Page 38 of A World Apart
Just then, my phone chimed with a new message. I pulled it out of my pocket to see the screen illuminated, the name there making me smile as I swiped to open the message.
Joon
We’re done and we’re going to be leaving. Have you finished work yet?
[Sent 16:45]
Me
Not yet,I finish at 5.
Joon
oh I see. Will I see you?
[Sent 16:46]
I didn’t try to suppress the smile that pulled across my lips, knowing full well it was goofy, but there was no one here to see.
Me
I look like hell, you wouldn’t be missing much.
Joon
both of those things are wrong.
[Sent 16:48]
I grinned and then took a moment to try brushing the dust off, it was everywhere. After some fruitless slapping at my arms and hair, I gave it up as a bad job and tapped out a brief reply.
Me
I’m done here, I’m going upstairs to get my stuff. Maybe I’ll see you on the stairs.
I quickly stuffed the last box under the shelves, giving it a firm nudge with my boot to make it fit and hustled towards the door, closing it carefully behind me and walking quickly across the lobby.
I waved at Donna, but she only frowned at me. I wondered who − if anyone − she was actually friendly to, because it certainly wasn’t me.
I pushed open the door to the stairwell and made my way up, the air in there blessedly cooler, a balm to my warm face.
I was just turning the corner on the first flight when the second-floor door opened above and then closed, the sound reverberating in the enclosed space. A head popped over the railings, a familiar grin under a halo of wavy, black hair.
I took the stairs two at a time until I was level with him, breathing slightly harder from the effort.
“Hello,” I panted slightly.
“Hello,” he greeted me with a smile, but his expression shifted as his gaze caught on the side of my head. He frowned slightly, lifting a hand as if to reach out, then hesitated. His eyes met mine, silently asking for permission. I didn’t say anything, just stared up at him, and whatever he saw in my eyes was all the encouragement he needed.
His long fingers reached for my hair, gently lifting a strand. As he pulled it slightly forward, I noticed a curl of shredded paper tangled in there pretty good.
Patiently, and with the dexterity of a skilled guitarist, he gently untangled the paper from my hair and let it float down the stairwell.
“Thank you,” I murmured, very aware that his fingers still lingered in my hair. I watched as he rubbed the strand between his fingers. My nerve endings were stretched so tight I swore I almost felt it. When his eyes flicked back to mine, I felt it almost as a physical force, the piercing intensity wiping away the light-hearted moment and making the air between us feel as charged as a thunderstorm.
“Kaiya,” he said my name softly, as if testing how it felt on his tongue. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
I inhaled, “a bit late to ask that, isn’t it?” I tried to make a joke, but I could see it landed flat the moment he frowned and dropped my hair.
