Bezpłatny fragment - Between Breaths

Chapter 1

23:17

It was 23:17.

Gabi knew because she had checked the time for the third time.

The house was asleep.

Or at least it looked that way.

She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. The shadow of branches outside the window moved slowly across the wall like the hand of a clock.

Beside her, her husband breathed heavily.

One of his arms hung off the bed.

The blanket was too warm.

Gabi shifted slightly.

The mattress creaked.

“Mmm…” he murmured in his sleep.

She froze.

For a moment she thought he might wake up.

He didn’t.

Silence again.

She looked at his profile in the half-dark. The wrinkle between his brows. The gray appearing at his temples.

Once, she had looked at him differently.

Once, the same sight could make her breathing quicken.

Now she felt only… weight.

Gently, she moved his hand away from her back.

Her phone lay on the bedside table.

She shouldn’t.

She knew that.

Yet she reached for it anyway.

The screen lit the room with a pale blue glow.

She scrolled.

Photos.

Strangers’ faces.

Someone’s vacation.

Someone’s dinner.

Someone’s perfect life.

Without purpose.

Until her finger stopped.

A man.

Ordinary.

A shirt with rolled-up sleeves. Slightly messy hair. His smile wasn’t perfect.

It was real.

Gabi zoomed in on the photo.

This is stupid, she thought.

But she smiled anyway.

A scene appeared in her mind.

She is sitting across from him at a table.

Not in this kitchen.

In another one.

Bright. With an open window. A curtain moving softly in the breeze.

He looks at her attentively.

He doesn’t interrupt.

He doesn’t glance at his phone.

“Tell me,” he says calmly.

That’s all.

And it’s enough.

Gabi feels warmth in her stomach.

Gentle.

Like the first sip of wine.

“Gabi…”

A voice from the bed.

She froze.

Quickly she turned off the screen.

“Mmm… water…” her husband murmured in his sleep.

He turned to the other side.

Then he fell asleep again.

For a moment she felt as if she had done something wrong.

As if someone had caught her.

But she hadn’t betrayed him.

She had betrayed something else.

Herself.

Because it wasn’t really about the man in the photo.

It was about that look.

The attention.

About someone looking at her as if she were the only person in the room.

She lay there for a while in silence.

She felt her body remembering something it hadn’t received in a long time.

It wasn’t sex.

It was being seen.

She got out of bed.

The floor was cold.

She went to the kitchen.

She sat at the table wearing only her nightshirt.

The house slept.

She rested her forehead on her hand.

And suddenly she imagined something very simple.

That she leaves the house.

Not forever.

Just for a moment.

She walks forward.

No one calls her.

No one needs anything.

She breathes.

And then, in that imagination, someone is standing behind her.

Not the man from the photo.

Someone without a face.

Someone who smells like fresh air and doesn’t know her history.

He places his hands on her hips.

Slowly.

Without hurry.

As if they had the whole night.

Her skin reacts faster than reason.

She opened her eyes suddenly.

Her heart was beating faster.

The kitchen was quiet.

Outside, the night.

Just imagination.

And yet it felt like something more.

It was a place she was beginning to escape to.

And she still didn’t know if she wanted to come back.

Chapter 2

6:42

The alarm rang too early.

It always rang too early.

Gabi opened her eyes and for a moment didn’t know where she was. Just a second ago she had been somewhere else. In that warm half-sleep. Someone was standing behind her. She could feel breath on her neck.

Someone’s hands on her hips.

Slowly.

Without hurry.

“Mom!” a shout from the other room cut through everything like a knife.

Reality didn’t knock.

It simply walked in.

Her husband groaned and pulled the blanket over his head.

“Your turn…” he mumbled from under the covers.

Your turn.

As if they were working shifts on an assembly line.

Gabi sat up in bed. Her hair stuck to her cheek.

“Sure,” she said quietly, even though no one had actually asked.

The floor was cold.

In the bathroom she looked at herself in the mirror.

Puffy eyes.

Messy hair.

The imprint of a pillow on her cheek.

For a moment she looked at herself longer than usual.

And suddenly she thought:

Could someone look at me right now… and see something more?

Not a tired mother.

Not the woman who handles bills and groceries.

Just a woman.

“Mom! He took my cereal!” a shout from the kitchen.

She sighed.

“I’m coming!”

The kitchen was chaos.

The younger one was crying.

The older one sat at the table pretending he couldn’t hear anything.

“Give it back to him,” she said calmly.

“But they’re mine!”

“Yesterday they were yours.”

“Exactly!”

Gabi reached for another box.

