short fiction · 2026-10-26

The Elevator Protocol

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

The elevator arrives with a chime that no one acknowledges. Four people enter — a woman in a coat two sizes too large, a man rehearsing a presentation under his breath, a teenager with headphones that leak a thin percussion, and me. We arrange ourselves at the corners, a geometry of avoidance.

Floor three: the woman exits without a backward glance. The man stops rehearsing. The teenager adjusts volume. I check a watch that tells me nothing I need.

Floor seven: the man leaves, briefcase clicking a rhythm on the lobby tile. The teenager and I remain. She studies her phone. I study the door numbers lighting sequentially. Neither of us mentions the weather, the delay, the shared suspension.

Floor twelve: my floor. I step out. The doors close on her face, still illuminated by screen-light. The unspoken rule holds: we witnessed each other's waiting and called it nothing.