Close enough to Touch

Midnight Conversations

"Sometimes a habit begins so quietly, you don't realize it's becoming part of your life."

Amy

Three days.

It had been three days since I'd sent one impulsive message to a stranger behind a mask.

Three days since he'd answered.

Three days since my evenings had started feeling...

Different.

I didn't like admitting that.

Mostly because I couldn't explain it.

It wasn't as though we spent hours talking.

Some nights it was fifteen minutes.

Some nights thirty.

One evening, barely five.

Yet every night, somewhere between finishing homework and convincing myself to get enough sleep, I caught myself glancing at my phone.

Not constantly.

Just...

Every now and then.

As if I expected it to light up.

I refused to call it anticipation.

That sounded dangerous.

---

Grace stepped into the elevator beside me.

"Morning, Amy."

"Morning."

"You ready for today's presentation?"

My stomach immediately tightened.

Presentation.

Right.

"I've practiced."

"I know."

I looked at her.

"You do?"

She smiled.

"You've spent the last two days quietly presenting to invisible audiences every time you've walked down the hallway."

I laughed.

"I wasn't that obvious."

"You really were."

The elevator stopped.

Before the doors opened completely, Grace looked at me.

"You belong here."

There were those words again.

The ones people kept saying.

The ones I never quite believed.

"I'll try to remember that."

She smiled gently.

"I didn't say try."

---

Lucas

I saw her before she noticed me.

From the conference room overlooking the engineering floor, I could see nearly every workstation.

Grace walked beside her.

Amy carried a presentation folder against her chest.

Navy blouse.

Black slacks.

Shoulder-length hair brushing softly against her jacket as she laughed.

She looked lighter today.

More relaxed.

The thought caught me off guard.

Three days ago, she would've been another intern crossing the engineering floor.

Now...

She was Amy.

The woman whose messages had somehow become my favorite part of the day.

I shouldn't have been looking for her.

But lately...

Every time I crossed the engineering department, my eyes found her before I realized I was searching.

Not because I intended to speak to her.

Because I intended very carefully not to.

No one could know.

Especially her.

My phone buzzed.

Noah.

NOAH: Stop staring.

I frowned.

Across the table, Noah never looked up from the presentation packet in front of him.

A grin tugged at one corner of his mouth.

Traitor.

ME: I'm not staring.

His reply appeared almost instantly.

NOAH: You're forgetting your office has glass walls.

I know exactly where you're looking.

I slipped my phone into my pocket.

Without lifting his eyes, Noah leaned closer.

"So..."

"So what?"

"She exists."

"She's an intern."

"Mhm."

"And?"

"And you've smiled more this week than you have in six months."

I looked at him.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Liar."

I hated that he was observant.

I hated even more that he wasn't wrong.

---

Amy

By the time I left Crane & Rogers, my brain felt wrung out.

Numbers.

Measurements.

Calculations.

Presentations.

Engineering demanded precision.

There wasn't much room for almost.

Funny.

Life seemed to exist almost entirely in the space between almost and enough.

I stopped at Willow & Bean before heading home.

Mrs. Harper smiled the second I walked through the door.

"The usual?"

"Please."

"And your window?"

"You know me too well."

"I know all my regulars too well."

She handed me my latte with a knowing smile.

"Go sit."

"I'll bring your sandwich."

I settled into my favorite chair.

Laptop open.

Phone beside it.

I looked at the screen.

Don't.

Work first.

Thirty minutes.

Then messages.

I lasted twenty-three.

The phone lit up.

My heart answered before my brain had a chance to.

Nocturne: How did your day go?

I smiled.

He remembered I worked weekdays.

It shouldn't have mattered.

Yet somehow...

It did.

Me: Productive.

Exhausting.

How was yours?

His typing bubble appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

I smiled at the tiny dots.

He always seemed to think before speaking.

I liked that.

Nocturne: Long.

Me: Bad long?

Almost a minute passed.

Nocturne: Responsibility long.

I stared at those two words.

Responsibility long.

I didn't fully understand them.

But I understood carrying things nobody else noticed.

Me: I know that kind of tired.

His reply came almost immediately.

Nocturne: Do you?

I thought for a moment before answering.

Me: Maybe not your version.

But everyone carries something.

His typing bubble disappeared.

Then returned.

Finally—

Nocturne: That's a beautiful way to see people.

Warmth spread through my chest.

He'd complimented me again.

Not my smile.

Not my appearance.

The way I thought.

No one had ever done that before.

Before I could think too much about it, I changed the subject.

Me: What are you listening to tonight?

Instead of answering, he sent a song.

No explanation.

Just the title.

I searched for it.

Pressed play.

Soft piano drifted through my earbuds.

Then strings.

Gentle.

Comforting.

For a moment, I forgot where I was.

Me: It's beautiful.

Nocturne: I thought you'd like it.

I didn't know why that sentence stayed with me.

Maybe because it sounded as though someone had taken a moment to think about me.

Not the engineering student.

Not the daughter trying to make everyone proud.

Just...

Me.

---

Lucas

I imagined her listening to the music.

That surprised me.

I never imagined the people behind the messages.

Never wondered where they sat.

What expression crossed their face.

Tonight...

I pictured Amy sitting beside a café window, her coffee growing cold as she listened.

Dangerous.

This was becoming dangerous.

Not because she expected anything from me.

Because she didn't.

She simply showed up.

Asked thoughtful questions.

Shared pieces of her day.

Somehow, without trying...

She'd become the quietest part of mine.

My phone buzzed.

Amy: Thank you for sharing your music.

No one has ever introduced me to songs like this.

I smiled before I even realized I was doing it.

Nocturne: Thank you for listening.

Sometimes that's rarer.

I hit Send.

Then looked out across the Detroit skyline.

Millions of people lived in this city.

Yet somehow...

The conversation I looked forward to most each night belonged to someone only a few miles away.

She had no idea who I was.

And for now...

Maybe that was exactly what made this feel so honest.