Across The Hallway

Author's Note

Welcome to Across the Hallway.

This story began with a simple question: Can two strangers spend years only a few steps apart without truly seeing each other?

Every day, we pass countless people—in offices, hallways, cafés, elevators, and crowded streets. Some remain strangers forever. Others unexpectedly become part of our lives. Sometimes, all it takes is one conversation to change everything.

This novel is a slow-burn romance built on quiet moments, meaningful conversations, and imperfect people trying to find their place in each other's lives. While the story is fictional, I hope the emotions feel genuine and the characters feel real enough that you can laugh, worry, and grow alongside them.

Thank you for giving this story a chance. Whether you've been following my writing or this is your first time reading my work, I sincerely appreciate your support.

I hope you enjoy Jeffrey and Christine's journey.

— Levi Verdeprado

CHAPTER 1

—ACROSS THE HALLWAY—

The sunlight in Makati hits the glass facades of the office towers just right, blinding you if you look out the window too long. Inside the office, the air conditioning hummed, fighting a losing battle against the midday heat.

Jeffrey Reyes didn't care about the heat. He was staring at the space between his office and the one directly across the hall. He knew the rhythm of the floor by heart: the 9:00 AM coffee run, the 2:00 PM lull, the way the light shifted across the carpet.

Christine Javier's office was the anchor. She was everything he wasn't—sharp, contained, and seemingly allergic to the idea of a lunch break. She was the "no boyfriend since birth" girl, a reputation that made her as impenetrable as the contracts she spent her days reviewing.

He stood up, smoothed his shirt, and walked over.

Christine was buried in a stack of paperwork, her posture rigid enough to snap. Click-tap, click-tap. Her pen was hitting the desk.

Jeffrey knocked on the doorframe. The sound was too loud in the quiet room.

Christine looked up. Her eyes were tired, guarded. "Hi. Do you need something?"

"Jeffrey," he said, offering a smile that felt a little rehearsed. "From across the hall. I was hoping to borrow five minutes. Not work-related."

She didn't soften. "Is it important?"

"Honestly?" He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a prickle of sweat. "I've been meaning to, uhm... say hello for months." His voice was slightly nervous. "We keep passing each other, and I'm tired of just nodding." He glanced at her desk, then back at her eyes. "Coffee? Across the street."

Christine's pulse jumped—he saw the slight movement in her throat—but she masked it with a flicker of annoyance. "If it's not work, it's a pass."

He didn't blink. He just nodded, shifting his weight. "Fair enough."

He straightened up, his hands finding his pockets. He needed to pivot. "Then let's make it work. I've been looking at a cross-collaboration. Marketing and engineering. It makes sense, doesn't it?"

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

He saw her pause. The armor didn't fall, but it shifted. "Coffee to discuss a partnership," he added, the challenge hanging in the air. "Does that work better?"

She looked at him for a long, uncomfortable second, then let out a breath. "Fine. 3:00 PM."

"Three works," he said, turning to leave.

He stopped at the door, catching her gaze. "I'll have a Macchiato ready. I've seen you grab one on Tuesdays."

Her hand stalled over her pen. "You're keeping tabs on my coffee?"

"Just noticing," he said, and walked away before she could call him out on it.

At 3:00 PM, the lobby was abuzz with people rushing in and out, but the coffee shop corner was quiet.

Jeffrey was there, standing with two cups, checking his watch. When she walked in, he didn't look like a guy who had just made up a business proposal on the fly.

"On time," he said, handing her the cup.

She took it. The paper was warm. "Thanks."

He pulled out a chair for her. "I appreciate this. Truly."

"Let's skip the pleasantries," Christine said, sitting. She didn't touch the coffee. "What's the pitch?"

He leaned in. The noise of the lobby seemed to drop away.

"Your firm has the reach. My family's business has the infrastructure in place. Most people keep those silos separate. I want to run a pilot. Market-test one of our products with your team. If it works, we grow together. If not—" he shrugged, looking at her—"at least we didn't waste time."