“Problem solved.”

The older one looked at her suspiciously.

“Mom… you always have a plan B.”

“Because someone has to.”

She poured milk, made sandwiches, packed backpacks.

Her hands worked automatically.

Her body knew this morning routine by heart.

Her husband walked into the kitchen in a T-shirt and boxers. He ruffled the younger boy’s hair.

“Hey, champ.”

Then he looked at Gabi.

“Who’s driving today?”

“I have a meeting at nine,” she said.

“Me too.”

A collision of schedules.

Silence.

It always lasted a few seconds.

“I’ll go,” she finally said.

He nodded.

“Thanks.”

He opened the fridge.

Took out some juice.

Nothing else.

No kiss.

No “good morning.”

Just another ordinary morning.

And suddenly a memory appeared in her mind.

A dormitory.

A hallway smelling of coffee and cigarettes.

He grabs her around the waist.

“I’m going to fail my exam because of you,” he laughs.

“That’s not my fault you’re weak.”

“Weak?”

He pulls her closer.

“We’ll see tonight.”

They laughed back then.

As if the world belonged only to them.

Gabi returned to the crumb-covered kitchen.

Those two people felt like completely different strangers.

In the car the kids were arguing in the back seat about music.

The radio played something cheerful.

Too cheerful.

She stopped at a red light.

She reached for her phone.

She knew she shouldn’t.

But her finger was already sliding across the screen.

The same app.

Strangers’ faces.

Smiles.

Photos from the gym.

From vacations.

From restaurants.

It was absurd.

And yet her stomach reacted.

Not to them.

To the possibility.

To the idea that somewhere there might be a look that didn’t see her as:

a mother

a wife

the one who keeps everything running

but simply a woman.

The light turned green.

“Mom! Green!” the older one shouted.

Someone honked.

She put the phone down.

She was breathing a little faster than she should have been.

At work everything was normal.

Too normal.

A colleague was talking about the weekend by the coffee machine.

“And then the dog jumped straight into the lake!” he laughed.

Someone else was commenting on the weather.

Gabi sat at her desk staring at the screen.

She read the email for the third time.

She couldn’t remember a single sentence.

Because she was imagining something else entirely.

That she walks out of the building.

She doesn’t drive to daycare.

Not home.

She just walks.

And someone walks beside her.

He doesn’t say much.

But he looks at her.

As if he truly wants to see her.

“Gabi?”

She looked up.

Her boss was standing by her desk.

“Everything okay?”

A second of silence.

“Yes,” she said quickly. “Of course.”

She gave a professional smile.

Her boss nodded and walked away.

Gabi stared at the monitor for another moment.

Her heart was beating a little too fast.

And then she realized something unsettling.

This wasn’t a one-time impulse.

It was a crack.

Small.

Almost invisible.

But already open.

And it was only the beginning.

Chapter 3

Marta

The coffee machine at work always sounded as if it were about to explode.

Gabi leaned against the counter, watching the dark stream pour into her cup. The kitchen was small and stuffy. It smelled of coffee and heated milk.

Her hands were cold.

“You look like you didn’t sleep,” Marta said as she walked in.

Marta had short hair, a quick step, and a gaze that caught more than most people wanted to show.

“I slept,” Gabi replied. “Just… late.”

Marta reached for a cup.

“What’s going on?”

The question wasn’t intrusive.

It was calm. Ready for an answer.

Gabi shrugged.

“Nothing specific.”

Marta poured milk into her coffee and leaned her hip against the counter.

“That’s the worst ‘nothing specific’ I’ve heard this week.”

Gabi smiled faintly.

For a moment she wondered if she should start at all. It felt absurd. A little embarrassing. Like admitting something childish.

But something inside her wanted to say it out loud.

“Do you ever have that feeling,” she began slowly, “that everything is supposedly fine… but you still feel something burning out?”

“In your relationship?”

Gabi nodded.

“We don’t fight. There’s no drama. It’s just… like we’ve stopped seeing each other.”

Someone walked into the kitchen, took a mug from the dishwasher, and left. The door closed softly.

Marta didn’t even turn her head.

“When was the last time you talked about something other than the kids and logistics?”

Gabi laughed quietly.

“I don’t know. Maybe last year.”

“And when was the last time someone looked at you in a way that made you feel like a woman, not a function?”

The question landed straight in her stomach.

Gabi looked away.

“That’s exactly it.”

Marta waited.

She didn’t rescue her. She didn’t change the subject.

“Yesterday…” Gabi lowered her voice. “I started imagining something.”

“What?”

