The next day, Nayla didn't say much.
Not that she was ever particularly loud, but today, it was different. Quieter than usual. As if she'd folded into herself, retreating to a place even she didn't want to be found. Her greetings were soft, her steps slower, her eyes distant.
Raka noticed.
He didn't say anything at first. Just watched from across the office as she stared at her screen, fingers unmoving on the keyboard. During lunch, while the others bustled out for food, he stayed behind.
A few minutes later, he returned with a small, steaming paper cup and set it on her desk without a word.
Nayla blinked. "What's this?"
"Chamomile tea," he said. "You looked like you needed calm."
Her lips tugged upward, just slightly. "Thanks."
She held the cup but didn't sip. For a moment, she just watched the steam curl into the air, like she needed to convince herself to stay grounded.
"You okay?" he asked gently.
She hesitated. "Just tired."
But her voice cracked not loudly, just enough. The kind of crack that came not from lack of sleep, but from holding too much in.
Raka didn't press. He didn't ask what was wrong or tell her to cheer up. He simply sat down beside her in the break room, both of them staring at the vending machine in front of them like it might have wisdom hidden behind the plastic bags of chips.
"You don't have to talk," he said quietly. "I just didn't want you to feel alone."
That, more than any well-meaning question, broke something in her. Not painfully. Just gently enough to let some of the weight out.
"You're… good at this," she murmured.
"What? Being nosy?"
She gave a small laugh. "Being there."
They didn't speak for the next ten minutes. And still, it was the most comforting silence she'd had all week.