The annual Valentine's Day tradition at the research department was usually a quirky one. Everyone in the research unit would anonymously draw one name from a hat and play "Secret Valentine" for the week. It was a fun way to inject some lightheartedness into the always-serious atmosphere of research labs. And it made us all feel a little more connected.
The idea was simple: a small gift, a thoughtful note, or just an unexpected gesture of kindness to brighten someone's day. No one ever expected anything grand or truly romantic, just a little something to break up the routine. This event was never about real love.
I shuffled nervously as I stood in the corner of the department's break room, the small slip of paper in my hand. My "Secret Valentine" this year? David Taylor. Of all people, it had to be his name on the paper I had. The very thought of it made my stomach churn with a mix of excitement and anxiety. Because for me this year it is not just friendly. I really have a crush on the person I have to find a gift for. And what I do could either bring me a new love story, or an eternity of awkward work moments.
David was the one person I never seemed to get a handle on. He was kind, of course, but always reserved, always professional, always distant. But now I had to be the one to act as if I hadn't been thinking about him more than I ever should have. And the thought of it made my cheeks heat up.
I quickly folded the paper and stuffed it in my pocket, determined to keep it a secret. Just another team building game. Nothing serious. Deirdre, don't make this awkward for everyone I told myself…
The rest of the day passed in a blur. My colleagues had all drawn their secret valentine, and as usual, the department became a bit more cheerful, the atmosphere lighter. I couldn't focus, though. My thoughts kept drifting back to that little slip of paper. To David. What was I supposed to do with that? The usual exchange of chocolates and anonymous notes didn't seem nearly enough to express what was bubbling up inside me. And yet, do I really want to express my true feelings ?
***
Later that afternoon, I found myself sitting across from him in his office, as we reviewed some of our students' work. This office I am so used to seeing. It looks so different from his house. It is a basic office, white walls, a big window where we can observe the campus. A desk and 2 chairs of course. But more importantly a small convertible sofa with a huge black locker.
The office was quiet, filled with the soft hum of the computer and the distant chatter of the department. The soft, warm light coming from the desk lamp made the space feel oddly intimate as darkness slowly grew outside. Intimate enough that I began to notice the way his eyes flicked over the papers with that characteristic precision, his lips pinched by concentration.
I'd been staring at him for too long. I quickly snapped my gaze back to the paper in front of me, my heart racing a bit. I tried to focus on the notes, but all I could think of was the way he seemed so… perfect. It is almost pathetic how all of a sudden it affects me. I'm like a teenager right now.
It was nearly evening when we finally finished going through the last of the exams. The clock on the wall ticked past eight, and I hadn't realized how much time had passed until the silence between us grew heavy. We'd been sitting together for hours, working in close quarters. It wasn't unusual for us to spend long days together, but tonight felt different.
David leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his messy man bun. I noticed the way his shirt tugged at the edges of his shoulders, his posture slouched but somehow still dignified.
"Are you okay, Deirdre?" He asked, his voice lower than usual, almost as if he didn't want to surprise me.
I swallowed, feeling a flutter in my chest. Was it just me, or did he look at me differently tonight?
"Yeah, just… tired, I guess," I said, my voice a little shaky. "It's been a long day."
David nodded, but he didn't look away from me. His grey eyes, those eyes I could never quite read, held mine. He got up to sit on his desk right in front of me. Lowering his head to my level. There was something unspoken between us, something thick in the air. My pulse quickened.
"You've been working hard lately," he murmured, his gaze lingering on me. "It's good to take breaks. You should… get some rest."
I nodded, but the words did not reach my brain. My eyes dropped to his lips for just a second before snapping back up to meet his gaze. A strange energy crackled between us, as if the room itself held its breath. The tension in the air felt palpable, electric.
And before I could stop myself, I leaned forward, just a little. His eyes widened slightly with surprise, and I could feel the pull between us.
And then, when I thought he would close the distance, David shifted abruptly, getting his back straight and getting away from my face. He crossed his arms and leaned back with a soft exhale.
"Deirdre, we need to keep this professional," he said, his voice colder now, more distant.
I froze, a rush of heat flooding my face. Of course. Professional. Always professional. What a fool I made from myself.
I sat back quickly, my hands trembling as I wrapped them tightly around my cup of water. It was a subtle retreat, but one I felt acutely. The brief moment of connection I thought we'd shared seemed to vanish in an instant, as if it was all in my head.
"I'm sorry," I muttered, my heart still thumping in my chest. "I…didn't mean to !"
"No," David said quickly, his tone softer now. "It's not about you. It's just… it's complicated, Deirdre. We can't cross that line. Even though we want it."
I nodded stiffly, trying to hide the way my chest clenched. Of course he was right. But that didn't make the disappointment sting any less. He was right. Professional boundaries. We both knew the rules, if anyone suspected him and I had an affair while I was student it would cost us our jobs.
I cleared my throat and tried to act normal, even though everything inside me felt anything but ok.
"I'll go," I said, standing up and gathering my things. "I think I need to get some rest like you said."