Gabi felt her cheeks grow warm.

“That someone was looking at me. Really looking. Not because they wanted something from me. Just because they wanted me.”

Her heart began beating faster.

“And?”

“And I imagined him standing behind me. Putting his hands on my hips. Not in a hurry. Not talking about what needs to be done tomorrow.”

Her voice almost disappeared.

“And that I didn’t have to be responsible for everything.”

Marta was silent for a few seconds.

“Is it someone specific?”

“No. No face.”

“That’s good.”

Gabi looked up at her.

“Good?”

“Because it means it’s not about cheating. It’s about lack.”

The words landed heavily.

“What kind of lack?”

Marta took a sip of coffee.

“The lack of being seen. The lack of tension. The lack of space that belongs only to you.”

Gabi felt something tighten inside her.

“And what if this is the beginning of something?” she asked. “What if one day that face appears?”

Marta looked at her carefully.

“That question sounds different.”

“How?”

“It’s not ‘is this normal.’ It’s ‘will I allow it to happen.’”

Gabi said nothing.

“Listen,” Marta said calmly. “Fantasies are like alarms. They’re not the problem. They just show you where something hurts.”

“And what if it can’t be fixed at home anymore?” Gabi asked almost in a whisper.

Marta didn’t answer right away.

“Then you need to check that first,” she said finally. “Not run into the fantasy that somewhere else it will be easier.”

Part of Gabi wanted to hear something else.

You deserve it. Live. Go wild.

But Marta had never been the type to pour fuel on the fire.

She was the type who looked at consequences.

“I’m not judging you,” she added more gently. “I just know it’s easiest to fall in love with the version of yourself that someone new sees during the first three months.”

That sentence hurt the most.

Because it was true.

Gabi took a deep breath.

“So what? I should stop fantasizing?”

Marta shrugged.

“No. But maybe instead of imagining someone’s hands… try telling your husband that you want him to look at you.”

Gabi laughed nervously.

“That sounds more terrifying than cheating.”

“Exactly.”

A phone rang somewhere in the hallway.

Break over.

They were heading back to work.

Gabi walked more slowly.

The fantasy was still there.

But now it had a name.

Lack.

And a question that wouldn’t leave her alone:

Would she dare to try at home…

before the face from her imagination became real?

Chapter 4

Beside Each Other

Sunday began with the slam of the bathroom door.

“I’m first!” their daughter shouted.

“That’s not true! I said it yesterday!” their son replied.

Gabi opened her eyes. For a moment she didn’t know what time it was.

Beside her, her husband lay on his back with one arm under his head, staring at the ceiling.

“Do you hear that?” he murmured.

“We’re alive,” she replied.

He smiled faintly.

Just a little.

But still.

The kitchen smelled like coffee.

He had made it first.

Once, little things like that had meant more.

He stood by the counter in sweatpants. His hair was messy, his eyes still slightly sleepy. On weekends he looked younger.

“We’re running out of bread,” he said, peeking into the cabinet.

“I know.”

She took the last slice.

“It always runs out on Sunday.”

She cut it slowly. The knife caught on the harder crust. Crumbs scattered across the counter.

“Mom! He took my honey!” came a voice from the other room.

“I didn’t take it, I borrowed it!”

Her husband sighed.

“I’m going to negotiate a truce.”

He passed her in the narrow space between the table and the sink. Their shoulders brushed.

A fraction of a second.

Her body reacted faster than her thoughts.

She held her breath.

He didn’t notice.

A moment later he returned with the honey and two children who were already laughing about something completely different.

The table was loud.

Someone spilled juice.

Someone protested.

Someone laughed with a full mouth.

Gabi watched them and for a moment felt something soft inside.

This is my life.

But right next to that feeling another one appeared.

Like a shadow.

“I’ll be coming home later this week,” he suddenly said, reaching for his phone. “The project is dragging on.”

The screen lit his face.

“Okay,” she replied.

She wanted to ask: which project?

With whom?

How long?

She didn’t ask.

Instead, she poured herself more coffee.

“Do you remember when we used to leave the house on Sundays without any plan?” she said, trying to sound casual.

He looked at her.

“We still can.”

“With kids, groceries, and laundry?”

He smiled wider.

“You sound like my mom.”

“And you sound like my dad.”

For a moment they looked at each other longer.

Something hung between them.

Not hostility.

Something harder.

Familiarity.

After breakfast she cleared the plates.

He stood by the sink rinsing cups.

They worked beside each other like a well-coordinated team.

Efficient.

Quiet.

Without touch.

