The cleaner in an empty house

It was a terribly hot afternoon when Clara entered the spacious, empty house. The dust danced in the light that fell softly through the tall windows. She was the cleaner and had the task of restoring this old, overgrown property to its former glory. But it wasn't just dust that kept them in this place. Even the first steps on the polished parquet awakened inexplicable feelings in her. It wasn't just the solitude of the house, it was something else that was in the air, an almost sparkling whiff of mystery. Clara had met the owner of the house once before, a man with penetrating eyes and a charisma that immediately captivated her. Now, in his absence, she felt unnecessarily alive; the house was completely empty and yet full of unspoken stories. She vibrated with every single wipe of the cloth across the furniture. The increasing heat in the air made her heart beat faster. Wrapped up in that moment, it was almost as if he would step through the door at any moment. She imagined him looking at her with such a hot look that would yield to every pulsation within her. Noises outside snatched her mind. Nomadic birds moved across the sky. Repetitive movements, over and over, prevented her from concentrating. A few minutes later, when the echo of the last work stopped, she noticed the octagonal staircase leading up to the first floor. With a quick look at the rooms, Clara decided it would be the ideal opportunity to take a look. Hand in hand with the uncertainty, she leaned forward and felt the tingling as she entered the first step. Her steps echoed through the silence, and in the oversized silence, thoughts and fantasies about him gathered in her head. Once at the top, the room was full of shadows, streams of light seemed to dance and whisper. As she entered the bedroom, her heartbeat slowed. The room was still untouched, and the overgrown wrap of the bed carried the scent of fresh laundry full of promise. She suddenly heard a sound that shivered and excited her at the same time. It was the door that closed behind her. Twirling, she turned around, and her heart stopped for an unreal moment when she saw him. The owner of the house, whose passionate gaze pulled her out of joint for a brief moment, stood in the door frame. His dark hair fell into his forehead and his penetrating gaze pierced it ice-cold to the core. A mysterious smile wrapped around his lips as he penetrated the room and approached the few steps. Clara's breathing became shallow, the air crackled between them. It was as if time had stood still. Without saying a word, they looked at each other, a long, tense moment. Her pulse was racing as he got closer. The distance between them melted like ice flowers in the summer heat. What was going to happen in that room was inevitable, and as he stood in front of her, she had the feeling that space, time, and all rules were falling apart...