Neon Echoes

The rain smelled like asphalt and possibility. I watched it slide down the glass of my office window, blurring the neon signs into soft streaks.
He arrived without a word, just a folded scarf draped over the reception desk. Black silk. Smooth against the cool metal.
It wasn’t an invitation, not exactly. More like…a quiet offering.
I took it. The weight was surprising—solid, comforting.
My fingers brushed his momentarily as he passed by my desk. A brief warmth spread through my chest. Not a frantic beat, but a slow pulse.
He didn't look at me directly. Just moved on, disappearing into the crowd.
The scarf smelled faintly of sandalwood and something else…something familiar, like late evenings and unspoken things.
I held it close, letting the quiet warmth settle over me. It was enough.