Christine folded her arms. "Mr. Reyes, one thing still isn't clear to me."

Jeffrey looked up from his cup. "Go ahead."

"What exactly does my company gain from this collaboration?" Christine asked.

Jeffrey nodded, as if he'd been expecting the question. "Exposure to a market you don't currently dominate."

Christine raised an eyebrow. "Explain."

Jeffrey leaned back slightly in his chair. "Your agency has built a strong reputation with lifestyle and consumer brands," he said. "Ours has spent decades in engineering, construction, and industrial projects. Those clients rarely invest in modern branding because no one has shown them the value."

Christine listened without interrupting.

Jeffrey continued. "If we work together, your team becomes the preferred marketing partner for every new development we launch. That includes our subsidiaries and long-term clients. Instead of chasing one campaign after another, you'll have recurring contracts with companies that stay with the same partners for years."

Christine finally took her first sip of coffee.

"And what do you get out of it?" she asked.

Jeffrey smiled. "A company that understands how to communicate with people," he replied. "We're engineers. We know how to build bridges, factories, and power systems. But we're not always good at telling people why they should trust us before we build them."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Christine's lips. "That's surprisingly self-aware," she said.

Jeffrey chuckled. "It's expensive not to be."

Christine slowly nodded as she looked through the proposal again. "You've actually thought this through," she admitted.

"For months," Jeffrey answered.

She flipped another page. "Your projected numbers are conservative."

"Deliberately," he said.

Christine looked up. "Why?"

"I'd rather exceed expectations than oversell promises."

For the first time since they sat down, Christine studied him instead of the proposal. "Most people who pitch partnerships spend the first thirty minutes convincing me they're geniuses," she said.

Jeffrey laughed softly. "I'm an engineer," he said. "We spend the first thirty minutes trying to prove nothing will collapse."

A genuine laugh escaped Christine before she could stop herself.

Jeffrey couldn't help smiling. "I'll take that as progress," he said.

Christine quickly straightened her expression. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Mr. Reyes."

"Jeffrey," he corrected with a smile.

Christine held his gaze for a brief moment before giving the smallest nod. "...Jeffrey."

She searched his face for the catch. She didn't find one. "I'll bring it to the board next week."

"Fair," he said.

He reached into his pocket and slid a business card across the table. His fingers stayed on it for a beat too long. "In case you have questions. Or if you want to talk off the record."

She looked at the card, then back at him. She felt that prickling irritation at the back of her neck again. "Is that all?"

He stood up as she did, his presence suddenly filling the space. "It is. But you know it isn't."

She felt her pulse flutter. "Excuse me?"

"The project is real," he said, keeping his voice low. "But I didn't drag you down here just for a pilot program. I've been trying to find a way to talk to you for a year. I wanted to see if there was anything worth exploring beyond the office walls."

Christine stared at him. "You're asking me out?"

"I'm asking if you'd consider it." He held her gaze, steady and calm. "No business. Just dinner. To get to know the person who runs the office across the hall."

She laughed, a sharp, disbelieving sound. "Mr. Reyes, surely you have better options."

"I don't want options," he said. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I wanted to know if the woman across the hall is as interesting as she seems. You're the only person in that building who looks like they're solving three problems at once, and honestly? It's captivating."

She looked away, then back. The wall was still there, but it was cracking. "A free dinner, then?"

He smiled—a real, quiet smile. "Saturday. Seven. Poblacion. No business talk."

"I never said yes."

He started to walk away, then stopped and turned back. He pulled out his phone and set it on the table. "I don't have your number. Hard to coordinate projects and dinner without it."

Christine stared at the phone.

"You're persistent," she said.

"Only when something matters," he answered.

She sighed before taking the phone, punched in her digits, and slid it back.

He didn't just put it away. He looked at the screen, saved it, and looked at her. "Now it's real," he said.

He walked toward the exit, leaving her in the lobby.

She stared at her coffee, the steam rising between them. She should have gone back to her desk. She should have been calling her board. But instead, she just stood there, realizing she'd just cleared her Saturday night.