Olga Viktorovna sat in her office, thoughtfully twirling an expensive fountain pen between her fingers. This habit had developed long ago—twirling something in her hands when her thoughts drifted away from the numbers in the reports. Today, however, they stubbornly circled back to him.

Fifty-six years old. Two higher educations. A company with a turnover of hundreds of millions. The respect of colleagues. The fear of competitors. And suddenly—a feeling similar to what she experienced in school when she would steal glances at the boy from the next desk.“I’ve completely lost my mind,” she whispered to herself, abruptly rising from behind her desk.

Approaching the panoramic window, Olga looked down. Life was bustling below—her construction site, her pride. Among the workers in orange vests, a familiar figure caught her eye. Igor.

He worked as always—calmly, focused. He didn’t grovel before the management or try to stand out. He simply did his job, and did it conscientiously. For the third month in a row, she had found reasons to visit the site precisely when his crew was there. For the third month, she invented reasons for brief conversations.

It all started during a routine inspection. Olga always personally checked her projects. It wasn’t just about control—it was her way of feeling the pulse of the business.

That day, she noticed him for the first time. A short, sturdy man with streaks of gray in his dark hair.

Their eyes met, and Olga felt something strange—as if someone had switched on a circuit deep inside her that she had long forgotten existed.

“Good afternoon, Olga Viktorovna,” he nodded, without the ingratiating deference she was accustomed to seeing in employees’ eyes. Just a polite greeting between equals.

“Good afternoon,” she faltered, realizing she did not know his name.

“Igor Stepanovich,” he supplied with a slight smile. “Head of the finishing team. I’ve been working for you for two months now.”

“Yes, of course,” she nodded as if she had known all along. “How’s the work progressing?”

It was a typical question she asked at every site. But Igor’s answer differed from the standard reports.

“You know, I think there’s not enough light here. The windows were designed to be narrow, and yet this is supposed to be a kindergarten. Children love the sun.”

Olga raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Did you study the project?”

“How could I not?” he shrugged. “You can’t do a good job if you don’t understand its purpose.”

There was no reproach in his words—only genuine interest in the outcome.

Olga returned to her office and immediately reexamined the project. Indeed, the windows could have been made wider. She summoned the chief architect and insisted on changes. He argued about the additional costs, but she was unyielding.

As time went on, Olga began to notice that she was thinking about Igor more and more. She found herself adopting his perspective on matters she once considered black and white. She started finding reasons to visit the site, peeking into the trailer where the workers gathered after their shifts.

These visits did not go unnoticed. At first, there were whispers behind her back. Then, sidelong glances.

At the company’s annual celebration held at a suburban club, Olga ended up seated next to Viktor Sergeyevich, a long-time business partner. A man who once helped her get on her feet, and now owned twenty percent of her company’s shares.

“How’s the project coming along?” he asked.

“On schedule. I think we’ll even finish ahead of time,” she replied.

“I heard that you personally oversee all the work,” he said, a hint of mockery flashing in his eyes. “Especially the finishing work.”

Olga tensed. “I oversee everything that’s required,” she answered dryly.

“Oh, come on, Olya,” he smiled and placed his hand on her shoulder—a too familiar gesture. “We’ve known each other for years. Do you really think I don’t see what’s going on? That fellow of yours, Igor?”

She brushed his hand away. “What are you trying to say?”

“Only that you look ridiculous,” his voice now dripping with outright ridicule. “A woman of your standing and a mere laborer. Of course, you can afford a fling with anyone, but surely you’re not serious? He isn’t even in your league!”

Others around them—partners, clients, colleagues—pretended not to listen, but Olga knew every word was being eagerly captured, a juicy tidbit for office gossip.

“There’s nothing between Igor Stepanovich and me beyond a working relationship,” she stated in an icy tone. “And I won’t let anyone, not even you, Viktor, discuss my personal life.”

“Alright, alright,” he raised his hands in feigned alarm. “I’m just concerned about the company’s reputation. And yours too.”

She held his gaze, yet inside her, anger and—what was far worse—shame roiled. Because deep down, she knew he was right. Her feelings for Igor were absurd, out of place. She truly did look ridiculous. An older woman falling in love like a schoolgirl.

“There’s nothing between us,” she repeated louder than she intended, not even believing her own words.

The next day, Olga arrived at the site earlier than usual. She needed to see Igor, to talk to him. To explain. About what? That it was all over before it even began? That she couldn’t afford these feelings?

But he was nowhere to be found. Neither that day, nor the next.

“And where is Igor Stepanovich?” she asked the foreman casually.

“He transferred to another site,” he replied, not even looking up. “He asked for it himself.”

And then she realized: he knew everything. Perhaps he had been at the corporate event. Maybe someone had told him. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he left without saying goodbye. He vanished from her life as suddenly as he had appeared.

That evening, she sat in her empty apartment, gazing out the window. The city glittered with lights, living its own life. And she felt like a fish washed up on the shore—utterly helpless and lonely.

He was just a worker. One of the hundreds in your company. Forget about him.

But she couldn’t forget. His face loomed before her eyes, his voice resonated. She recalled their conversations, his smile, his look. And she felt as though she was losing something important. Something real.

For three days, she fought with herself. Three days of finding excuses not to go there, not to look for him, not to do anything foolish. And on the fourth day, she got in her car and dialed Marina’s number.

“I need the address of the site where Igor Stepanovich transferred.”

A long pause from the other end made Olga think the call had been dropped.

“Olga Viktorovna, are you sure that—”

“Address, Marina,” she interrupted sharply. “Just give me the address.”

