First Glances

June

I leaned against the cold glass of the building’s lobby, staring at my reflection in the polished surface while trying not to look too obvious. My mind, as always, was halfway between the day ahead and the latest episode of the sitcom I’d binged the night before. But today, something—or rather someone—had my attention completely.

She was tall, with dark hair tight in Dutch braids that revealed a clean undercut at the back, and light blue eyes so pale they looked unreal. I had seen her for the first time yesterday, a blur of motion in the hall as I carried my coffee past the elevators. She had walked past with that sharp, composed stride and a presence so strong I actually stopped breathing for a second. A moment later, someone down the hallway called out after her—“Arwyn!”—and that was how I learnt her name.

I remembered thinking that the universe had a peculiar sense of humour, dropping someone so strikingly composed and utterly unreachable into the same building I worked in.

I had spent the better part of the morning trying not to stare openly as I shuffled papers at my desk, but the memory of her posture, the subtle sway of her long legs as she walked, kept creeping into my thoughts. I wasn’t even sure she had noticed me. That was the thing—Arwyn moved through the hallways like she existed in her own orbit, serious, unapproachable, like a perfectly sealed envelope I didn’t know how to open.

Yet somehow, every morning, I found myself waiting for the briefest glimpse: the brush past in the hall, the echo of a soft footstep near the elevators, the fleeting outline in the cafeteria line. I caught myself blushing when our eyes met—even briefly—and then berating myself under my breath for acting like a schoolgirl.

I tried talking to her yesterday. Simple hellos, barely audible above the clatter of shoes and murmured greetings in the lobby. She had nodded, politely, but with that distant, unreadable expression that made my chest tighten. I couldn’t tell if it was disinterest, preoccupation, or some private, inner intensity I’d never get to touch.

I leaned further against the glass, tracing the faint condensation on it with a fingertip. My mind wandered to every imagined scenario where I could—no, should—interact with Arwyn. Maybe I could start a conversation about the building, the coffee, or some trivial comment about the weather. Maybe I’d ask about her work, though I barely understood what she did beyond the occasional glimpse of her exiting the office I’d never entered. Every plan I made dissolved the moment I pictured her sharp gaze, her slightly arched eyebrows, and her faintly disinterested tilt of the head.

And yet, the pull was undeniable. My stomach fluttered with every accidental meeting in the hallway. One day I’d walk by, and she would glance up from her phone or her papers, our eyes would meet, and my thoughts would instantly scatter. My heart would hammer as if it knew something my brain refused to admit: that I was utterly captivated.

I caught myself smiling faintly, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of it. “Breathe,” I muttered under my breath. “It’s just… a person.”

But it wasn’t just a person. Arwyn had this aura of quiet command, a stillness that seemed to pull everything into sharp focus. I, on the other hand, was a mess of nerves and thoughts, of laughter that sometimes escaped at inappropriate times and jokes that bordered on dirty just to cut through the tension of my own shyness. I didn’t fit her calm, contained world, and that made me want it even more.

I glanced at my watch, pretending to be occupied while stealing another glance down the hall. There she was—Arwyn, striding with that careful precision, dark hair catching the morning light, blue eyes briefly meeting mine before flicking away. My heart jumped, my cheeks warming. I swallowed, trying to steady myself.

“Okay. Today. Maybe I’ll say something more than ‘hello.’”

My mind raced through variations: a joke, a compliment, even the absurd idea of offering her lunch, though I knew I’d freeze like a fool if the opportunity arose. And then, as if mocking my careful planning, she disappeared around the corner, the click of her shoes fading into the distance.

I sank back against the glass, exhaling shakily. I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling the ridiculous thrum of my own heartbeat. A coworker passed, giving me a curious look. I forced a laugh, hoping it didn’t betray the storm of thoughts still raging inside me.

I knew I had to be careful. Arwyn wasn’t just someone pretty to glance at; she seemed like someone who noticed everything, yet revealed nothing. And still… I couldn’t look away.

