Yet in Stillness, We met.

Love can be an interesting thing, can't it? The way that love flows, how it appears, and how it somehow unravels you from the inside out. It's a fascinating topic, isn't it? The reason I say this is that I've recently been introduced to love—right now, I feel it coursing through me, fulfilling yet leaving me strangely empty.

The feeling of love is like when you're standing on the edge of a cliff, teetering between the excitement of the fall and the terror of the unknown. Love often brings cheerfulness, and that itself fills you with comfort and joy. But at that same moment, love can be a double-edged sword, twirling you in the whirlwind of doubt and insecurity. The dangers of love are unfathomable. Whatever choices you make, you must be prepared for its consequences.

The first time I was introduced to love was by my parents. My mother taught me how to love, and my father taught me the importance of understanding each other. My mother always thinks that love is something that you feel, something that makes you happy whenever you're around that person, a feeling of joy when you see that person, something that she found in my father. I giggled a bit when she said it very proudly, as usually, whenever she said it, my father would try to ignore what my mother said about him. A bit mean, but I guess that is how my father teases my mother. I know that they've been together for almost 50 years now, and they have known each other since childhood.

The downfall of their love story began when my mother died 5 years ago due to a heart attack. My father, who always looked relentless, fell deep in agony by the time he gazed upon my mother's pale body. His cry at her funeral filled the gloomy room, so loud, so raw, that it drowned everyone else as if we didn't exist. He never once forgot to visit her grave on their anniversary and her birthday. I always accompanied him until his death a year ago. Before he passed, he asked me for only one thing—to be buried next to my mother. I did everything in my power to fulfill his wish. A very sweet ending to a love life that they have been living, to be married to the person who has been with you for almost the entire life, and to end it next to someone who has lingered with you. I always thought that it was impossible to happen in real life, but now I know that it's not.

Understanding their love filled me with joy to find someone who will either be loyal like my mother or someone who will be caring like my father does despite his cold upbringing. To experience love like both of them seems dreamlike yet also fearful, as to feel what happened to my father upon the death of my mother, I would feel what my father felt. When he was drowned in tears, devoid of hope, every step that he took would remind him of his fond memories with my mother. Each of his steps felt heavy, he once said. His hands longed for the warm touch. Even the presence of his only child could never replace the love that has stayed with him for so long. Watching his grief makes me question myself, do I truly want love?

But as I reflect on my parents' love and tragedy, I find myself still longing for it. What will it be like when I get to enjoy the love from someone of my dreams? Will my love be someone who fascinates me, enthralls me, or someone who will disappoint and ruin me? The curiosity engulfs me.

I wonder how it feels to touch them, how warm they will be when they hold you, every gentle pat of their palms against my forehead that may fill me with a sense of shelter. Whether the lingering feeling of hopefulness or the drowning bitterness that may fill my heart that is devoid of love.

With that I've met my love, a presence who filled my heart with joy, without him, only bitterness lingers within my mind, as if his presence filled the void in my heart. I've known him for quite a while, even before the death of my mother, yet whether he noticed my existence remains unknown to me.

Our desks face each other, but we've never spoken. Not once. I know the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, the way his voice dips when he's tired, and how he taps his fingers against the desk when he's thinking. I know these things are second nature. And yet, to him, I'm nothing more than a shadow—always there but never noticed

I was never once confident in the way that I looked. Unlike his friends, who are trendy and flashy. I'm just a dull shadow, hiding behind their glittering brightness, a mere hollow husk that craves love.

Try to change yourself, change how you look, put some makeup on.

It was something that a dear friend told me in my college days, a friend who is a huge contrast to what I am. She is cheery and gorgeous; every man is captivated by her beauty. It felt awful whenever I had to walk next to her back then. She underwent huge changes when she got to college because she had never been like that before in high school. A huge risk that she took, yet it rewarded her deeply. Lingering gazes were fixed on every step that she took. A feeling of jealousy that gnawed at my confidence. But I tried to never truly care at that time, as I had no interest in love or people that I could love for, except the love for both of my parents.

