Every morning at 8:15, Elena and James rode the elevator together. Five floors of exquisite torture, sharing space with a stranger who felt anything but strange.
She noticed how he always pressed the button for her floor first. He noticed how she hummed Beatles songs under her breath.
Neither noticed they both wrote about each other in their journals each night.
Today was different. The elevator lurched, stopped between floors. Emergency lights cast shadows that made hiding glances impossible.
"I'm James," he said finally.
"I know," she replied. "Your coffee cup says it every morning."
"You're Elena. Your packages at the front desk."
"We're terrible at this, aren't we?"
An hour passed. They shared a protein bar from her purse, swapped stories about terrible first dates.
When maintenance finally arrived, they had dinner plans.
As they stepped out, Elena smiled. "You know, I've been taking the stairs down every evening."
"Funny," James grinned. "I just moved in last month. My apartment's on the second floor."
Some connections just need a little push. Or in their case, a stuck elevator.