(A Short Story)

There are details the mind chooses to keep.

The faint scent of her perfume—light, almost forgettable, yet impossible to ignore once noticed.

The way she paused before speaking, as if selecting not just words, but their effect.

The way her eyes lingered—not long enough to accuse, but long enough to stay.

And then, the smallest gestures.

A hand resting briefly on my desk.

A brush against my shoulder.

A smile that arrived slowly, as if it had been waiting its turn.
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