The 4:00 PM Slump (And Other Things That Keep Us Alive)
Why can’t time move faster?
I stared at the glowing monitor, completely tapped out. Every report had been submitted, every task ticked off, and if I was being completely honest, the entire floor had effectively checked out an hour ago. It was Thursday. The air in the office was thick with that distinct, pre-weekend buzz—the collective, desperate yearning to escape the fluorescent lights. Down the hall, someone was already laughing a little too loudly. Everyone had plans. Everyone was ready to live.
Lately, socializing felt like a chore I hadn’t subscribed to. It drained me just as fast as my phone’s deteriorating battery. My ideal evening didn’t involve crowded bars or small talk; it involved the quiet sanctuary of my apartment. I wanted to unlock my door, be greeted by my cat, Carrot, and spend the evening in absolute, uninterrupted peace. I’d eat dinner with Carrot watching me beg for a scrap, maybe finally crack open that book that had been gathering dust on my nightstand for weeks, or just mindlessly stream my favorite show.
Living alone was hands-down the best decision I’ve ever made. Sure, there are fleeting moments where the silence feels a bit too heavy, and yeah, it gets lonely. But most of the time? I’m profoundly glad to be alone. I would never, ever barter my peace and solitude to share a space with someone else.
“Hey, are you going with us later?”
The voice rused me from my daydream. I blinked, looking up to find Lana standing beside my desk. Confused by whatever conversation I had clearly tuned out, I just stared at her and shrugged my shoulders.
“Come on,” Lana insisted, leaning in. “We’re planning to go to that new Korean barbecue place. You love samgyupsal, so you better come with us. After all, it’s been a while since you actually went out with the group.”
I mulled this over for a moment, mostly just to torture her. But she had a point. I did love samgyupsal, and I’d been eyeing that specific restaurant since its grand opening, never quite finding the energy to try it. And she was also right about the other thing—I had been saying “no” to them so often it was becoming my default setting.
I leaned back in my chair, narrowing my eyes playfully. “Who’s paying, though?”
I could pay for myself, obviously. But if someone else was willing to foot the bill, I might just decide to love that person. For the next twenty-four hours, at least.
“I’ll pay for you, for god’s sake. Just join us,” a voice groaned from across the aisle.
Erik pushed his rolling chair toward my cubicle with so much momentum I almost kicked him to keep him from crashing into my desk. Instead, I flashed him my widest, most dazzling smile.
“This is the exact reason why I love you the most among these peasants,” I declared.
“Peasants, you say,” Erik retorted, eyebrows raised. “But here you are, begging for a free meal.”
“Oh, come on. I’m a queen. I deserve to be treated as such.”
Erik promptly flashed me his middle finger. I flashed mine right back, laughing.
“So, are you coming or what?” Lana was still there, executing the most dangerous weapon in her arsenal: the puppy eyes. It was incredibly unfair how cute she was; she could pull off those expressions without looking ridiculous.
I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. No.
Lana pouted. The absolute audacity.
“Fine! Fine, I’m going,” I finally cracked, throwing my hands up in defeat.
Lana squealed, wrapping me in a sudden hug. As she celebrated her victory, a small voice in the back of my head whispered that I was profoundly going to regret this later. Dinners with Lana, Erik, and the rest of the department always followed a very specific trajectory. They almost always ended with someone getting entirely too drunk.
And ninety percent of the time, that someone was me.
5:00 PM: The Great Escape
When the clock finally chimed five, the entire office stood up in unison, a synchronized choreography of clicking mice and shuffling bags. It was as if spending even a single extra minute in the building would trigger a ancient curse.
The transition from the sterile office to the smoky, sizzling atmosphere of the Korean BBQ restaurant happened in a blur. The tables were packed, the smell of grilling pork belly was intoxicating, and before I knew it, the quiet evening I had planned with Carrot was replaced by clinking glasses and loud laughter.
9:30 PM: The Cool Down
“Hey. You’re drunk already.”