But the feeling that I have now is real; this is truly love. Every time he steps near to where I sit, whenever he sits at his desk, a feeling of warmth fills my heart to the brim. My heart aches with the longing to convey my feelings, to bridge the gap between us. Despite us not speaking to each other, regardless of his not knowing me, I still plead for his company with me.

You don't deserve him.

That sentence continues to echo within me, dissipating in any hope that lingers deep inside my heart. I feel cold as if my body is frozen stiff. He continues to walk into his world, leaving me alone, my embrace forever unfulfilled. I'm shackled by my own words, hindered by my own confidence.

Today, I have to work overtime; the office is empty, with only the bright lights from the ceilings and the quiet hum of the air conditioner that fills the room. I glance at the clock; it is 10:00 PM. It is quite uncommon for me to do overtime as I always finish my job on time. However, I made a blunder in my article, which forced me to stay over to finish rewriting the whole article.

I sigh, rubbing my temples whilst trying to calm myself down. My fingers hovered over my keyboard, but words won't come out. My monitor glares at me; it's too bright, and I feel like I'm staring at a blank canvas, except this one feels suffocating. I should've been more careful. I should've double-checked the assignment, even when I was in a rush, even when I thought I understood what the task was. But I didn't. And now I'm paying for it. I'm drowning myself deep in my ridiculous mistake. My chest tightens, and I grip the edge of my desk, fighting my urge to cry.

Get it together, you've handled worse than this.

But the truth is, I haven't been able to. Not after my mother's death, and my father followed her. I've been floating around in the space of uncertainty, clinging to routines and deadlines because they give me something to hold onto. Something to distract me from the emptiness that has been growing inside me.

The sound of footsteps snaps me out of my thoughts. I freeze, and my heart pounds heavily. Who else would be at this hour? Why? I looked up, and it was him, walking towards his desk, his tie loosened, and his sleeves rolled up. A couple of his buttons are unbuttoned, and his face is weary. His presence is so sudden, so unexpected, that I can't find words to speak.

He is humming a familiar song; it is something that I listen to quite often. Exist For Love by Aurora. My favorite song. It is interesting to know that he has a similar taste to me. The moment he gets closer to his desk, he studies his surroundings, and his gaze is fixated on me, who was sitting by my desk, frozen stiff.

"You… you're still here?" he asks, his voice soft but filled with surprise. His eyes met mine, and for a moment, I felt suffocated, as if his gaze took my breath away.

"I… yeah," I stammer, my voice barely above a whisper. "I… I made a silly mistake in my article for our next issue. So, I have to rewrite the entire article."

He tilts his head, studying me with a curious look that makes my cheeks burn. "That sounds rough. I was planning to get my paperwork that I accidentally left here. Do you need help? I'm free for the moment."

I blink, unsure if I heard him correctly. "Help? No… I can handle it." I stutter, but the words come out automatically, a reflex born from years of hiding my insecurities.

But he did something that I didn't expect.

For a moment, he just stands there. His fingers drum lightly against his desk, his eyes looking around the empty office. Then, as if making up his mind, he drags a chair and sits down beside me.

"You've been here all day, haven't you? You shouldn't have to do this alone."

I want to protest, to tell him he doesn't have to stay, but in my heart, I don't want him to leave. His warm presence was comforting, like the first ray of sunlight after a long, dreary, cold night. I nod reluctantly, and he smiles. His smile, genuine, makes my heart skip a beat.

As we work side by side, I steal glances at him when I think he isn't looking. His hands move effortlessly across the keyboard, his brow furrowed in concentration. The way he looks and how he carries himself made my heart skip a beat. He's always been like this. Confident, capable, and kind. I've watched him for so long, convinced that someone like him would never notice someone like me. But now, sitting this close to him, I wonder if I've been wrong all along.

"You know," he says suddenly, breaking the silence that surrounds the mood. His voice is soft, almost hesitant. "You're really good at writing, even if you just made a mistake, you still manage to get through it all. I don't know why you're so hard on yourself."

I freeze, my fingers hovering over the keys. His words caught me off guard, and I didn't know how to respond.

Did I hear it correctly?

