moments between task
1315 Words
He saw the commotion. The buzz. People whispering. Phones half-raised, unsure whether to film or not. Then he saw her—still standing near the customer service desk. Her cheek was red.
He walked straight over.
“What happened?” he asked quietly.
Her eyes didn’t meet his. “Handled.”
He looked toward security, where two officers were now cuffing the man. “Handled?”
She nodded. “They staged it. Trying to pull a claim. I called them out.”
He stared at her for a beat. “He hit you.”
“I’m aware.”
They stood there in silence for a moment—two people carrying too much silence already.
Richard finally said, “Let me handle the legal side.”
“I know you will.”
Their eyes met. Just for a second.
And then they both turned, walking away—him toward the family and the paperwork, her toward the elevator and whatever meeting came next.
The office buzzed all day. News of the slap spread like spilled ink on paper—everyone heard something, but no one knew everything.
Dera never spoke of it again.
She didn’t excuse herself, didn’t call security to follow up, didn’t pause her meetings. By noon, she was back on the executive floor, reviewing expansion reports and answering investor emails. To anyone watching, she hadn’t flinched.
But behind the closed door of her office, the redness on her cheek lingered longer than the pain. She hadn’t iced it. She didn’t even touch it. Instead, she stared at her own reflection in the glass wall, and for a long time, said nothing.
She didn’t care about the slap. That wasn’t the part that stung.
It was the way the man’s eyes burned with the same resentment she’d felt growing silently between her and Arman for months—except now it had a face and a hand.
When she finally allowed herself a breath, it came out slow. Heavy. She hadn’t cried. She didn’t want to. But she had never imagined a day where being right—being strong—would feel so hollow.
Richard, meanwhile, buried himself in the paperwork.
He stayed late in Legal, typing up the incident report, reviewing surveillance footage, drafting the preliminary claims denial with cold precision. The footage clearly showed it: the woman faking the fall, the man's exaggerated panic, the awkward way they stumbled through the act.
But the sound of the slap stuck with him. It wasn’t just anger. It was humiliation.
And it shouldn’t have happened—not to anyone. Not to her.
---
He didn’t know why it bothered him as much as it did. Maybe it was the fact that she didn’t even look for him after. Didn’t ask him to step in. Didn’t lean on him, not even out of habit.
Or maybe it was the guilt—that she still moved like a fortress because he stopped being her shelter.
By 8:00 p.m., the office was nearly empty. Richard stood by the long window of the sixth floor, looking out into the city lights. His tie hung loose, his mind restless.
He could’ve gone home.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he took the elevator up to the top floor.
He didn’t know what he planned to say. He just… walked. Past the echoing hallway. Past the quiet assistant’s desk. Her office door was closed, but the light was still on.
He hesitated.
Still, here he was, standing outside her glass-walled office, unsure if knocking was a mistake or a gesture she might accept.
He took a breath, knocked softly.
“Yeah?” her voice came from inside, slightly muffled.
“Come in,” her voice called.
He stepped inside.
He opened the door and stepped in. She looked up, surprised, pen paused mid-sentence.
“Oh. Hey.”
“Hey,” he said, shifting awkwardly. “Do you… have a moment?”
Dera blinked. “Yeah. Sure.”
He stepped inside, holding a folder that looked more important than it was. "Hi, um… I just thought I'd give you a quick update on the… uh… the report. The, you know, the work I’ve been doing."
She was at her desk, still in heels, still in the same sharp gray dress from the morning. The red had faded from her cheek, but her eyes were tired.
They looked at each other for a moment.
“You didn’t have to stay,” she said, coolly.
“I know,” he replied. “But I wanted to finish the report.”
She gestured for him to sit. "Go on."
He sat, flipping open the folder though it contained only two pages. "So, yeah, I’ve started ....
She nodded, waiting.
"And, uh… yeah, that’s pretty much it for now," he said, staring at the page like it might magically fill with more content. "I just wanted to keep you in the loop, you know?"
Dera gave a small, understanding smile. "That’s good, Richard. Let me know if you run into any roadblocks."
"Absolutely," he said quickly, standing. "Just wanted to—uh—check in."
He left the office feeling like he’d brought a whisper to a conversation that needed a speech. Still, she hadn’t looked annoyed. Maybe it was enough, for now.
The door creaked as Richard stepped back in.
He had already said what needed to be said. The report was done. The legal angles were covered. But he hesitated in the hallway, something unsettled pressing at his chest—and so he came back.
Dera didn’t look up this time. Her posture remained straight, hands folded neatly on the desk, the cool glow of the desk lamp soft against her features. If not for the faint red fading on her cheek, no one would know what she’d just been through.
“I won’t stay long,” he said.
She didn’t answer.
He stood a few steps into the room, unsure why the words came out the way they did.
“I don’t know if you're eating,” he said plainly. “Or sleeping. Or if you're just pretending everything’s fine because it's easier than admitting it’s not.”
That made her lift her gaze—slowly, sharply.
“I’m not checking up on you,” he added quickly. “We’re not… in that space anymore. I get that. But you should still take your health seriously.”
Dera’s jaw tensed, but she didn’t interrupt.
“I remember you mentioned to the doctors you will get back to him . A while back,” he continued, voice low. “He said your condition is serious. I don’t know if you went. I’m not entitled to know. But after today…”
He trailed off, watching her for a reaction.
“I haven’t gone,” she said finally, eyes steady on his. “And I didn’t forget. I just didn’t go.”
“Why?” he asked, not out of judgment—but genuine confusion.
She looked at him like she was measuring how much to say.
“Because sometimes, I’d rather keep moving than stop and be reminded how fragile it all is.”
Arman nodded slowly. He understood that far too well.
“I won’t pretend I know what you're carrying anymore,” he said. “But I do know this—you don’t have to prove strength by ignoring pain. You already carry more than most.”
Dera said nothing, but her eyes softened. Just a fraction.
“I’m not here to fix things,” he said finally. “But I’ll always want you to be okay. Even from a distance.”
That line sat between them—heavy, unspoken, but true.
He gave her a final nod, then turned, this time leaving for real.
The door closed quietly behind him.
And for the first time in weeks, Dera sat alone… not feeling entirely alone.
- Writer
