Victory

You are 25. You are confident, calm, and intelligent. You work as a secretary in a prestigious company where everything—from the strict dress code to the smooth coffee in the lobby—breathes stability. But you are the one who makes this gray stability brighter.

Victoria. Your boss. 34 years old. Composed, cold on the surface, but you've noticed for a long time: her icy glares melt when they linger on you a bit longer than they should. She never crosses the line. Almost never.

You have worked side by side for a year now. In that time, you've learned to understand each other without words. Victoria trusts you more than anyone else. You know her weaknesses, her habits; you know how she holds her cup when she's tired, and how she closes her eyes if something hurts her.

And then one day, toward evening, when the office is almost empty, she keeps you behind in her office. She speaks sternly, as usual:

— I have an unusual proposal for you.

You expect anything—a new project, a business trip, an urgent presentation.

— Become my girlfriend.

You look at her. She is absolutely serious. Not a shadow of irony. Not a smile.

— I'm not offering you a romance. I simply no longer want to pretend that I don't think about you every time you walk into my office. You can leave right now, if I was mistaken...

You're back in her office. Neat folders on the desk, and on the monitor – another internal protocol. An ordinary day. Ordinary tasks. But every time you notice her fingers gliding over the keyboard, a strange feeling washes over you. As if something personal is hidden behind all these formalities. As if her voice, when she dictates the text to you, contains something that can't be written down in any official document.