I ran a hand through my dark hair, and sighed. Today, I promised myself, I would try. I would find a reason, any reason, to speak to Arwyn.

Maybe I’d even make her laugh.

Yes, make her laugh. That seemed possible, right? I imagined a scene in the hallway, one of those moments where words tumbled over themselves and a genuine smile—or even a hint of amusement—flickered across her serious features. The thought made my cheeks burn anew.

I straightened, smoothed my blouse, and whispered, almost to myself, “One step at a time, June. One step.”

And with that small mantra, I tucked myself back into the rhythm of my morning, but with my eyes inevitably wandering toward that hallway, where Arwyn’s ghost lingered in my mind, sharper and more vivid than any reality could be.

I fiddled with the rings on my fingers as I sat at my desk, the glow of the computer screen barely cutting through the haze of distraction. The spreadsheet in front of me could have been hieroglyphs for all I cared—my mind was elsewhere, tracing the memory of a pair of pale blue eyes, the way those long legs carried someone through the corridor with a stride that was confident without trying, almost careless, not wanting to impress anyone.

“Okay, what’s that look?”

Steven’s voice broke through my fog. He leaned against the divider of my cubicle, cradling his mug like it was the only thing keeping him alive. His blond hair was messy in that intentionally effortless way, and he had the kind of smirk that suggested he knew far too much about everyone in the office.

I rolled my eyes, tugging at the cuff of my oversized black cardigan. “What look?”

“The look you get when you’re either plotting murder or in love. Honestly, with you, it could go either way.”

I snorted, a half-suppressed laugh slipping out. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Not denying it, though,” he pointed out, sipping his coffee. “Come on, who is it? Someone in the building? It has to be, because I swear your face lights up every time you hear footsteps down the hall.”

I hesitated, chewing on the inside of my cheek. Normally, I kept these things locked away—my crushes were my own private world, daydreams I protected from being exposed. But Steven was safe. Steven didn’t judge. And besides, I was buzzing with the need to tell someone.

“Fine,” I said at last, lowering my voice as if the cubicle walls might have ears. “There’s this girl. She works here. I think she’s an engineer or something? Always in that black uniform—skinny trousers, sweatshirt.”

Steven’s eyebrows shot up, and he grinned. “A uniform, huh? Hot.”

I rolled my eyes again, but a blush crept to my cheeks anyway. I tugged at the sleeve of my black top, revealing the swirling tattoos running down my arm—floral and abstract designs, the ink I wore like armour. “She’s… different. Tall. Dark hair. Sometimes she wears it up in a bun, or in these really neat Dutch braids.” My voice softened without my meaning to, and my chest gave that traitorous flutter. “She looks so good with the braids.”

Steven leaned in, eyes twinkling. “You’ve been paying attention.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying. This is serious crush-level detail. Do you even know her name?”

I nodded, pressing my lips together. “Arwyn.” I let the name linger, soft and reverent. “I found out last week.”

“And does Arwyn know you exist?”

I groaned, dropping my head into my hands. “I don’t know. I mean, I’ve said hello a couple of times. She just kind of… nods. Doesn’t really smile. She’s got that whole serious, unreadable thing going on.”

Steven smirked knowingly. “Ah, the broody type. You always fall for the broody ones.”

I peeked at him through my fingers, my cheeks still warm. “She’s not broody. She’s just… quiet. Serious. She has this walk, like—confident, but not arrogant. Like she owns the hallway but doesn’t care if anyone notices.”

“Masculine walk?” Steven supplied.

I hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Exactly that. God, it’s unfair.” I sat up again, fingers tugging absently in my hair. “And here I am, choking on my coffee whenever she looks my way.”

Steven chuckled. “Adorable. You’re basically a character in one of those slow-burn office romances.”

I groaned again, this time burying my face in my cardigan sleeve. “Don’t say that. That makes it worse.”

“It makes it better. At least in those stories, the scary, unapproachable love interest eventually falls madly in love with the shy-but-secretly-hilarious coworker.” He raised his brows pointedly. “Sound familiar?”

