This Wasn't in the Floor Plan

The blue bubble with Thank you. sat on my screen, mocking my inadequacy. Seriously, Camille? That's all I could muster after he sends a mysterious, hand-delivered sketchbook with a cryptic, personal drawing? After he bypassed my silence with such a thoughtful, tangible gesture? It sounded like I was thanking someone for holding a door open, not responding to what felt like a grand romantic—or at least kilig-inducing—maneuver.

Gosh, I sucked at this. Faced with him, my carefully constructed walls malfunctioned, leaving me offering bland pleasantries instead of clever parries, completely failing to capture the butterfly-tsunami raging inside. Because that sketchbook was significant. Specific. Effortful. And my response was... Thank you.

Panic bubbled. Maybe he saw through my prickly text last night, but this blandness now? It could read as polite dismissal. Indifference. And any more perceived indifference, I realized with a sickening lurch, could finally push him away for good. This captivating, infuriating man was making bold moves, and I was responding like a malfunctioning robot.

No. No more indifference, no more stupid games that backfired. He'd proven he was still in play with the sketchbook. I needed to send a real message, acknowledge the gesture properly, show intrigue, keep that fragile hidden passage open. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard, urgent determination replacing anxiety. What excuse did I have left not to try? Acknowledge the drawing? Ask about the code?

Ping.

My phone lit up again. That same unsaved number. He replied? Already? To the 'Thank you'?? Before I could even craft my follow-up?

My eyes scanned the preview banner:

Riku Villanueva 💬 (9:35 AM): You're welcome, Architect. Hope the 'hidden passage' provides some inspiration. 😉 Let me know if you need help navigating it.

I froze. Hidden passage? Navigating it? With a winky face?!

Heat rushed up my neck. Oh, he was impossible! Utterly, infuriatingly impossible! He'd bypassed my awkward reply and dived straight back into cryptic flirtation, referencing the suggestive drawing and offering help navigating it? The audacity!

The butterflies went from frantic ballet to full-blown mosh pit. Part of me wanted to throw the phone in exasperation. He wouldn't let me regain footing! But another treacherous part felt a dizzying rush of kilig. He wasn't put off. He was engaging, teasing, keeping the mystery alive, directly inviting me to decipher his riddle. The winky face left no doubt – this wasn't architectural brainstorming.

So much for me sending a better follow-up. He'd lobbed the ball back, harder, with suggestive spin I couldn't ignore. I stared at his message, resolve dissolving into confused excitement. Now what?

He really was pushing all my buttons, wasn't he? It felt like he countered every move, pulling me off balance, steering this interaction exactly where he wanted. He was in control. And the worst part? A chaotic, reckless part of me was starting to enjoy the ride.

He wants me. The realization hit hard. The notes, the stares, the meetings, the banter – targeted. At me. But the familiar cynicism followed: Is this special, or just his MO? Is there a line of sketched girls receiving architectural wooing?

Okay, Camille. Deep breath. Stop spiraling. I couldn't know his history now. All I knew was this moment. He'd thrown down a flirty, metaphorical challenge. And despite the confusion, the risk... I wanted to pick it up. Fine. Go with the flow. See where his "hidden passage" leads.

My thumbs moved, seeking words that played along but still sounded like me. Not cold this time. Cautiously intrigued? Honest, but metaphorical? After deleting a few inadequate phrases, I typed:

Me 💬 (10:40 AM): The hidden passage is... intriguing. (True.) Still figuring out where it leads. (Understatement.) Some corners feel deliberately unlit. (Acknowledging the mystery.) If I get turned around... (Admitting vulnerability...) I wouldn't mind a guide. 🧭 (There. Acceptance, framed in our game, softened by the emoji.)

I reread it. Dangerously honest. Far more open than before. Laying intrigue bare, hinting at risks, meeting his challenge with a tentative hand towards the 'navigation' he'd suggested. A significant step out from behind my walls.

Heart hammered. Too much? Too open? Handing him back control?

Screw it. Tired of second-guessing. I hit send before I could change my mind.

Tap.

The message bubble appeared beneath his provocative question. Stomach flipping with equal parts kilig and sheer terror. What have I just done? Invited the wolf closer?

I quickly put my phone face down, hand trembling slightly. Couldn't watch for Delivered or Read. I'd shown my hand, offered a clear signal wrapped in our shared language.

Now it was entirely up to Architect Riku Villanueva to decide where this hidden passage – and his potential role as guide – would lead us next. The wait felt more loaded, more critical, than ever before.