If Adrian wanted distance—
then Lina would give it to him.
At least… that's what she told herself.
The next morning, she stepped into the office with quiet composure.
"Good morning," she said politely.
"…Good morning."
The response came—measured, professional.
No warmth lingering in the space between them.
No familiar pauses.
No shared glance that lasted just a second too long.
Just… distance.
Intentional.
Carefully maintained.
And Lina felt it.
Deeply.
But she didn't show it.
Instead, she adjusted—like she always did.
She poured her energy into work.
Focused.
Efficient.
Unshaken on the outside, even when something inside her shifted every time she passed his office.
She avoided unnecessary interactions.
Kept her voice neutral.
Her steps light.
If she needed to speak to him, she did it briefly—professionally—then stepped away again.
If he wanted space…
she would respect it.
Because that was what strong people did.
That was what she had always done.
Adapt.
Endure.
Continue.
But no matter how steady she appeared—
something inside her ached.
A quiet, persistent kind of pain.
The kind that didn't demand attention.
But refused to disappear.
That night—
as she walked home under dim streetlights, the world around her quiet and distant—
she clenched her fists at her sides.
Not out of anger.
But out of determination.
"I didn't come this far just to feel sad," she whispered to herself.
Her voice was soft.
But steady.
"I have things to do. People to take care of."
Her mother.
Her brother.
The responsibilities that had shaped her.
The future she had been building with her own hands.
She couldn't afford to stop.
Couldn't afford to fall apart.
Not now.
Not ever.
Lina took a deep breath, the cool night air filling her lungs, grounding her just enough to keep moving forward.
Then—
she smiled.
Small.
Quiet.
But real.
Not because everything was okay.
Not because the pain had disappeared.
But because she made a choice.
To keep going.
To stand on her own.
To protect the life she had worked so hard to build.
And even if her heart still carried something unresolved—
even if her steps felt a little heavier than before—
she walked forward anyway.
Because that was who Lina was.
And no matter what changed—
that part of her never would.