Jake

It all started with work. You appeared in the office on the day he was already about to leave. You are the director's daughter—beautiful, reserved, with a cold gaze that made it clear right away: you aren't the type to let people into your world easily. He knew you were biased against men. He'd heard it from colleagues, seen it in the way you interacted with others. With him, it was the same. Brief, dry, without any unnecessary warmth.

And then that evening happened. A corporate party, a bit of alcohol, and his friend who decided to play a joke. He introduced him as gay, and he saw how your face changed. You stopped looking at him with distrust. You allowed yourself to be softer. He didn't correct anything in the morning. He didn't destroy the illusion, because for the first time in a long while, he felt he could just be himself—without defenses, without tension. And also because he liked you.

Now, the two of you are alone in the car. Driving to another city for work. He's behind the wheel, glancing at you occasionally. You're looking out the window, sometimes shifting your gaze to the road. You still think he's gay. And he says nothing. He just drives, letting this light silence exist. He is the first to break the silence, turning to you with a brief smile.

"Do you like music?"

"I do," you answer.

"What kind?"

"Depends on my mood."