Chapter Text
Four years after everything finally settled, after the late nights, the career jumps, the breakdowns, the “are we even surviving this?” phase, Sandrone and Columbina had become… annoyingly successful.
Not in a flashy, influencer-posting-my-bag-everyday kind of way. More like the quiet, corporate-achiever kind. The type where your coworkers whispered about your salary range and HR pretended not to notice how often executives asked for your input.
Sandrone was now a manager in the engineering division. Not “acting,” not “temporary,” not “in training.” Official. With her own glass-walled office, her own assistant, and her own name on emails that made people reply within five minutes.
Columbina, meanwhile, had climbed her way up HR like it was a competitive sport. She was now a supervisor, handling recruitment, evaluations, and internal relations. People were terrified of disappointing her, not because she was scary, but because she was… calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that made you rethink your entire career choices.
They worked in the same company. Same building. Different floors. And yes, everyone knew they were together. They didn’t even bother hiding it.
At first, years ago, they’d tried. Separate lunches. “We’re just coworkers” excuses.
That lasted exactly two months.
After that, Sandrone started bringing Columbina coffee every morning. Columbina started waiting for Sandrone after meetings. They shared elevators. They shared glances. They shared inside jokes that no one else understood.
Eventually, people stopped pretending. By now, they were known as that couple. The stable one. The long-term one. The “still not married?” one. Which… was exactly Columbina’s problem.
On a random Tuesday, during their usual break, Sandrone was sitting in her office, staring at her laptop like it personally offended her.
Her screen showed numbers. Graphs. Projections. None of which were cooperating.
She rubbed her temples. “Why do machines hate me today,” she muttered.
Right on cue, her door opened without knocking.
“Because you offended them in your past life,” Columbina said casually, walking in with two drinks in her hands.
One iced coffee. One strawberry milk.
Sandrone looked up. Instantly smiled. “You’re late.”
“HR emergency.”
“Was it actually an emergency?”
“No.”
“Thought so.”
Columbina handed her the coffee and dropped onto the couch like she owned the place. Which, honestly, she kind of did.
Sandrone took a sip. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“I know.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment. The kind that only comes from years of being together. No awkwardness. No need to fill the space. Just… existing.
Then Columbina spoke. “So… Rosalyne posted again.”
Sandrone blinked. “About what?”
“Her honeymoon.”
“Oh.”
“She and her boyfriend—sorry, husband—are in Liyue now.”
Sandrone nodded. “Good for them.”
“They look annoyingly happy.”
“That’s usually how honeymoons work.”
Columbina hummed. “And Zhongli and Childe just got engaged.”
Sandrone froze. Just for half a second. Barely noticeable. But Columbina noticed.
“Oh?” Sandrone said, pretending not to care. “Nice.”
“Very nice,” Columbina continued. “Big ring. Fancy dinner. Whole company talking about it.”
“Wow,” Sandrone replied, still focused on her screen. “Corporate gossip moves fast.”
“Mhm.”
Columbina leaned back against the couch. “You know… it’s funny.”
Sandrone glanced at her. “What?”
“How fast time passes.”
“Is this your emotional phase again?”
“No,” Columbina said. “This is my observant phase.”
“That sounds worse.”
Columbina laughed. “We’ve been together for… what? Almost five years now?”
“Four years and eight months,” Sandrone answered immediately.
Columbina stared. “You counted?”
Sandrone shrugged. “I remember things.”
“Wow. Impressive.”
“I know.”
Another pause. Then Columbina sighed dramatically. “Five years is a long time.”
Sandrone’s fingers slowed on the keyboard. “It is.”
“People usually do… things… by then.”
“Things?”
“Life things.”
Sandrone swallowed.
“Like…getting married.”
There it was. Sandrone pretended to scroll.
“Mhm.”
Columbina tilted her head. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Sandrone said too fast. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“No reason.”
She smiled. The dangerous kind. The teasing one. The I-know-what-I’m-doing smile.
The thing about Columbina was, she never said what she meant directly.
She didn’t go, “Let’s get married.”
She didn’t go, “Why haven’t you proposed yet?”
She didn’t go, “Put a ring on my finger.”
No.
