Pam sits silently behind her desk, studying the inflections in his voice, the movements of his hands.  His back is turned to her as she closes her eyes, listening for the sound of his heartbeat a world away.  She wrings her hands around the edge of her shirt, as if it will cleanse her of this feeling, squeeze out every last drop so she'll never have to feel it again.

Regret.

She enters the office, the light shining from her eyes gives Pam a headache.  It drums out her ears and up the walls until it takes over all of her senses.  She tries to swallow it down but it sits on her tongue, tickling her throat.  When she laughs the building shakes and spins her on her heels. 

She has to get out.

She's leaning against her car when she hears the shuffle of his feet across the gravel.  She holds her palms against the car door, unable to move.  The heat pushes into her fingers and twists around her body, burning into her lungs.   

Finally, she lets go.

She calls his name and the air around them stops moving.  He turns to look at her, his eyes reading confusion, uncertainty, hope.  Her breath is trapped and her thoughts are piling in her throat, but with a cough, the words spill out of her. 

He blinks, straining to see her. 

The sun is striking into the daffodils on the corner and shining yellow on her face.  He holds his hand over his eyes and realizes that sometimes the light shines so bright it blocks your view and stings your eyes for looking. 

He grabs her by the hand.

"Let's go inside," he says, leading her back into the building.  He follows the hallway to a corner where the fluorescent bulb has burnt out and he doesn't have to squint anymore.

She repeats herself, "I'm in love with you, Jim."

In this abandoned corner he breathes a sigh that seeps through the building and out the windows and holds it still.  He never wants to open his eyes again.  The echo of her words is more beautiful than anything he'll ever see.