Nobody has ever said something like that to me before. Especially in the way that he just did, it felt… genuine.

"I… I'm not," I murmur shyly, my voice trembling. "I just… I don't want to mess up again, and I want to be proud of what I do. Always."

I want to be confident in myself.

He turns to look at me, pausing his work, his gaze steady, yet it feels calmly kind. "Everyone makes mistakes. It's how you overcome it that matters. You've been handling it like a pro."

His words linger in the air, and for the first time in what feels like forever, whatever I've been thinking all this time, it's never been true. I'm seen. Not as a shadow, neither as a hollow husk, but as someone that matters. Someone who's capable and also worthy.

When we finally finish the article, it's past midnight, and probably the last train is gone by this time. He stands up, stretching slightly, and I can't help but notice the way his shirt shifts with the movement. My cheeks flush red, and I quickly look away.

Should I get my hopes up?

"Thanks… thanks for staying," I say, my voice soft, barely audible. "You didn't have to."

He smiles again, although now his smile is brighter, I've never seen him smile as he is now, it feels like it's just for me. "I wanted to. Liana. You know… I've always found you interesting. I've always thought that. It's just I've never once had the chance to talk to you."

My breath catches. I'm shocked.

Interesting? Me?

I want to know why. I want to understand what that means. I want to know why he thinks like that. But words can't escape my mouth.

"Are you using the train to go home? I think by this hour, all the last trains had left already, let me take you home." he continued whilst putting on his denim jacket, which was placed by his desk.

"No… it's okay," I stutter. "There's probably still a couple of buses still going around this hour." I'm embarrassed, I'm burning red, it feels like a dream, yet it is not. All of this has been real.

He gets closer to me, his bag slung over his left shoulder. I've never stood right in front of him; this is the first time. It makes me realize just how tall he is and how broad his shoulders are. His presence is overwhelming, yet in the best way, warm and enchanting.

"You sure about that?" he asks, tilting his head slightly. His voice remains gentle, but there's something more with his tone, a slight concern is felt through his voice. "It's okay, you know. We can ride my motorbike together, and don't worry, I'm a safe driver." He says them full of confidence, brimming with his bright smile.

I hesitate. In my heart, I want to spend more time with him. Yet at the same time, I don't want to trouble him, I've troubled him too much today. Today, it has been too surprising, I need to process all the things that have happened. I've spent so long believing that I was invisible to his gaze, yet it's all an afterthought. The idea of him being here, lending his hand to my aid, offering me to take me home, feels unreal.

"It's really fine," I insist, though my voice lacks confidence.

I'm so stupid.

He exhales a deep breath as if he sounded disappointed. "Hmm. Well, at least let me walk you to the bus stop. It's past midnight."

Say no, say no. Don't tell him yes.

"Okay…" I agree.

The air outside of our office is crisp; the streets are quiet as only the sounds of several cars that pass by can be heard, with a slight wind that cools this warm situation. The city feels different at this hour; it feels slower, like it's catching a break after a long, tiring day. We walk side by side on the pavement in comfortable silence. I steal a glance at him, I wonder if he noticed how nervous I am.

"So…" he starts breaking our silence, hands tucked by his jacket pockets. "I've never seen you talk much in the office. Except maybe if someone needs to ask you something."

I chuckle softly. "I don't really know how to start conversations."

He hums in thought; he seems excited by the way he looks. "Then should I, do it?"

Again. He makes me nervous. He and his surprises.

"I've always found you interesting," he says with certainty. "It's just that, the aura that you emit, that surrounds you, blocks me from attempting any conversation with you. I once heard you hum a song, it's quite beautiful. Exist for Love. If that catches you anything?"

My cheeks flush, and I try to look away, unsure of how I should respond. It's strange, hearing him talk about me like this, it's as if he has noticed me. I never thought anyone would care about anything that I did.

"Yea… it's one of my favorite songs." I said sheepishly, I feel that I'm bright red up until my ears. Good thing it's dark outside so he shouldn't be able to notice it.

I hesitate to continue, I'm unsure of how much I should share. But there's something about the way he looks at me, it's as if he genuinely wants to know, that makes me want to open up.