Without a glance.

Without a spark.

At noon she went to the park alone.

“How long will you be?” he asked.

“I don’t know. An hour?”

He nodded.

He didn’t ask: Is everything okay?

In the park she sat on a bench.

Next to her a woman laughed into her phone.

“No, stop… you know I like it when you say that…”

The laughter was soft.

Intimate.

Gabi felt warmth under her skin.

It wasn’t jealousy of a specific person.

It was jealousy of that tone.

In the evening, when the children were finally asleep, the apartment grew quiet.

They lay beside each other.

The darkness was thick.

She could hear his breathing.

It would take only a small movement.

To slide her hand.

To touch his back.

To pull him closer.

For a second she truly wanted that.

Not the fantasy.

Him.

He shifted slightly, as if changing position. Their knees touched under the blanket.

She waited.

He moved away instinctively, searching for a more comfortable spot.

A small movement.

A centimeter.

It was enough.

Gabi closed her eyes.

Not because she wanted to escape.

Because she no longer knew what frightened her more:

that nothing would happen…

or that something actually might.

Her marriage wasn’t breaking.

It was drifting apart.

Quietly.

Centimeter by centimeter.

And she wasn’t sure anymore if she still had the strength to move toward him first.

Chapter 5

An Evening That Stays Under the Skin

That evening the silence was thicker than usual.

Not because the house was quieter.

Because something inside her had shifted.

Like a shelf that had carried too much for years and suddenly slid down by a centimeter.

Gabi turned off the light in the living room. She left only the small lamp by the couch on. The warm light softened the edges of the furniture, making the room seem gentler.

Her husband had gone to bed earlier.

“Project,” he said shortly.

She didn’t ask which one.

She sat with a blanket around her shoulders. A cup of tea steamed on the table. She wasn’t thirsty. She only needed something warm in her hands.

She closed her eyes.

She was afraid that tonight nothing would come.

That she would be left alone with herself. With the emptiness.

She wasn’t alone.

He was closer than before.

Not intrusively. Not suddenly.

Just closer.

She felt him like a change in the air. Like someone standing just behind her shoulder.

This time they weren’t sitting across from each other.

He stood beside her.

That beside mattered.

Not opposite. Not above. Not in front.

Beside.

Her breathing quickened slightly.

In her imagination she took half a step. Her shoulder almost touched his chest. Not contact yet. But already warmth.

Clear.

Under the blanket she moved her hand slowly along her own forearm. As if checking whether it was really her reacting.

Her skin was alert. Sensitive.

In the fantasy his hand lifted. It stopped near her back.

It didn’t touch.

That pause was like a stretched string.

Her heart beat harder.

Not from fear.

From recognition.

Warmth flowed lower. To her stomach. Deeper. To a place that for a long time had responded only when it was necessary.

Now it responded because it wanted to.

She turned her face slightly toward him.

Not for a kiss.

For closeness.

For someone to be close enough that she could stop pretending she needed nothing.

In this space she didn’t have to be ready.

She didn’t have to hurry.

She didn’t have to meet expectations.

She was only breath. Body. Warmth under the skin.

A shiver moved along her spine.

She rested her hand on her stomach. Let it last.

She didn’t extinguish it.

She didn’t rush it.

She simply stayed there.

When she opened her eyes, the living room looked the same.

The lamp was still glowing. The tea had gone cold.

But her body felt more present than it had in years.

She stood slowly and carried the cup to the kitchen. She stopped by the window.

Outside, someone was walking quickly with their head lowered.

Everyone carries something, she thought.

Their silences. Their longings.

She touched her neck with her fingers — the place that in her imagination had almost been touched.

And then a thought came that she hadn’t wanted to name before:

This isn’t about him.

It’s about the fact that she is beginning to feel herself.

Before going to bed she took a small piece of paper from the drawer. The pen hesitated for a second.

She wrote:

“I want to be seen.”

This time it wasn’t a dream.

It sounded like the beginning of a decision.

She slid the note back into the drawer.

Then she lay down in bed.

Next to her husband.

But inside her body something was no longer asleep.

Chapter 6

A Few Ordinary Sentences

They met by the coffee machine.

Just like that.

Without an announcement.

Without any particular reason.

They almost ran into each other.

“Sorry,” he said, stepping half a step back.

He smiled briefly. A little uncertain.

Like someone who doesn’t start conversations with strangers very often.

“It’s okay,” she replied.

For a moment they stood too close.

Close enough that she caught the scent of his cologne. Quiet. Unobtrusive. Warm.

His eyes looked tired.