She preferred psychological warfare. Subtle hints. Casual mentions. Weaponized stories. Like now. Over the next few weeks, it got worse. Every lunch. Every break. Every ride home.
“Rosalyne says married life is fun.”
“Zhongli and Childe are looking for a house.”
“Our department is planning a wedding shower.”
“HR processed five marriage benefits this month.”
“Did you know our insurance covers spouses?”
Each time, Sandrone reacted the same way. Smile. Nod. Panic internally. Because she had thought about it. Of course she had. For years. She loved Columbina. More than anything. She had imagined it. A ring. A proposal. A future. But timing. There was always timing.
Work was hectic. Promotions. Responsibilities. Pressure. She kept thinking, “Soon. When things are stable.”
And now…
Things were stable. Which was terrifying.
One afternoon, Sandrone walked into the pantry and found their friend group already there.
Rosalyne. Zhongli. Childe. A few others.
Columbina was in the middle, laughing.
“Oh my God,” Rosalyne said, “when are you two getting married?”
Sandrone choked on her water.
Columbina blinked innocently. “Oh, I don’t know.”
Childe grinned. “Five years and counting. That’s suspicious.”
Zhongli nodded. “Statistically speaking—”
“Don’t,” Sandrone said weakly.
Rosalyne leaned closer to Columbina. “Do you want to get married?”
Columbina smiled. “I’m open to life.”
Sandrone almost passed out.
That night, Sandrone couldn’t sleep. She stared at the ceiling. Her brain replayed every hint. Every comment. Every look. She rolled over.
Columbina was asleep beside her, peaceful, unaware of the internal chaos she caused.
Sandrone whispered, “I’m not avoiding it. I’m just… scared to mess it up.”
Because that was the truth. She didn’t want a rushed proposal. She didn’t want something average. She wanted it to be perfect. For Columbina.
Sandrone never asked. Not once.
Not “Do you want to get married?”
Not “Are you ready?”
Not “What do you think about us?”
Because that wasn’t her. She wasn’t the type to sit someone down and have a serious, perfectly-worded conversation about feelings. She was the type to panic quietly. To overthink privately. To prepare excessively. To turn emotions into spreadsheets. Literally.
It started after Columbina’s first few “comments.” Not obvious ones. Just… observations.
“Rosalyne looks so happy with her ring.”
“Zhongli said wedding planning is stressful but fun.”
“Imagine having someone who’s legally stuck with you forever.”
Every time, Sandrone just smiled and nodded. Every time, she went home and opened her laptop. And made a file.
“Project: Future (Do Not Delete).xlsx”
Hidden inside three folders. With a fake name. Inside another fake folder. Like government secrets.
At first, it was simple. One sheet.
Column A: Date
Column B: What Bina Said
Column C: Context
Column D: Possible Meaning
Column E: My Reaction (Fix This Next Time)
She told herself it was just “being organized.” It was not. It was emotional survival. Then she started color-coding.
Pink: Marriage-related
Blue: Ring-related
Yellow: House/future
Green: Baby-related (she tried to delete this category three times)
Red: “She said this while staring at me. Dangerous.”
Every hint went in. Every joke. Every “random” comment. Every “by the way.”
She remembered everything. Because she had no family. No parents. No siblings. No one to fall back on.
Columbina was her only constant. Her only home. So if she was going to do this… She was going to do it right.
Meanwhile, Columbina had no idea. She just thought Sandrone was being… Sandrone. Quiet. Attentive. Sweet. Clueless. Which was funny. Because Sandrone was secretly planning her entire life.
They lived together in Sandrone’s house. Money had never been an issue. They both earned too much for their age.
They joked about it sometimes.
“Imagine us being broke,” Columbina said once.
Sandrone laughed. “Impossible.”
They were comfortable. Domestic. Too comfortable. Cooking together. Doing laundry together. Fighting over pillows. Arguing about thermostat settings.
Basically married without paperwork. Which made Columbina start hinting more.
One night, while brushing her hair, she said casually,
“Rosalyne says living with her husband feels different.”
Sandrone froze. Mid-toothbrush. “…Different how?”
“More secure, I guess.”
Sandrone nodded. Went to bed. Added a row. Pink. Red. Three exclamation points.
