CHAPTER 14- DEJA VU

ANDREA'S OFFICE….

The scent stayed with him longer than it should have.

Andreas closed the project folder and forced his attention onto the next set of reports. The numbers lined up, the timelines held, yet every few minutes his focus slipped, returning to that brief, clean fragrance that did not belong to the office. He set the pen down, flexed his fingers once, and resumed reading.

“Coincidence,nothing more”.

ANNA'S POV

Three days later, I stood at the large plotter on the fifty-eighth floor, waiting for the updated West Ridge sheets to finish printing. The machine hummed steadily as I watched the papers advance, checking the alignment with each pass. Just then,I heard footsteps approaching from the corridor. I did not turn until a familiar voice spoke behind me.

“The transfer beam revision.”

I turned. Andreas stood two meters away, eyes on the emerging drawing rather than on me. He held a tablet in one hand.

“Completed and uploaded this morning,” I said. “The deflection is within limits under all load cases.”

He gave a short nod. “I saw the file.” His gaze remained on the paper. Then, almost absently, he added, “Good. Keep the same precision on the next package.”

The phrasing was ordinary. Yet something in the cadence…the brief pause before “precision”, struck a note I could not name. My fingers tightened around the edge of the plotter tray. I released it carefully and collected the finished sheets.

“I will.”

He turned and walked away without further comment. I stood still for a moment, the printed paper warm against my palms, before returning to my desk.

Later that afternoon I sat in a coordination meeting with the structural team. Andreas entered halfway through and took the empty seat at the end of the table. He listened in silence while the engineers reviewed connection details. When one of them hesitated over a joint detail, Andreas spoke without raising his voice.

“Clarify the load path before we move on.”

The same even tone. The same economy of words. I kept my eyes on the drawing in front of me, yet the sound of that particular phrase settled somewhere behind my ribs. I shifted in my chair and focused harder on the numbers.

Across the table Andreas glanced up once. Our eyes met for less than a second. Something unreadable passed through his expression before he looked away and continued the discussion. I returned my attention to the page, but the brief contact left a residual tension in my shoulders that did not ease until the meeting ended.

That evening I stayed later than usual, refining the arcade lighting layout. Most of the floor had emptied. The only light came from my desk lamp and the soft glow of the city through the glass. I reached for the small bottle of hand cream I kept in the drawer, unscented, the only kind that did not irritate Amyra when she held my hand. I smoothed a thin layer over my palms and returned to the screen.

ANDREA'S POV

That evening I stayed later than usual, finalizing a set of documents. Most of the floor had emptied. The only light came from the desk lamps and the soft glow of the city through the glass. As I left my office and passed the open workspace, the faint, clean scent reached me again. I slowed without intending to. The same fragrance from days earlier. My grip on the documents tightened. I forced myself to keep walking, jaw set, and told myself it was nothing more than the residual smell of soap or paper. I did not look toward her desk.

ANNA'S POV

The following morning I arrived early to pin the latest sheets for an internal pin-up. Andreas was already in the review space, speaking with Mr. Kim in low tones. They finished as I entered. Mr. Kim left, Andreas remained, studying one of the previous boards still on the wall.

I began pinning the new drawings in sequence. He did not leave. After a moment he spoke, still facing the wall.

“The community circulation through the arcade keeps the clear width consistent on every level. Variation will create bottlenecks.”

“I already adjusted it,” I answered. “The dimension is uniform.”

Then he turned and our eyes met again. This time neither of us looked away immediately. The silence held for two full seconds. Something flickered behind his gaze, recognition that refused to form. I felt my heart pounding very fast against my chest. I kept my hands steady on the edge of the board and waited.

He broke the contact first. “Continue”, he said and left.

I remained where I was, fingers pressed firmly against the paper until the faint tremor in them stopped.

Throughout the day small things continued. The way he said my name once in passing—“Li”—short and precise, yet it landed with unexpected weight. The brief glance across the open floor when I stood to stretch my shoulders. Each instance arrived without context and left without explanation. I dismissed every one. Work demanded focus, Amyra’s hospital letter still sat in the drawer at home. Four weeks had become three. There was no room for unexplained feelings.

By late afternoon the floor had thinned again. I carried a stack of revised plots toward the document room at the end of the corridor. My arms were full. I adjusted the weight and turned the corner at the same moment Andreas stepped out of the side conference room.

We collided.

The plots slipped and several sheets scattered across the floor between us. My shoulder struck his chest. His hand closed automatically around my upper arm to steady me. The contact lasted only a second, yet the warmth of his palm registered with startling clarity. The clean scent of his shirt, something understated and familiar rose between us.

I stepped back at once as he released my arm.

For a moment neither of us moved. The fallen drawings lay between our feet. His eyes searched my face as if looking for an answer to a question he had not asked. My breath stayed shallow. I knelt quickly and began gathering the sheets, keeping my gaze on the paper.

He crouched as well and collected the ones nearest him. When he handed the stack to me our fingers brushed. The contact was brief. Both of us withdrew at the same instant.

“Apologies,” he said, voice lower than usual.

“It was my fault.” I stood, plots secured against my chest. “Excuse me.”

I walked past him toward the document room without looking back. Behind me I heard him remain still for several seconds before his footsteps finally moved away in the opposite direction.

The past has a way of finding its way back.

I pushed the document room door open with my shoulder and let it close behind me.