A hand reached into my line of sight and firmly took my beer mug away. I gasped, watching a few drops spill onto the tabletop. Erik was sitting right beside me, looking at me with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. Apparently, he had been keeping count.
“I’m not yet drunk, old man,” I slurred slightly, reaching out to reclaim my prize.
But Erik was faster. He lifted the mug and finished the remaining beer himself in one long draught. In its place, he slid a tall glass of ice-cold water toward me. I hadn’t realized how parched I actually was until the cold glass hit my lips. I drank half of it in one go.
To my right, someone was persistently poking my arm. I turned my heavy head to find Lana leaning in close, her mouth moving, but the ambient noise of the restaurant swallowed her words.
“What? Repeat that,” I yelled over the din.
“I said, I’m going home first!” Lana shouted back, a tired but happy smile on her face. “Dan’s been home for an hour already, and I’m completely wiped out.”
Dan’s her husband. They didn’t have kids yet, but they had a small army of dogs and cats at home, an army I was actively planning to kidnap one of these days. I just needed to convince Erik to be my getaway driver.
“You go ahead,” Erik called out to her, cutting in over my shoulder. “I’ll take this drunkard home.”
Lana nodded gratefully, grabbing her purse. Her departure seemed to signal the end of the night for the rest of the table. One by one, our coworkers began bidding their goodbyes, offering up varying degrees of excuses. Weak-ass people, I thought affectionately, waving them off.
Once the table emptied out, leaving just the two of us surrounded by empty small plates and the cooling grill, I pulled out my phone. My thumb fumbled over the screen, trying to open my ride-sharing app to book an Uber. My bed was calling my name.
Before I could hit confirm, a warm hand gently covered my phone screen, stopping my thumb in its tracks.
I looked up. Erik was looking at me, his expression softening. In a voice that was quieter than usual, completely dropping the sarcastic banter we’d traded all afternoon, he asked, “Do you want to walk for a bit instead?”
I looked at the app, then out the window at the city lights. My head was spinning a little from the alcohol, and a walk actually sounded like a good way to clear the fog before I locked myself away for the weekend.
“Yeah,” I murmured, sliding my phone into my pocket. “Let’s walk.”
10:15 PM: The Silence Between Us
We stepped out of the restaurant and into the cool, crisp night air. I took a deep breath, instantly glad I had agreed to his suggestion.
Walking with Erik was always a different experience. In the office, we were a chaotic duo of insults and sharp wit, but outside of it, time spent with him felt almost like therapy. He was one of the very few people in my life who didn’t feel the need to fill every silence with awkward, superficial topics. He just let the quiet exist. And for someone who protected their energy as fiercely as I did, I was incredibly grateful for that.
We walked in silence for several minutes, the rhythmic sound of our footsteps echoing against the pavement. The city was slowing down around us, the loud buzz of the restaurant fading into a distant hum.
But as we turned onto a quieter, tree-lined avenue that led towards the park, the atmosphere shifted. The comfortable silence we usually shared began to tauten, stretching thin with an unfamiliar tension.
I glanced sideways at him. Erik’s hands were shoved deep into his jacket pockets, his gaze fixed straight ahead. His jaw was set, and even through my lingering alcohol haze, I could feel it.
He was nervous.
Erik was never nervous. I slowed my pace slightly, wondering what thoughts were swirling behind his quiet exterior, and suddenly, the walk home felt a lot longer than it had a few minutes ago.
10:20 PM: The Shift
The silence between us grew heavier with every block we crossed. It wasn’t the usual, easy quiet where we could just exist in each other’s orbits without saying a word. This silence was loud. It was the kind of tension that makes your skin prickle, the kind that lets you know a single sentence is about to change everything.
I sneaked another glance at him. Erik’s knuckles were white inside his jacket pockets. He was chewing on the inside of his cheek, a nervous habit he only ever displayed right before a massive client presentation—and even then, never this intensely.
