She is getting ready to leave. She starts collecting her things and putting them away in her bag. He senses that she is upset, that his declaration of love has warranted this sudden need to catch the train. He doesn't want to make matters worse, so he stands by quietly watching her neatly arrange her notes in a pile before stuffing them into her pink folder. He tries to read her expression, but fails. All he can see is a blank stare, a blink here and a blink there. When she's done, he walks her to the door. They stand in the dimmed hallway, not sure what to say. They just look at each other with eyes screaming of a thousand unspoken words. Neither wants to make the first move, both are reluctant with fear of chasing the other away. Then, she leans in and takes him by surprise. Their relation has never transcended the boundaries of their desks. Sure their feet have touched on the rare occasions where they'd somehow synchronize a stretch. Their fingers have grazed while exchanging notes and handing out coffee. But never before have they engaged in a deliberate act of physical contact, not even to hold hands. He is amused that she'd be the one to make the first move. Her body moves in closer to his. She overtakes him with a warm embrace. Standing tippy-toe, she wraps her arms around his neck, nestles her head in the crevasse below his chin, and holds on for dear life. He can feel her pressing against him. He can smell her scent. He can feel her breath. He can hear her heart beat in harmony with his own. They stayed there for what seems like a short eternity. She knew it was time to go. She raises her head and catches his gaze. Then, she kisses him on the cheek and disappears as if in thin air. He just stands there, trying to permanently edge the memory in his being.