I smirked despite myself, my lips curving with mischief. “I am secretly hilarious. And I could make her laugh, I swear. She just has to, you know, notice me first.”

Steven sipped his coffee dramatically. “So, what’s your move, goth queen, another awkward wave, or are you planning to flash some ink and hope for the best?””

I looked down at the ink winding around my hands and wrists, the contrast against my olive skin stark under the office lights. “You think she’d notice?”

“Oh, she’ll notice,” Steven said with mock solemnity. “Trust me. People like her? The serious, collected ones? They always have a thing for the ones who look like they don’t follow the rules.”

My chest tightened at the thought. Arwyn noticing my tattoos. My jokes. The soft-goth armour I wore every day was like a silent declaration that I refused to blend in.

“I don’t even know if she likes women,” I admitted softly, almost more to myself than to him.

Steven tilted his head. “Doesn’t matter yet. Crushes are allowed to just be crushes. Besides, something tells me you’ll figure it out soon enough.”

I leaned back in my chair, the faintest smile tugging at my lips. Maybe he was right. Maybe this was just a crush. But then I thought about those braids, those light blue eyes, and the way my heart stuttered every time Arwyn walked past—like the air itself shifted around her—and I knew it was already more than that.

The cafeteria was buzzing with its usual midday chaos—clattering trays, the hum of overlapping conversations, and the faint hiss of the coffee machines trying to keep up. I sat across from Steven at a small table by the window, poking at my salad while he demolished a burger like it had personally offended him.

“Alright,” Steven said, pointing a fry at me like it was a weapon. “You’re going to do it. Today. You’re going to show me this mysterious goddess of yours.”

I groaned, hiding my face behind my plastic fork. “Don’t call her that.”

“Fine,” he said, chewing thoughtfully. “Mysterious engineer of doom and sex appeal. Better?”

I laughed, nearly choking on a piece of lettuce. “You’ll drive me mad.”

“And you’re blushing,” Steven shot back smugly. “Like, schoolgirl-level pink. Over someone who may or may not know your name. This is delicious. Better than my burger.”

I rolled my eyes, but my chest felt tight, my palms clammy just at the thought of Arwyn crossing the cafeteria. I could picture her already—black uniform, long legs in those fitted trousers, sweatshirt loose but somehow still sharp on her frame. And if her hair was braided today...

I quickly shook the thought off before I started turning red again.

Steven was still watching me with that irritatingly knowing grin. “So. What’s the plan? Point her out when she walks by?”

I hesitated, chewing my lip. Part of me wanted to keep Arwyn a secret, to hold the crush tight and private where it couldn’t be laughed at. But the other part—the louder part—was practically dying for someone else to see what I saw, to understand why my heart kept tripping over itself.

“Okay,” I muttered finally. “If I see her, I’ll...”

My words cut off.

Because there she was.

Arwyn had just stepped into the cafeteria, her stride unmistakable—confident, a touch masculine, that subtle sway that wasn’t meant to impress but did anyway. Today her hair was in braids, two neat Dutch braids that drew my eyes like magnets. The contrast of dark hair and icy blue eyes was sharp even across the room, and I felt my throat tighten, heat rising to my cheeks.

I lowered my gaze to my tray immediately, stabbing at a cucumber like it had committed treason.

Steven noticed instantly. “Ohhh, it’s happening. She’s here, isn’t she?”

I hissed through my teeth. “Don’t look obvious!”

“I excel at subtle,” he said, already craning his neck shamelessly. He spotted Arwyn in less than two seconds, and his eyebrows shot up. “Oh. Oh. Okay. Yeah, I get it now.”

I buried my face in my hands. “Stop staring; she’ll notice!”

“I hope she notices,” Steven whispered, still watching. “Holy hell, June. She’s like… one of those women you see in indie films who intimidates everyone by just existing.”

“I know,” I groaned, voice muffled.