“Erik?” I finally broke the silence, my voice sounding smaller than I intended. “You’re being weird. Did you secretly lose a bet and now you have to tell me you accidentally deleted the quarter-end reports?”
I tried to laugh, trying desperately to pull us back into our safe zone of sarcastic banter. But the joke fell flat. He didn’t fire back with a quick retort. He just stopped walking.
We were under the amber glow of a streetlamp, just a block away from my apartment building. I stopped too, turning to look at him. The cool night air had done its job—the alcohol haze in my brain was gone, replaced by a sudden, sharp spike of adrenaline.
“I didn’t delete the reports,” Erik said. His voice was incredibly quiet, carrying a weight that made my stomach do a slow, nervous flip. He took his hands out of his pockets and looked directly at me. “I’ve been trying to find the right time to say this all night. Honestly, I’ve been trying to find the right time for months.”
Oh, no. Please, no.
A cold wave of panic washed over me. I knew that look. I knew where this road led, and every single survival instinct I possessed was screaming at me to pull the emergency brake.
“Erik, wait—” I started, taking a half-step back.
“No, just let me finish, because if I don’t say it now, I never will,” he interrupted gently, taking a step forward to close the distance. “I know how much you value your space. I know you love your solitude, and I’ve always tried to respect that. But the truth is… I don’t want to just be the guy who pays for your samgyupsal or bickers with you in the office. I’ve fallen for you. Completely. And I want to be the person you actually want to share your peace with.”
10:25 PM: The Flight Instinct
The words hung in the air between us, heavy and terrifying.
Any other girl might have found it romantic. It was romantic. Erik was funny, handsome, incredibly dependable, and he treated me better than almost anyone else in my life. But as his confession settled over me, it didn’t spark joy. It sparked a suffocating, blinding fear.
My brain immediately went into lockdown. Sharing my peace? My mind flooded with images of my quiet apartment, of the absolute freedom of being alone, of the safe, impenetrable walls I had spent years building around myself. Love wasn’t safe. Love meant vulnerability. Love meant letting someone into your space, giving them the power to disrupt your rhythm, to judge your mess, to eventually leave you with an even deeper silence when things fell apart.
I looked at Erik, his eyes full of a raw, hopeful vulnerability that I was entirely unequipped to handle.
“I…” My throat felt like it was coated in sand. “Erik, I can’t.”
“You don’t have to say anything right now,” he said quickly, reaching a hand out toward me, his fingers just brushing my sleeve. “I just wanted you to know—”
“No, you don’t understand,” I choked out, stepping back so violently I almost tripped over the curb.
The look of hurt that flashed across his face was instant, and it cut through me like a knife. But the panic was winning. It was a physical sensation now, a tight band wrapping around my chest, making it impossible to breathe. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t be what he wanted. I couldn’t risk the solitude that kept me sane.
“I have to go,” I whispered.
“Wait, let me at least walk you to your door—”
“No! Stay there. Please.”
Before he could say another word, I turned on my heel and ran.
10:30 PM: Sanctuary
I didn’t look back. I sprinted the remaining distance to my building, my heels clicking loudly against the concrete, tears blurring the edges of my vision. I burst through the glass lobby doors, past the startled security guard, and practically threw myself into the elevator.
My hands were shaking so violently I could barely get my key into the slot when I reached my door. When it finally clicked open, I stepped inside, slammed it shut behind me, and turned the deadbolt.
Click.
I slid down the back of the door, burying my face in my knees as the breath raggedly left my lungs.
A soft, familiar meow echoed in the darkness. A moment later, Carrot’s warm, furry body rubbed against my shin, his purr vibrating through my jeans. I reached down with trembling hands and scooped him into my lap, burying my face in his soft fur.
The apartment was exactly as I had left it. Quiet. Predictable. Safe.
I had my solitude. I had my absolute peace. But as I sat on the floor of my dark entryway, listening to the steady hum of my refrigerator, the silence didn’t feel like a sanctuary anymore. For the first time in a very long time, it just felt incredibly, devastatingly empty.