Not the kind that only pretend to be tired.

Real ones.

As if something in him had also been sleepless for a long time.

That struck her the most.

“There’s always a line here when you’re in the biggest hurry,” he said, pointing at the machine.

“As if it does it on purpose,” she replied. “Testing who really needs coffee.”

He looked at her more carefully.

Not like a man looking at a woman.

Like a person looking at another person.

They laughed briefly.

That laugh wasn’t flirting.

It didn’t carry any promise.

It was light.

And lightness was what she had been missing the most.

“Have you worked here long?” he asked.

“A few years. Long enough to know where to sit when you want some peace.”

“There’s such a place?”

He raised an eyebrow slightly.

“There is,” she said. “But I don’t reveal secrets right away.”

A moment of silence hung between them.

Not awkward.

Attentive.

The coffee machine beeped.

A stream of coffee flowed into their cups.

The sound felt like the signal that the moment was ending.

They reached for their cups almost at the same time.

Their fingers brushed by accident.

Literally a fraction of a second.

But her body reacted faster than her thoughts.

The warmth she knew from her evening fantasies appeared suddenly.

Without warning.

She looked at him.

He had felt it too — she saw it in the slight hesitation of his hand.

“Have a good day,” he said, more quietly than before.

“You too.”

She turned away first.

Walking back to her desk, she was strangely aware of her own steps.

The movement of her hips.

The fabric of her trousers sliding along her thighs.

Not because she wanted to be seen.

Because she felt present.

The rest of the day was ordinary.

Emails.

Corrections.

Deadlines.

But between one click and another, that brief touch kept returning.

Not as an image.

As a sensation.

In the evening, as she shut down her computer, she thought something that surprised even her.

It’s not about him.

It’s about the fact that with him she wasn’t a role.

She wasn’t the one who “handles everything.”

She wasn’t the one who “takes care of things.”

She was a woman who could answer with a joke.

Who could hold someone’s gaze for a second longer.

On the way home she didn’t imagine his face.

She imagined herself.

The one from years ago.

The one who talked to people without calculating whether it meant something.

That evening she fell asleep faster.

Not to escape.

But to check whether the fantasy still belonged only to her —

or whether it was beginning to take on someone’s real outline.

And for the first time a question appeared, one she had avoided before:

Is desire enough,

if it remains only in imagination?

Chapter 7

Between Guilt and Desire

Guilt came at night.

It didn’t shout.

It didn’t make a scene.

It sat quietly on the edge of the bed, like someone who had the right to be there.

Gabi lay on her back, staring at the ceiling.

The darkness had a familiar shape.

A thin line of light from the streetlamp cut across the wall.

Her husband slept beside her, turned away.

His breathing was steady.

Calm.

Unaware.

She felt his presence like a weight she didn’t want to throw off—

because it was part of her life, even if it had stopped being part of her closeness.

They’re only thoughts, she told herself silently.

I’m not betraying anyone.

And yet something inside trembled.

As if she were crossing an invisible border.

Borders don’t always make noise.

Sometimes they shift slowly.

So quietly that you realize it only when you’re already on the other side.

She turned onto her side.

For a moment she looked at his back.

Once she had known it differently.

She remembered it bent over her.

Warm.

Close.

Now there was air between them.

Not cold.

Just empty.

She moved her fingers across the sheet between them.

That space was small.

And yet big enough to hold the silence of several years.

She closed her eyes.

The stranger didn’t come immediately.

As if he were waiting.

As if this time the decision belonged to her.

Another scene appeared in her mind.

The coffee machine.

A short laugh.

A hand that had touched her fingers for a second.

Michał.

Strangely, that felt more unsettling than the fantasies.

Fantasies were safe.

They had no consequences.

They were only a place where you could drift away for a moment.

But a real person…

a real person always carries change with them.

She sighed softly.

She got out of bed carefully so she wouldn’t wake him.

The kitchen floor was cold.

The chill moved through her feet up to her calves, as if trying to sober her.

She poured herself some water.

The glass tapped lightly against the counter.

In the silence of the night the sound felt louder than it should have.

She leaned against the kitchen counter.

What do you actually want? she asked herself in her mind.

The answer came surprisingly quickly.

I want to be seen.

Not admired.

Not desired like in the movies.

Seen.

With all the tiredness.

With imperfection.

With the need to be touched not only by a body, but by attention.

For a moment she looked out the window.

At the empty street.

At the lights in the apartments across the block.

And suddenly a thought appeared that she hadn’t allowed before.

Maybe others live like this too.

Beside each other.

Not together.