Steven turned back to me, lowering his voice like he was sharing classified information. “Yeah, she definitely likes women.”

I peeked at him, wide-eyed. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he said confidently, dipping a fry in ketchup. “That walk? The attitude? The way she scanned the room just now? If she doesn’t like women, I’m a unicorn. And trust me, I’m not nearly majestic enough for that.”

I cracked up, laughter escaping before I could stop it. My tattoos peeked out as I covered my mouth, trying to compose myself. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“Full of wisdom,” Steven corrected. “And fries. But mostly wisdom. You should trust me—she’s giving me sapphic vibes so strong I’m practically getting a tan from them.”

I rolled my eyes, but my cheeks were still burning. I dared a glance toward Arwyn—just a flicker, just enough to see her at the coffee machine, tall and poised, a braid slipping over one shoulder. And, of course, as if the universe hated me, Arwyn glanced up at that exact moment.

Our eyes met.

I froze. Heat rushed to my face so quickly I thought I might combust on the spot. My stomach swooped, and I immediately dropped my gaze to my tray, suddenly fascinated by a stray piece of tomato.

“Smooth,” Steven whispered, grinning. “Real smooth.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, pressing my palms against my hot cheeks. “I can’t do this. I literally turn into a tomato every time she looks at me. She probably thinks I’m weird.”

“She probably thinks you’re cute,” Steven countered, shrugging. “Or maybe she hasn’t noticed yet. Either way, you’ve got time. Crushes don’t have expiration dates.”

I sighed, leaning back in my chair. I hated how helpless it made me feel, how I could be confident and witty with Steven one moment and then crumble into silence the second Arwyn’s gaze brushed mine. It was ridiculous. I felt ridiculous.

Still, the thought of Arwyn’s braids, the sharpness of her profile, the calm, confident way she carried herself—yeah, I was hopeless.

Hopeless, and blushing like a schoolgirl.

The office was unusually warm that morning, the kind of sticky heat that made me peel off my cardigan after only ten minutes and fan myself with a folder. Steven had already rolled his sleeves up dramatically and was grumbling about “dying young, a victim of corporate climate control.”

“Shouldn’t we, you know, report it?” I asked, pushing a strand of platinum-streaked hair behind my ear.

“I already did,” Steven said, tapping away on his keyboard with exaggerated sighs. “Maintenance should send someone soon. Hopefully before we start melting into puddles on the floor.”

I hummed distractedly, already imagining some anonymous handyman showing up in greasy coveralls. But when the door opened fifteen minutes later, my stomach dropped.

Arwyn.

Her black uniform looked crisp even under the awful fluorescent lighting, the sweatshirt loose but fitted enough to highlight her lean frame. The dark braid that hung neatly down her back made my throat go dry. She carried a small toolkit in one hand, her long stride purposeful, her expression calm and serious.

I blinked at her, caught so off guard I nearly tipped my chair backwards.

“Well, well, well,” Steven murmured under his breath, leaning back with an enormous grin. “Would you look at that?”

I shot him a panicked glare, mouthing, ‘Don’t you dare.’

“Afternoon,” Arwyn said, her voice low and even. She set her toolkit down by the vent near the ceiling and glanced at the thermostat panel on the wall. “Got a call about the air conditioning?”

“Yes, yes, the heat is killing us,” Steven said in his most dramatic tone. “I was ready to start draughting my will.”

Arwyn’s lips twitched—almost, maybe, the shadow of a smile—before she turned back to her work. I, meanwhile, sat frozen at my desk, trying not to stare but failing miserably.

I loved the way she moved: efficient, deliberate, and not a wasted gesture as she adjusted the panel, tested wires, and stood on the small step stool to reach the vent. Watching her hands move—steady, precise, sure—made my chest tighten, warmth spreading across my cheeks like wildfire.

Steven was watching me instead of his screen, of course, his grin wicked.

I forced myself to look down at my notebook, scribbling nonsense on the page just to do something with my hands. But then—I felt it. That pull, that need to look again.

So I did.

