A Tale of a Colleague

I wish I could muster the courage to walk up to her and ask her if everything was okay. But all I could do was sit at my desk and steal glances of her from behind my computer. She was standing there with her arms folded, lips pursed, staring into nothing. Her eyes glistened as though she was on the verge of tearing up.

It seemed as though the world was swirling around her just like the thoughts inside her head while she stood still.

Something was bothering her, this I was sure of. But what it was that eluded her into such a beautiful daze, I could never guess. I sometimes envied the guy she mostly hung out with. Sometimes she would catch me looking at her and I would quickly turn and walk away in embarrassment. Sometimes she would smile as she passed by my desk, but I was always too slow to smile back. I was nervous and jittery.

Today, she wasn’t herself. She walked slower than usual, her eyes droopy and mellow, barely managing a dry-lipped smile as she frequented the meeting rooms. As these thoughts raced in my head, she still stood there as if frozen or in a spell. I think she knew that I had taken a liking for her or maybe I’m just disillusioned. But it was comforting to think so.

I carried thoughts of her back home and sometimes wondered what her life was like in her house. Not that I knew much while she was at work except her smile. I think it was the most beautiful charm that was cast on me. And she hadn’t a clue. But today she wasn’t smiling as often. I secretly wished I was the guy friend she spoke so often to. Lucky bastard! I noticed how he made her burst into peels of laughter. As much as I envied him, I smiled when I saw him cracking her up.

I popped up my head for a thieving glance and saw that she was plopped on her work desk, her face hung gloomily while her fingers ran the stretches of the laptop’s keyboard at great speed. As I sunk my head back, I wondered how it must feel to hold those hands and cross my fingers with hers. I was instantly daunted by the sparkling little rock she wore on her finger. I couldn’t help it. I often went overboard with such thoughts.

She reminded me of the high school sweetheart that you hoped you would take to prom to but never get around to doing it because she hardly ever noticed you. You could only hope, dream, or imagine to.

She is the kind that stayed in such abstract moments.

And I’m yet to tell her my first “hello”.


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