Conversations After Midnight
(Ophelia's POV)
A month ago, Ophelia had believed life had nothing left to surprise her.
Now, every morning began with a message from Ethan.
It wasn't planned.
It simply happened.
The first message had arrived three days after the art market.
Ethan: Good morning. Don't forget to eat breakfast.
She had smiled before replying.
Ophelia: Only if you promise not to skip lunch again.
After that...
The messages never stopped.
Some mornings they were serious.
Some mornings they were ridiculous.
Sometimes he sent pictures of the sunrise from his office window.
Sometimes she replied with photos of half-finished paintings she found during work.
Without realizing it, they had become part of each other's routines.
One Wednesday afternoon, Ophelia sat in her office examining a nineteenth-century landscape painting that had just arrived from a private collector.
She adjusted her glasses, leaned closer, and made a few notes on her tablet.
A knock sounded at her office door.
"Come in."
Vivian walked in carrying two iced coffees.
"I brought peace offerings."
Ophelia smiled.
"You usually bring gossip."
"I brought both."
She placed one coffee on the desk before sitting opposite her friend.
"So..."
"What?"
Vivian folded her arms.
"How's Ethan?"
Ophelia didn't even look up.
"Fine."
"That's all?"
"Yes."
"You've been talking every day."
Ophelia finally raised an eyebrow.
"How do you know that?"
Vivian grinned.
"Because every time your phone buzzes, you smile before reading the message."
"I do not."
"You do."
"I don't."
Vivian pointed dramatically.
"You just smiled!"
Ophelia looked down at the phone in her hand.
Sure enough...
A new message had appeared.
Ethan: I just survived a four-hour board meeting. I deserve a medal.
Without thinking, she laughed.
Vivian threw her hands into the air.
"There!"
"I rest my case."
Ophelia rolled her eyes.
"He's funny."
"Oh?"
"Just funny?"
"Vivian..."
"No, seriously."
"Do you like him?"
The room fell quiet.
Ophelia looked out through the office window.
The question lingered in the air.
Did she?
She thought about the gallery.
The sculpture.
The children's home.
The riverside market.
The way he listened without interrupting.
The way he never pushed when she wasn't ready to talk.
The way he somehow made ordinary conversations feel important.
Finally, she answered.
"I like talking to him."
Vivian smiled knowingly.
"That's not what I asked."
Before Ophelia could answer, her phone buzzed again.
Ethan: Emergency question.
She smiled.
Ophelia: I'm listening.
A reply came instantly.
Ethan: Pineapple on pizza? Yes or no?
She laughed so loudly that two employees looked through the glass walls of her office.
Vivian leaned forward.
"What did he say?"
Ophelia turned the phone around.
Vivian read the message before shaking her head.
"I already like this man."
That evening, Ophelia returned to her apartment just after seven.
She changed into comfortable clothes, tied her hair into a loose bun, and prepared a simple dinner.
The apartment felt unusually quiet.
As she stirred soup on the stove, her phone rang.
Ethan Calling.
She hesitated for only a second before answering.
"Hello?"
"Good evening."
"Good evening."
"I hope I'm not disturbing you."
"Not at all."
"What are you doing?"
"Cooking."
There was a brief pause.
"I should probably apologize in advance."
She frowned.
"For what?"
"I've never successfully cooked soup."
She laughed.
"You're joking."
"I wish I were."
"What happened?"
"I nearly burned water once."
She laughed so hard she had to lean against the kitchen counter.
"That's impossible."
"I have witnesses."
For the next hour they talked.
About food.
About music.
About embarrassing childhood memories.