always keep coffee on your desk when you eat breakfast here. Today there is no coffee.”

She stared at me.

I realized too late how much that revealed.

Not suspicion.

Something worse.

Attention.

Ariana looked away first.

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“You didn’t ask a question.”

“Fine. Eat something.”

“There it is.”

“What?”

“The order.”

I paused.

She noticed.

So I corrected myself.

“Please eat something.”

Her expression changed slightly.

It was not much.

But it mattered.

“I will,” she said.

“Good.”

“And before you say anything else, no, I do not need soup.”

“I was not going to suggest soup.”

“You looked like you might.”

“I do not have a soup face.”

“You absolutely do.”

I stared at her.

She stared back.

Then she looked down at the tablet in her hand, but not before I caught another almost-smile.

I wanted to say something.

Something real.

Something about how the office had felt wrong without her.

Something about how I had spent three days thinking about her bandaged hand, her tired eyes, and the way she had said my name at the hospital.

But I didn’t.

Normal conversation.

That was what she could handle today.

Maybe that was all I deserved.

So I only said, “Thank you for coming back.”

The words changed the room.

Ariana stilled.

Her fingers tightened around the tablet.

I regretted it immediately.

Not because it was false.

Because it was too honest.

She looked at me slowly.

“I work here.”

“I know.”

The silence stretched.

Then she said quietly, “For now.”

I accepted that.

For now was more than gone.

For now meant she was still in front of me.

For now meant I had not ruined everything today.

“That’s enough,” I said.

Her expression shifted.

Not softness exactly.

But something close enough to hurt.

Then she nodded once.

“I’ll get the files ready.”

She turned toward the door.

Before leaving, she paused.

“Ethan.”

My name.

Not Mr. Blake.

Not sir.

Ethan.

I looked at her.

“Yes?”

“Read the legal email.”

For a second, I only stared at her.

Then I almost laughed.

Almost.

“I will.”

“I mean it.”

“So do I.”

She gave me one last doubtful look and walked out.

I watched her return to her desk through the glass wall.

She sat down.

Opened her laptop.

Typed something.

Adjusted a file.

Continued working.

Almost normal.

Not healed.

Not forgiven.

Not safe yet.

But here.

The questions were still there.

Unanswered.

Heavy.

Waiting.

But this time, I did not chase them.

There would be time for answers.

Or maybe there wouldn’t.

Maybe Ariana would never tell me everything.

Maybe the truth would come slowly, piece by piece, only when she trusted me enough to let it surface.

For now, I would let normal be enough.

Investor calls.

Legal emails.

Richard’s dramatic calculator.

Ariana pretending not to smile.

It wasn’t forgiveness.

It wasn’t peace.

But it was a beginning.

And after eight years of silence, a beginning was more than I deserved.