The First Look
1588 Words
Ray Lozada didn’t believe in fate, serendipity, or cosmic timing. He believed in contracts, clause structures, and legally binding commitments signed in triplicate. Life, for him, had always been a matter of cause and effect. You studied hard, you passed the bar. You worked harder, you got promoted. You detached emotionally, you survived.
And yet, none of those neat little rules could explain what the hell was happening to him every time he passed by the Finance Department at exactly 9:10 AM.
She was there. Always, for two weeks since she started joining the company.
Seated at her desk with her hair pulled into a clean, low ponytail, glasses perched on the tip of her nose, focused like the rest of the office didn’t exist. Sometimes she wore navy blue, other days cream or maroon—but whatever she wore, she made it look sharp.
Soft. Put-together in a way that made Ray feel like his entire life was just a wrinkled tie and unfinished paperwork.
Her name was Isabelle Salazar. Twenty-seven. Accountant. And, if rumors were accurate, a part-time law student.
He’d first seen her two weeks ago when Legal was coordinating with Finance for an internal audit. The meeting itself was about as thrilling as dry toast. But she? She had asked one question—precise, calm, almost surgical in tone—and he remembered turning his head, not because the question was particularly impressive, but because of the person who asked it.
There was something about the way she looked at people. Straight. Unapologetic. Not in a confrontational way—but as if she had already assessed your entire personality, filed it in a folder, and was deciding whether you were worth her energy.
And for reasons he could not fully justify, Ray really wanted to be worth her energy.
Ray, on paper, was everything his family had expected him to be. Thirty-two, attorney-at-law, son of a prominent litigator turned managing partner at Lozada & Associates, and currently serving as the in-house counsel of a multi-sector conglomerate. His resume was clean. His reputation was solid.
His life, however, was a mess of broken pieces artfully disguised as success.
He had barely spoken to his father in two years—ever since he turned down the full-time partnership offer at the family firm to “find his own path.” His last relationship ended in slow-burn disaster, a casualty of ambition, emotional distance, and one very poorly timed engagement ring. And lately, the job—the title, the emails, the never-ending policy drafts—had started to feel like a glossy cage.
So, yes. Maybe he had become a little too invested in his morning detour through Finance.
Maybe it was the way Isabelle’s pen always twirled twice before she scribbled notes in the margins. Or how she always brought her own coffee in that chipped lavender mug that read: “Future Attorney-at-Law.”
Or maybe it was just her.
What Ray didn’t know was that Isabelle had noticed him, too.
At first, it was peripheral—just another suit in the sea of Legal Department grays. But then he kept passing by. Every Monday. Every Wednesday. And on Fridays, if she timed her coffee run right, she’d spot him walking toward the elevator, pretending not to look her way.
She noticed his rhythm before she noticed his face.
He had a way of scanning a room like he was memorizing it. Not nosy, not arrogant—just observant. Alert. He spoke in measured tones, always with a slight pause before answering questions, like his brain was editing the script for clarity.
It was completely unintentional, of course.
At least, that’s what he told himself every time he made the detour past her department—coffee in hand, pretending he was headed somewhere specific, always at the exact same time, always hoping she’d look up.
Sometimes she did.
Sometimes she didn’t.
And sometimes, when she caught him mid-glance, he’d lift a single brow as a casual greeting—a move that was supposed to look cool and composed, but probably just made him look like he had a tic.
Today, she looked up. And smiled.
Not a polite, corner-of-the-mouth smile. A real one. Small, genuine, just slightly crooked.
Ray blinked.
Had she always looked at him that long?
He offered his usual eyebrow-raise, but this time it came with a flash of something dangerously close to an actual smile. A microsecond passed. Then she turned back to her screen, unbothered.
He kept walking, heartbeat annoyingly out of rhythm.
Behind him, he imagined her returning to her spreadsheet, completely unfazed, while he—Senior In-House Counsel, Juris Doctor, c*m laude graduate of San Beda University Law—was internally combusting over the way her lips had quirked to one side.
