The corridor outside the elevator felt unnaturally quiet. Xiaoyu stepped out, the soft ding of the elevator doors closing behind her echoing faintly in the wide space. The air smelled faintly of citrus cleaner and something metallic, like the building itself had a scent—cold, efficient, and expensive. Plush gray carpet muted every step, making her feel as though she were walking through a place where sound wasn't welcome.
For a moment, she simply stood there. Her fingers tightened around the thin folder she still clutched to her chest, though the papers inside had already served their purpose. Her heart was still beating faster than normal—not from fear anymore, but from something else she couldn't quite name. Residual adrenaline, maybe. Or the lingering presence of the stranger in the elevator.
She shook her head lightly. Focus. This was what she came for. Xiaoyu adjusted her blouse, smoothed her skirt, and followed the discreet silver sign pointing toward the interview rooms. Each step forward felt heavier than the last, as if the building itself were testing her resolve. Glass walls lined the hallway, revealing offices filled with people who moved with purpose—confident gestures, sharp voices, screens filled with charts and numbers she didn't understand. She wondered if she would ever belong in a place like this.
The interview itself passed in a haze. She remembered sitting across from three people at a long table—two women and a man—all impeccably dressed, all polite in that distant, professional way that made it impossible to tell what they were thinking. They asked about her education, her internship experience, her goals. She answered carefully, choosing words she had practiced late at night in her small apartment, whispering them into the dark like secrets. Her voice only wavered once. When they asked her why she wanted the position. Xiaoyu paused then, fingers curling into her lap. She could have given them the safe answer—the one about career growth, skill development, opportunity. Instead, she found herself saying, quietly, "I want to be useful. I want to matter somewhere." The room had gone very still. One of the interviewers smiled—not professionally, but gently. The others simply nodded and wrote something down. That had been the moment she knew there was nothing more she could do.
Now, standing back in the hallway afterward, the weight of it all settled over her like a slow wave. She bowed politely, thanked them, and left with a tight smile, her legs feeling oddly unsteady as she walked away. By the time she returned to the elevator bank, the tension had drained out of her, leaving behind a deep, bone-heavy exhaustion. She pressed the button for the ground floor. The elevator arrived almost immediately.
The doors slid open. And there he was. For a heartbeat, Xiaoyu thought she must be imagining things—her mind replaying the earlier moment because it hadn't let go yet. But the tall figure standing inside was undeniably real. Same dark coat. Same quiet posture. Same calm presence that seemed to absorb the shadows rather than reflect them.
Her breath caught.
"Oh," she said before she could stop herself. "You're… still here."
He looked up. Recognition flickered across his face, subtle but unmistakable. His expression softened, just slightly, as if seeing her confirmed something he hadn't known he was waiting for.
"Looks like it," he replied.
His voice startled her—not because it was deep, but because it was warm. Not smooth or rehearsed, but honest, like someone who didn't speak unless he meant to. The sound of it settled somewhere in her chest, easing a tightness she hadn't noticed was still there.
Xiaoyu stepped inside, instinctively choosing a spot a little to the side rather than directly across from him. The doors closed with a muted thud, and the elevator began its descent, smooth and quiet, as if the earlier malfunction had never happened.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. She stared at the glowing floor numbers as they ticked downward. Thirty-one. Thirty. Twenty-nine. Her reflection in the polished metal walls looked smaller than she felt—eyes tired, shoulders slightly slumped, lips pressed together in thought.
"I thought you got off already," she said eventually, breaking the silence. The words came out softer than she intended. "Earlier, I mean."
"I was heading higher," he answered. "Changed my mind."
She nodded, unsure why that explanation felt meaningful.
"Oh," she said. Then, awkwardly, "The elevator seems… better now."
"Thankfully."
Silence settled again, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It felt deliberate, like a shared understanding that neither of them was in a hurry to fill the space with noise.
After a few seconds, he spoke again. "How did it go?"
She turned to him, surprised. "What?"
"The interview," he clarified. "You looked… lighter when you came back."
Xiaoyu blinked. No one had ever described her that way before.
"I think it went okay," she said slowly. "I didn't embarrass myself. That's something, right?"
His lips curved into a small smile. "That's more than something."
She laughed under her breath, a quiet, genuine sound that surprised even her. "I was terrified the whole time," she admitted. "My hands were shaking under the table."
"You hid it well."
"I've had a lot of practice," she said, then paused. "You seemed very calm earlier. During… you know."
"The elevator."
"Yes."
He exhaled softly. "I wasn't."
She glanced at him. "You didn't look scared."
"That's because I learned not to show it."
There was no self-pity in his voice, no pride either—just a simple truth stated without decoration. Xiaoyu felt an unexpected ache in her chest.
"I talk when I'm scared," she said. "I think it makes me feel less alone. Even if the other person doesn't say anything."
He studied her then, really looked at her, as if seeing past the nervous gestures and careful words. "You helped," he said. "More than you know."
Her cheeks warmed. "I just… didn't want it to be quiet."
"Sometimes quiet is the scariest part."
She nodded. She understood that.
The elevator continued its steady descent. Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen.
Xiaoyu realized, suddenly, that she didn't want the ride to end. The thought startled her.
She barely knew this man. She didn't know his name, his job, his story. And yet, standing beside him in the small enclosed space, she felt seen in a way she rarely did. Not judged. Not measured. Just… acknowledged.
As if her presence alone was enough.
The numbers slowed as they approached the ground floor.
"Well," she said, when the silence stretched again. "I guess this is it."
The elevator doors opened, revealing the bright, bustling lobby. People waited outside—talking into phones, checking watches, moving with purpose. The city poured back in, loud and demanding.
She stepped out, then hesitated.
He followed, stopping beside her.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
"I hope they notice you," he said finally.
The sincerity in his voice caught her off guard. She smiled—small, but real. "I hope so too."
She wanted to say more. Ask his name. Tell him hers. Thank him properly. But something held her back—not fear, but the fragile sense that this moment was delicate, and naming it might break it.
So she bowed her head slightly instead and turned toward the revolving doors.
As she walked away, she resisted the urge to look back. Not because she didn't care—but because she wanted to keep the memory as it was. Uncomplicated. Untouched by doubt.
Outside, sunlight washed over her, warm and blinding. The noise of the city wrapped around her again, familiar and overwhelming. But something had changed.
Behind her, inside the lobby, the man stood still for a long moment, watching the doors spin until she disappeared from view. He didn't know why the encounter lingered so strongly in his mind. Only that the building felt emptier without her quiet presence. For the first time in a long while, he felt… lighter.
And for Xiaoyu, stepping back into the flow of the city, clutching her folder against her chest, the world felt just a little less heavy—as if a single, unexpected connection had shifted something deep inside her.
Neither of them knew it yet.
But that brief moment, suspended between floors and silence, was only the beginning.