She returned to the bedroom.

She stood beside the bed for a moment.

Looking at her husband.

She didn’t feel anger.

She felt grief.

For something that had disappeared without saying goodbye.

For conversations that once ended in silence full of tension—

not emptiness.

She lay down again.

This time on her back.

Her breathing slowed.

She closed her eyes.

The stranger appeared only after a while.

He stood in front of her.

Calm.

Patient.

He didn’t reach out his hand.

He didn’t tempt.

He simply was there.

Attentive.

And that hurt the most.

Because one man in this room was real.

And the other existed only in her imagination.

And yet with the second one she felt more present.

She couldn’t fall asleep for a long time.

When she finally drifted off, it was almost four in the morning.

The alarm rang too soon.

She reached for her phone with her eyes still closed.

One message.

Not from Marta.

Not from her husband.

An unknown number.

For a moment she only stared at the screen.

Then she opened it.

“I think I found that place in the office where you can have some peace.

— Michał”

Her heart beat faster.

One thought flashed through her mind:

I didn’t give him my number.

And suddenly she felt something else.

Not only unease.

Curiosity.

Chapter 8

The Second Time Isn’t a Coincidence

This time she saw him first.

He was standing by the window at the end of the hallway, a cup of coffee in his hand. One hand rested in the pocket of his trousers.

He was looking through the glass.

But not at the city.

More like somewhere farther away.

Or deeper.

The morning light traced a calm profile across his face.

Nothing extraordinary.

And yet Gabi slowed her step.

Not because she wanted to catch up with him.

Because her body reacted faster than her thoughts.

Her heart sped up.

For no reason.

Or exactly for that reason.

“Good morning,” she said.

He turned.

A brief surprise appeared on his face, then softened into a smile.

“Good morning. You caught me escaping from work again.”

“I think half the people in this office do the same thing,” she replied. “We just pretend we’re going for coffee.”

He laughed.

More freely this time.

“So the coffee machine is officially an evacuation zone?”

“Exactly.

The safest place in the company.”

She stood beside him by the window.

Shoulder almost against shoulder.

They weren’t touching.

And yet she was aware of his presence more than she should have been.

The smell of coffee.

The warmth of his body.

The silence lasted a few seconds.

And it was surprisingly pleasant.

“Sometimes it’s good to just stand like this,” she said finally, “and look out the window.”

“To remind yourself there’s a world outside emails?”

“Or that somewhere else people have normal lives.”

He looked at her.

More carefully than before.

“Do you think they do?”

The question surprised her.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly.

“But I like to think so.”

They were silent for a moment.

Then he asked:

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you have a ‘somewhere else’?”

She wasn’t prepared for that question.

She should answer lightly.

With a joke.

But something stopped her.

“Sometimes I feel like my life is very… well arranged.”

“Is that bad?”

She smiled faintly.

“That depends on whether you arranged it yourself.”

He didn’t answer right away.

But something new appeared in his gaze.

Something like understanding.

Or curiosity.

Maybe both.

“I should get back to work,” he said finally.

“Me too.”

Neither of them moved immediately.

It was strange.

As if both were waiting for someone to be the first to break the moment.

Finally he stepped back.

“Have a good day, Gabi.”

She paused.

“How do you know my name?”

He smiled slightly.

“Open space isn’t as anonymous as it seems.”

And he walked away.

Calmly.

Without hurry.

Gabi stayed by the window a little longer.

Her heart was still beating faster than it should.

It wasn’t just a meeting.

It was something like a crack in everyday life.

Small.

But clear.

As she walked back to her desk, she thought something she hadn’t allowed herself to think before:

Maybe it’s not that her life is bad.

Maybe somewhere along the way she simply stopped breathing in it.

That evening, lying in bed, she closed her eyes.

The stranger from her imagination appeared as usual.

But this time he had someone’s posture.

Someone’s way of standing by the window.

Someone’s quiet stillness.

She opened her eyes suddenly.

Her heart was beating hard.

Beside her, her husband slept just as he always did.

Calm.

Unaware.

Gabi stared into the darkness and suddenly thought something that frightened her.

Not that someone else had appeared in her thoughts.

But that for the first time in a long time

she felt

that her life

might look different.

Chapter 9

The First Decision

It was he who suggested the coffee.

Not quietly.

Not hesitantly.

Simply.

“I’m going out for coffee to that small café around the corner. If you feel like it, you can join me. Five minutes’ break won’t kill anyone.”

Five minutes.

So innocent that it was almost impossible to find anything in it beyond caffeine.