"It's… comforting," I say slowly, choosing my words carefully. "The way she sings about love, the melody, and how poetic that song is. It feels… real."

He nods, his expression thoughtful. "I get that. It's like knowing how beautiful the feeling of love is, how comforting and warm it is, and how it will embrace you in the world that is constantly hurting you. It's beautiful.

His reply caught me off guard, and I gazed intently at his, surprised, yet with a whole lot of curiosity in it. "You… you've thought about it that way too?"

He smiles, a little sheepishly. "Yeah… I guess I have."

We fall into silence again, but it's a comfortable silence, filled with unspoken understanding. For the first time, I feel the warmth of another, it's as if whatever I've thought about myself was never true. I'm actually someone that matters.

When we reach the bus stop, a fleeting feeling of disappointment surrounds me, the moment is about to end. Then he turns to me, his hands still tucked inside his jacket pockets. "Well, this is it," he says with his soft voice. "But are you sure you don't want me to take you home?"

I shake my head, though a part of me wishes to say yes. "I'll be fine Johan. Thank you… for today."

He smiles, and it's the kind of smile that makes my heart skip a beat, it's so bright and genuine. "Anytime, Liana. You know… I'm glad that I finally got the chance to talk to you."

His words linger in the air, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. "Me too," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

He hesitates, yet his step grows closer. "We should do this again sometime. Maybe over a coffee instead, or maybe other things. You know."

I nodded, my heart racing. "I'd like that."

"That settles," he says. He approaches me, his hand leaving his jacket pockets and unveiling his phone. "Here. We should at least share each of our phone numbers."

He handed me his phone. My fingers tremble as I type in my number, slowly and carefully, each digit that I type feels like a small step into uncharted territory. When I hand it back, he quickly sends a text.

Hi!

It made a buzz from my phone in my pocket. The vibration is startling, yet comforting, like a bridge that is built to bridge the gap between us.

I'm over the moon.

"There," he says, whilst slipping his phone back into his jacket pocket. "Now you have my number. So, it's easy to plan for something or in case you need anything."

I nodded, clutching my phone tightly to my chest. The bus pulls up to the curb, its arrival slips me back to reality. Its doors are hissing open, and I feel reluctant to get in. I don't want this moment to end. Not yet.

"I guess this is it," I say softly, glancing at the bus and then back at him. His gaze meets mine, and in his gaze, I feel something, a warm and hopeful feeling, it makes my chest tighten.

"Yeah," he says, his voice is quiet. "But like I said, we can do this again. Over a coffee or lunch, or… whatever you'd like."

I smile, a small tentative smile that feels… strange on my lips. "I'd like that… sure."

He steps back as I climb onto the bus, his hands still tucked into his jacket pockets. The door closes behind me, and I find a seat by the window, my heart still racing. Through the glass, I see him standing there, watching as the bus pulls away. He raises his hands in a small wave, and I lift mine in return, through the glass window where it gaps our touch.

As the bus gets off, I lean back in my seat, clutching my phone to my chest. The screen lights up to his text before, and I stare at it, with a strange mix of emotions swirling inside me. Excitement, fear, hope, it's all there, tangled together.

I open the message and type a reply, my fingers trembling slightly.

Thank you for tonight.

His response comes almost immediately.

Anytime, Liana. Be safe. Goodnight!

I smiled, and I tucked my phone away. The city lights blur past the window, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel a flicker of something that I've never felt, hope.

As I watch the quiet night in the city pass by, I think about my parents. Their love, their joy, their loss, and the way they held onto each other through it all. Mother. For the first time, maybe, just maybe. Allow me to hope, to believe that I can also relive those moments like you did. Maybe not the fairy tale kind of love, but the real kind, the kind that is messy or imperfect, yet still remains beautiful in its own way. Even through all the stillness, and gaps that we both dug, we managed to meet in the end. Across the boundaries that we dug, as if fate had us tangled together.

As the bus carries me home, I feel a warm feeling spreading through my chest, like the first rays of sunlight after a long, cold night. It's a small, fragile feeling. But it's there. For now, it's enough.