It was 11 at night when I stepped into the elevator at the Grand Palace Hotel. I had just finished a photo shoot that left me exhausted but satisfied. The doors were about to close when a hand stopped them. He stepped in slowly, as if time belonged to him. Dark suit, cologne that smelled like sandalwood and rain.
We stood in silence for eight floors. Eight floors where nothing was said, but everything was. When the elevator stopped at eleven, he turned before stepping out.
"I hope you're working at the hotel tomorrow too," he said with a half-smile that promised nothing but suggested everything.
The doors closed. I got to my room and smiled at the ceiling for a long while. Sometimes the best encounters are the ones that never go anywhere.