The construction site on the outskirts of the city was far more modest than the one where they had first met. A typical multi-story building, nothing remarkable. Olga parked near the fence and sat for several minutes, gripping the steering wheel. What would she say to him? How would she explain her arrival?

“Leave. Now. Before things get any worse.”

Yet she got out of the car and headed toward the gates. The security guard recognized her, of course. He straightened up and greeted her. She nodded and walked inside.

She saw Igor immediately. He stood by a stack of bricks, explaining something to two workers. Just like in their first meeting. Her heart began to race somewhere in her throat.

She approached closer. The workers fell silent, staring at her. Igor turned around—his eyes widened.

“Olga Viktorovna?” he asked, surprised, but without much joy. “Is something the matter?”

“We need to talk. Why did you leave?” she asked directly, looking him in the eyes.

“I thought it would be better for everyone,” he replied, averting his gaze.

“Better? For whom?”

“For you. For the company,” he shrugged. “You know how quickly rumors spread.”

So, he indeed knew.

“If you left because of me—come back,” the words burst out unbidden. “Or tell me straight that you don’t need me.”

He looked at her for a long, deliberate moment. She saw surprise, confusion, and something else in his gaze that she couldn’t quite name.

“I thought you didn’t want to be involved with me,” he finally said. “After what you said at the corporate event.”

So, he had been told what she had said—all that nonsense born out of shame and fear.

“I lied,” she stepped closer. “And now I’m telling the truth. I need you, Igor. I don’t understand what this is, or what will come of it, but I don’t want to lose you.”

He was silent. It felt as if the whole world had paused, waiting for his response. Finally, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

“I was going to give you this,” he said, handing her the paper. “I intended to stop by this evening.”

She unfolded the paper and froze. It was a pencil drawing—of herself, standing by the window in her office, looking thoughtful, with a slight smile. The drawing was simple, yet it carried such warmth, such attention to detail, that it took her breath away.

“I already started missing you,” he simply said.

And then she did something she had never done before. Right in the middle of the construction site, under the gaze of dozens of workers, she embraced him. Firmly, desperately, as if afraid he would vanish.

“I miss you too,” she whispered.

“Here comes the director! And not alone!”—the news spread across the site like wildfire.

They walked side by side—a tall, elegant woman in an expensive suit and a sturdy, older man in work clothes.

That same evening, Olga sat in her office when the door opened and Viktor Sergeyevich entered.

“I heard you put on quite a show today,” he began without preamble.

She looked at him calmly: “And what are people saying?”

“That the CEO of ‘OlgaStroy’ was seen kissing a mere laborer right at the site!” he exclaimed, waving his hands. “Do you understand how this looks? What a blow it is to the company’s reputation!”

“I didn’t kiss anyone,” Olga smiled. “Not yet. And as for reputation… I’m fifty-six, Viktor. I’ve earned the right to a personal life. I won’t let you or anyone else dictate with whom I share my life.”

She paused, looking him straight in the eyes: “And if that doesn’t suit you, I’m ready to buy out your shares. Name your price.”

Viktor fell silent, stunned by her determination. He had known Olga for twenty years, but he had never seen her this liberated.

“You’ll regret it,” he finally said.

“I might regret many things,” she replied calmly. “But never letting myself be happy.”

Months passed. Olga and Igor often met after work—strolling around the city, going to the movies, simply talking.

One evening, while sitting on the veranda of her country house, “What are you thinking about?” Olga asked, gazing at Igor’s thoughtful face.

He took her hand in his—calloused, rough, warm.

“You build so much for others. Maybe we should build something for ourselves?”

There was no grandiloquence or lofty speech in his voice. Just a simple question. And she immediately understood its meaning—it was a proposal. Not a diamond ring or a ceremonial speech. Just an offer to be together—forever.

“Do you really think we can make it work?” she asked, squeezing his hand. “We’re so different.”

“But I think we’re more alike than you think,” he smiled.

She looked at their intertwined hands—her well-manicured fingers in his calloused palm. Different, yet perfectly complementary.

“Yes,” she said simply. “Let’s at least try to build something.”

And suddenly she realized: at fifty-six, life was just beginning if you had someone who understood you. And Igor had shown that what was worth her love was not status, but actions.

The wedding was modest—only the closest were invited. No journalists, no showboating.

“And I never thought I’d marry a man who could build not only houses but relationships,” she smiled. “You know, I spent my whole life building a business, and you built my happiness.”

Their new life turned out to be brighter than before. They traveled—they visited those very Swiss mountains Igor had always dreamed of.

One night, Olga woke up in the middle of the night and stared for a long time at her sleeping husband. His face, so familiar, with the wrinkles by his eyes, with gray in his hair. She thought about how strangely life was arranged.

Everything that once seemed important—status, power, money—became secondary. And that which had once seemed impossible—true love, acceptance, happiness—suddenly became a reality.

Quietly, she got up and approached the window so as not to wake Igor.

He still woke up, and not finding her nearby, got up too.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked as he came up behind her and embraced her.

“I think not,” she replied, resting her head on his shoulder.

“About what?” he asked.

“About us. About how much I would have missed if I hadn’t gathered the courage to come for you back then. If I hadn’t admitted that I felt something.”

He kissed her temple: “I would have found you anyway. I’d have drawn a hundred more portraits and sent them each to you.”

She laughed softly: “And I wouldn’t have resisted?”

“No one can resist true feeling,” he said seriously. “Not even the most impenetrable businesswoman.”

They stood there, embraced, watching as the sky brightened. A new day was beginning for the life they shared—a life they had built together. Against all odds.

Because true love cares nothing for status or position. It sees the soul, the heart, the very essence of a person. And it builds bridges where others see only chasms.