Hopeless, he thought.
Ray stepped into the Legal department and immediately regretted it.
“You got it bad,” Sam announced from his cubicle, not even bothering to look up from his monitor.
Ray groaned. “Do I need to start using the back entrance to avoid your commentary?”
Sam turned, spinning dramatically in his chair. “I’ve been watching this little hallway tango of yours for weeks now. Same route. Same time. It’s like a nature documentary. If David Attenborough were narrating, he'd say: ‘Here we see the cautious lawyer in his natural habitat, circling the unsuspecting accountant.’”
“She’s not unsuspecting.”
“Oh, I know she’s not. Did you see her face today? That was a ‘maybe I’ll smile again tomorrow’ smile.”
Ray dropped his briefcase on the floor and flopped into his chair with a groan. “I’m not even sure she knows my name.”
Sam shrugged. “She knows. Trust me, the way she looks at you? She knows.”
Ray rubbed a hand down his face. “It’s a bad idea anyway.”
“Why? Because she’s in Finance?”
“Because she’s studying law,” he muttered, eyes fixed on a random crack in the ceiling. “I’d be a distraction.”
Sam leaned forward. “Or maybe you’d be motivation. Inspiration. You know. The stuff great love stories are made of.”
Ray gave him a look. “Have you been watching K-dramas again?”
Sam held up his hands in mock innocence. “For research purposes only.”
The truth was, Ray was a distraction. Or at least, he felt like one. He was thirty-two, still dragging around emotional baggage he didn’t fully understand, working in a company he was growing to resent, and carrying the ghost of a failed relationship that still lingered in the corners of his mind like stale air.
Isabelle Salazar was... different.
Focused. Driven. Radiating the quiet, contained fire of someone on a mission. And from the way she moved through her day—calm, deliberate, disciplined—he suspected that distractions were something she filtered out like spam email.
Still.
She smiled.
Later that afternoon, he found himself in the pantry, refilling his coffee. Isabelle walked in. Alone.
She was holding that same mug. “Future Attorney-at-Law.”
He cleared his throat. “So… you’re in law school?”
She looked up, blinking as if seeing him for the first time—not just in the hallway or over spreadsheets—but really seeing him.
“Yes,” she said, not unkindly. “U.P, part-time.”
He gestured toward her mug. “Caught me off guard. I didn’t take accountants for gluttons for punishment.”
She smiled. “And I didn’t take lawyers for early morning stalkers.”
Ray choked on his coffee.
She laughed. “Relax. I’ve seen you. Every Monday. Wednesday. Sometimes Fridays, depending on your mood, I guess.”
“Wow. So I’ve been clocked.”
“Pretty much.”
He nodded, recovering. “In my defense, the Finance department has excellent air-conditioning. Much better than Legal.”
“And better views?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Ray grinned. “Much better views.”
There was a pause. Not awkward. Just charged.
Then she stepped past him toward the fridge. “So, are you here to ask about accounting... or the doughnut I brought today?”
Ray’s eyes flicked to the box on the counter. “Is that… Alcapone?”
“Favorite.”
His heart did a stupid little leap. “Mine too.”
She turned, leaning against the counter, arms crossed.
“You’re not as subtle as you think, Ray.”
He blinked. “So… you do know my name.”
“I have to. You’re the in-house counsel. And your signature’s on half the policy memos that land on my desk.”
“I’ll try to make them more exciting next time.”
She smiled. “Maybe add a joke.”
He was about to respond when her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen.
“Gotta run. Tax audit meeting,” she said with a slight grimace.
“Fun.”
“Oh, it’s a party.”
She started to walk away, then paused at the doorway.
“Same time Wednesday?”
Ray tilted his head. “You asking me or warning me?”
Isabelle smirked. “You tell me, Attorney.”
And just like that, she was gone.
Ray stared at the empty doorway for a second too long.
Then he turned to the counter, opened the doughnut box, and took one bite of the lone alcapone she’d left behind.
It was the sweetest thing he’d tasted in years.
- Writer
