The rest of the day passes

For the rest of the day you avoid Ruby and she avoids you. The easy orbit the two of you usually share around the floor simply stops. You stay at your desk. She stays on the HR side. Every time you risk a glance in her direction she is already looking elsewhere.

At half past five she walks past on her way out. She slows just long enough to catch your eye and says, “Text me about later,” the words shaped more like a quiet question than a command. Then she is gone.

You wait another ten minutes, watching the office empty out around you. Desks go dark. Voices fade. The fluorescent lights feel harsher once the last of the chatter disappears down the corridor.

You gather Cheryl’s folder, the projections she left this morning, and the half-finished notes you managed to scrape together between the distractions. Conference Room B is already lit when you reach it. The door stands ajar. Inside, Cheryl is waiting.