And this time, when Arwyn turned her head, our eyes met.

Blue locked on brown.

For one heartbeat, my world stilled.

My instinct screamed to look away, to drop my gaze like always. But something inside me rebelled. I held it—just for a few seconds, steady, my pulse hammering in my ears.

Then the heat rose too fast, too strong. I broke the stare, whipping my eyes down to the page, cheeks blazing. I could practically feel the colour flooding my skin.

Steven, of course, caught everything. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him shake his head slowly, lips curved in a smirk that said hopeless.

Arwyn didn’t comment. She just went back to the vent, quiet and focused, her braids swaying slightly as she worked.

But I couldn’t shake the echo of those pale eyes—cool and unreadable, yet impossibly magnetic—lingering in my mind long after Arwyn packed her toolkit and walked out of the office.

I sank into my chair, covering my face with my inked hands.

“I can’t,” I muttered.

Steven just chuckled, spinning lazily in his chair. “Oh, you can. You just don’t know it yet.”

Arwyn

The vent was an easy fix. Loose wiring, a calibration error in the thermostat—nothing I hadn’t seen a hundred times before. I liked jobs like this. Quiet, straightforward. The kind of work where my hands moved on instinct, tools clicking softly as the hum of the office faded into background noise.

I balanced on the small step stool, screwdriver steady in my hand. A normal day. Or it should have been.

Except for the girl at the desk.

I had noticed her before—dark-haired, golden skin. Always dressed in black, tattoos curling down her arms like stories written on skin. She carried herself like she was trying not to be seen, and yet… somehow, I always did.

June. That was her name. I had caught it in passing weeks ago, when someone called across the lobby. June. It fit. Short, soft, but edged with something unexpected.

I adjusted a wire, testing the airflow with the back of my hand. I could sense her watching again, the way the air shifts when someone’s gaze lingers too long. Normally, I ignored things like that. People looked at me all the time—sometimes curious, sometimes cautious. My height, my hair, and my uniform made me stand out more than I liked. It was easier to stay unreadable, to let their curiosity fade.

But this was different.

When I turned my head, our eyes met.

June didn’t look away immediately, like I expected. She held it—hesitant, yes, but steady.

My lips almost curved before I caught myself. Most people couldn’t do that. Couldn’t hold my stare.

Then, just as quickly, she broke. Dropped her gaze to her desk like she’d been burnt, her face flushing red even from across the room.

I exhaled slowly, turning back to my work. I didn’t linger; I didn’t let myself analyse. It was easier that way. Whatever her looks meant—curiosity, attraction, or something else—it wasn’t my business. I was here to fix the damn air conditioning, not get tangled in someone’s blushes.

Still, when I packed up my tools and left the office, I found myself glancing back once. Just for a second.

June’s head was down, fingers tangled in her hair, while her coworker chuckled at something she’d said—or maybe hadn’t said.

I walked out, my stride measured, my face as composed as ever.

But the image lingered anyway.

I left the office with my toolkit balanced at my side, the hum of the hallway swallowing the sound of my boots against the floor. Another job done. Simple. Efficient.

But my thoughts weren’t settling the way they usually did.

June’s face kept flashing in my mind—the way her eyes had widened when I first walked in, the faint flush that spread across her pale cheeks, and the way she’d tried to hold my gaze for just a breath longer than expected. That small defiance. Then the collapse into red-cheeked embarrassment.

I shouldn’t have been thinking about it. I’d met plenty of people who were flustered in my presence. I had learnt not to take it personally.

But June’s look hadn’t been the same as the others. It wasn’t discomfort. It was… something else. Something I recognised but didn’t allow myself to name.

I shook my head, adjusting the strap of my toolkit on my shoulder. I didn’t have time for distractions. There was still a list of repairs waiting for me, and it wasn’t my job to untangle the stares of some shy, tattooed office worker.

Still, as I tied my braids back tighter and headed for the stairwell, a thought slipped in, uninvited.

Cute.

I shoved it down and kept walking.