Another time, while shopping online,
“Rings are so expensive.”
Sandrone choked on her drink. “Why are you looking at rings?”
“Oh, I’m not. It just popped up.”
Liar.
Spreadsheet updated. Three new tabs created.
Soon, Sandrone had:
• A list of possible ring styles
• A budget range (three tiers)
• Proposal locations
• Backup proposal locations
• Worst-case scenarios
• “If she cries” plan
• “If I cry” plan
• “If we both cry and forget words” plan
She even had a tab called: “What Bina Probably Likes But Pretends Not To.”
It was accurate.
Sometimes she’d sit in her office late at night, staring at her laptop. Not working. Planning.
While Columbina slept upstairs. Completely unaware.
The friend group noticed first.
“Why does Sandrone look tired?” Childe asked.
“Love,” Zhongli answered wisely.
“She’s been opening Excel a lot,” Rosalyne added.
That was the biggest red flag.
Columbina started teasing more. “You’re always busy.”
“Manager life.”
“You don’t even notice when I flirt.”
Sandrone panicked internally. She noticed. She just documented it.
Sandrone sat at her desk, headphones on, tapping away at her laptop like it was any other Tuesday. Her fingers moved over the keys with precision, editing a report here, answering emails there. Everything looked… normal. Too normal.
Columbina wandered by a few times during breaks, humming to herself softly as she passed Sandrone’s cubicle. “Busy as usual,” she murmured, almost as if speaking to herself, and Sandrone didn’t look up. That was good. Perfect, even.
Inside her laptop, Sandrone’s world was anything but ordinary. Rows and columns, color-coded tabs, hundreds of notes meticulously organized. Pink for potential proposals. Yellow for wedding ideas. Green for future baby planning—though she still refused to admit that one even existed outside the spreadsheet. She had even drafted a “Plan B” in case Columbina said “later” or “we’ll see” to any subtle hint she might drop in the future.
Every time Columbina walked by, casually commenting about Rosalyne’s wedding or Zhongli and Childe’s engagement, Sandrone’s fingers itched to add a new line. But outwardly, she kept her calm manager face. Typing. Clicking. Smiling politely at incoming messages.
Columbina, for her part, didn’t notice a thing. She saw Sandrone taking notes constantly, occasionally scribbling something in a notebook. “She’s so focused today,” Columbina thought. Maybe some big project was due. Maybe a new client. Managers always had too many things to do.
And yet… she had a tiny suspicion that Sandrone was hiding something. Maybe it was the slight twitch when she mentioned ring shopping. Or the way Sandrone’s eyes flicked up, just for a second, when she joked about married couples.
“Mm, what’s she up to?” Columbina wondered idly. She didn’t press. She was HR. Observing. Letting Sandrone be. There were boundaries. And besides, managers had secrets. That much was obvious.
So Columbina left the cubicle alone, humming quietly, spinning her pen between her fingers, and thinking maybe she’d tease Sandrone later. Just a little. Nothing too obvious.
Meanwhile, Sandrone exhaled quietly, glancing at the screen. Her carefully constructed spreadsheet blinked innocently at her. No one would see it. No one could. It was her sanctuary, her planning board, her silent declaration of love—and her panic.
Columbina leaned on a nearby counter, chatting with Childe and Zhongli about the latest engagement gossip. She laughed softly, tossing a glance in Sandrone’s direction.
“She’s been like this all week,” Childe said, waving a hand. “The ‘I’m too busy to breathe but also definitely hiding something’ type.”
Columbina smiled faintly. Maybe. Possibly. She didn’t question it. Managers always had secrets.
Sandrone tapped her pen on the desk, making sure everything was color-coded correctly. Pink for proposals, yellow for wedding ideas, blue for potential locations. She even had a column titled, “If Bina notices subtle hints—how to proceed without panicking.”
And no one would ever see it. Not now, not ever.
For now, that was enough.
Columbina didn’t see the spreadsheet. She only saw the calm, professional manager who seemed… normal. Busy. Organized. Slightly intimidating.
And Sandrone? She smiled faintly to herself, knowing that one day, every tiny hint would pay off. She just had to survive the slow, teasing game that Bina had started—and keep her spreadsheet hidden.
To be continued…