Gabi looked at her screen.

The task list was long, as always.

Emails kept arriving one after another, as if the world were afraid of silence.

She glanced at the clock.

She felt that familiar tension in her chest — the place where you shouldn’t was usually born.

“Okay,” she said.

Before she had time to ask herself if she should.

When she stood up from her desk, she felt a strange lightness.

As if she had done something bigger than going out for coffee.

Outside, the air was cool.

Refreshing.

The city moved in a completely different rhythm than the office.

Cars passed them without interest.

People walked by with bags, phones to their ears, dogs on leashes.

They walked beside each other.

Not too close.

Not too far.

There was space between them — deliberate.

But not cold.

“I like this place,” he said, opening the café door. “There’s no rush here.”

Inside it smelled of coffee and warm cake.

It was quieter than the office.

Softer.

They sat at a small table by the window.

The barista frothed milk, and steam rose slowly into the air.

“Do you escape here often?” she asked.

He smiled slightly.

“Sometimes. It’s the only place where nobody wants anything from me for five minutes.”

Gabi nodded.

“That’s a luxury.”

“And you? Do you have a place like that?”

She thought for a moment.

“I think I used to.”

“What happened?”

She smiled crookedly.

“Life.”

He laughed.

“The classic culprit.”

They kept talking.

About the commute to work.

About how the most beautiful light appears late in the afternoon.

About coffee tasting better when you drink it slowly.

When she laughed, she didn’t wonder if her laugh was too loud.

When she spoke, she didn’t weigh every word.

She was herself.

And that was the most dangerous thing.

When they were leaving the café, they almost bumped into each other by the door.

He stepped back to let her pass.

Their shoulders brushed lightly.

It was small.

Accidental.

But her body reacted immediately.

As if someone had touched a place that had been asleep for a long time.

He felt it too.

He hesitated for a second.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said.

But they both knew something had happened.

Walking back to the office, they talked less.

Not because they had nothing to say.

Because the moment was still too fresh.

At the entrance they stopped for a moment.

“Thanks for the coffee,” she said.

“Thanks for going.”

Not for the company.

Not for the conversation.

For going.

As if he appreciated the simple fact that she had agreed.

That sentence stayed with her longer.

The rest of the day passed correctly.

Professionally.

According to plan.

But inside something was different.

Between one email and another, the memory of that café kept returning.

The warm cup.

The calm conversation.

That brief touch by the door.

That evening, lying in bed, she closed her eyes.

The stranger from her imagination didn’t appear right away.

Instead there was reality.

The table by the window.

Her laughter.

His voice.

And suddenly a thought appeared that hadn’t been there before.

Fantasy was safe.

Reality — alive.

Lying in the darkness, she understood something else.

The coffee hadn’t been the decision.

The decision was

that she allowed herself to go.

And that outings like that

rarely end with just coffee.

Chapter 10

The Difference

She came home a little later than usual.

Not because the coffee had taken longer.

She walked more slowly.

As if stretching something she still didn’t know how to name.

In the hallway she took off her coat.

From the living room came a shout:

“Mooom!”

Her son ran in wearing socks, almost crashing into her in the doorway.

“I saw three goals! Three! And one of them was like —”

He waved his hands, trying to show something that couldn’t really be shown.

Gabi laughed.

“Easy. Breathe.”

“Seriously, Mom! Like Ronaldo! Almost!”

“Well, almost Ronaldo is still pretty good.”

Her daughter leaned out from the living room.

“Mom, he’s lying. The third one was an accident.”

“It was not!”

“It was!”

Gabi raised her hands.

“Okay, okay. The referee has gone home. I’m not judging.”

The kids returned to the TV, still arguing.

The ordinary noise of the house was familiar.

Safe.

From the kitchen her husband’s voice called:

“You’re back?”

“Yes.”

“Dinner’s in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

That if you’re hungry sounded polite.

Correct.

She took out a plate.

Put it into the microwave.

Her husband walked into the kitchen.

He opened the fridge and took out a bottle of water.

“How was your day?” he asked.

“Good.”

“Mine was chaos,” he sighed. “This project is killing me.”

“Mhm.”

She sat at the table.

He leaned against the counter.

“I’ll come back late again tomorrow,” he added. “Maybe very late.”

“Okay.”

They were silent for a moment.

Suddenly Gabi felt an impulse.

She could say:

I went for coffee with someone from work today.

She could say:

I laughed.

She could say:

I felt good.

Instead she asked:

“Do you want anything else to eat?”

“No, I ate at work.”

Another short silence.

