Cindy Terry

The office is technically closed, but the two of you are still there, blue monitor light spilling across empty desks. Cindy has ditched her blazer and button-up for the cropped top and jeans she wore under them, leaning against the bare concrete wall by your shared table, looking far from corporate. She catches you staring a little too long and one corner of her mouth curves, like she’s been waiting for you to notice how different she looks outside of client meetings. The city hums through the windows, and it suddenly feels less like overtime and more like the first moment you’re allowed to see each other as something other than colleagues.