“Maybe we’ll take the kids somewhere this weekend,” he said suddenly. “To the movies or something.”

“Maybe.”

He didn’t ask, Do you feel like it?

He said it the way people talk about groceries.

A moment later he went back to the living room.

“Hey!” he called to their son. “Turn that down a little!”

“But Dad!”

“A little!”

The television became quieter.

Gabi sat at the table for another moment.

She looked at the plate.

She wasn’t hungry.

In the bathroom she rested her hands on the sink.

She looked in the mirror.

In her eyes she saw something new.

Nothing spectacular.

A small glimmer.

As if something beneath the surface had started to move.

She touched her neck with her fingers.

She remembered the café.

The light by the window.

His voice.

The way when she spoke, someone actually listened.

That evening she went to bed earlier.

Her husband was already lying there with his phone.

The screen lit his face with a cold glow.

“Are the kids asleep?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He scrolled with his thumb.

“I saw a funny video today,” he said suddenly.

“Mhm?”

“A guy kept trying to pull a door that you had to push.”

“A classic.”

She smiled slightly.

He smiled too.

But the conversation ended exactly there.

He put his phone aside.

Turned off the lamp.

Turned his back.

As usual.

Gabi lay in the darkness.

She listened to his steady breathing.

The stranger from her imagination appeared more faintly than usual.

As if he was no longer needed in that form.

Because something from that feeling had already become real.

And that was the most unsettling part.

The difference between today and yesterday wasn’t the coffee.

The difference was

that for the first time in a long time

she felt seen.

Truly.

And once you feel

that someone is looking at you with real attention,

it becomes very difficult

to go back to being invisible.

She lay there in silence a little longer.

And she understood something she had avoided before.

It isn’t the affair that is the danger.

The danger is the difference.

Between

how she felt this afternoon

and how she feels now.

And that difference

no longer wants to close.

Chapter 11

Someone Is Watching

It started with glances.

Not his.

Other people’s.

Gabi only realized it by the coffee machine.

“Were you at that café around the corner yesterday?” Kasia from accounting asked, stirring sugar into her cup.

She stirred for a long time.

Much too long for one teaspoon.

“I was,” Gabi replied. “Sometimes you need to escape the office.”

“Right…” Kasia smiled slightly. “Nice place.”

And that was it.

Too short a sentence.

As if the rest stayed between her teeth.

Gabi took her coffee and returned to her desk.

For a moment she stared at the screen.

The letters in the email blurred.

She felt something strange.

As if someone kept lifting their eyes toward her.

She looked up.

Across the open space she saw him.

He was standing by a colleague’s desk, talking about something.

Leaning slightly forward.

Focused.

He wasn’t looking at her.

That calmed her.

And hurt at the same time.

“Hello.”

Gabi jumped.

Marta placed a cup on her desk.

“Earth to Gabi.”

“Lost in emails?”

“More like in my thoughts,” Gabi murmured.

Marta sat on the edge of her desk.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Gabi.”

That one word was enough.

Marta had that tone that meant: don’t pretend.

“I went for coffee yesterday,” Gabi said finally.

“And?”

“With someone from work.”

Marta narrowed her eyes.

“Ah.”

“Not ‘ah.’”

“Relax. I haven’t said anything yet.”

“Because there’s nothing.”

“Of course,” Marta smiled. “There’s never anything at the beginning.”

Gabi sighed.

“It was just coffee.”

“And?”

“And… it felt good.”

Marta looked at her carefully for a moment.

She didn’t judge.

“Who is it?”

“The one from the project department.”

“The tall one?”

“Marta.”

“What? I need to know who we’re gossiping about.”

Gabi laughed for the first time that day.

“We’re not gossiping.”

“Not yet.”

Marta leaned closer.

“And him?”

“What about him?”

“Does he look at you?”

Gabi hesitated for a second.

“I don’t know.”

“That means yes.”

“Marta…”

“I know that look.”

Gabi lowered her eyes to the keyboard.

“The problem is that I look too.”

Marta was silent for a moment.

Then she spoke more calmly.

“So what?”

“I’m married.”

“I know.”

“I have children.”

“I know that too.”

“And I feel… like I’m doing something wrong.”

Marta shrugged.

“What would be wrong is pretending you don’t feel anything.”

The sentence stayed between them for a moment.

“Just be careful,” Marta added after a while.

“With what?”

“Offices have eyes.”

Gabi looked across the open space.

People were sitting at their computers.

Talking.

Laughing.

A normal workday.

And yet suddenly she thought that someone was watching.

Not a specific someone.

Just someone.