The noise of the keyboard somehow made me feel less lonely.
Sometimes I press random letters and zone out, imagining the millions of possibilities for us...
What if I had met you before? What if that tragedy had never happened? Is she prettier than me? Do you see me the way I see you?
Sometimes he looks like a puppy, eager to be praised, craving a "good boy" to keep him going. Other times, he barks at others for the most ridiculous reasons.
Trapped in his own mistakes, he loses sight of his goals. He's quick to anger but just as quick to come back. Smart but lacking maturity.
Handsome but married.
"I've talked to the clients about the changes we've made so far," Vick says, looking into my eyes. I glance back and forth between my laptop and his gaze, trying to create some emotional distance.
He looks away a couple of times at random things, and I eventually realise I'm being silly and shy in front of a man who is clearly not interested in me. Not to mention, we're working.
I look at his eyes again, this time more intently. It takes him a few seconds to adjust his gaze. I see him swallow, and his voice softens as he maintains eye contact. He doesn't blink, nor does he glance at his buzzing phone, as though the only thing he sees is me. You can call me delusional, but honestly, I'm struggling to understand him.
I didn't want this to happen. When he looked at me, my brain went haywire. I noticed how he looked fresh, as though he had just stepped out of the shower, dressed in casual wear that made him look effortlessly attractive. His arms, defined under the fitted shirt, his neck... it all looked so—
I wonder what he smells like?
"I need to take this call. I'll be back in a bit," he says, hesitating as he steps out. Trying hard to break eye contact. I nod and smile.
Did I listen to a word he said? Shit, I zoned out again.
I look underdressed, with no makeup, and, to tell you the truth, I haven't even showered today. I probably smell bad up close.
I'm not usually like this. I take extra care when meeting someone, especially someone handsome like him. Normally, I'd spend hours trying to look perfect. But right now, I'm not in that mental state.
I'm lonely, but I'm not looking for anyone to fill the void. I'm tired, moving like a robot, following instructions. Smiling without meaning it. Chasing guys who aren't into me.
His heart is broken, and yet I still wish to be in the arms of someone who doesn't see me the way I want to be seen.
"I need to leave early. Do you have time tomorrow afternoon?"
He asks without sitting down, holding his phone in his hand.
"I can after 4 pm," I answer.
To be honest, I'm free all day and night, but I blurted something out to make myself seem busy.
"Okay, then I'll leave now." He packs his things and leaves.
I stare at my screen, thinking about how ridiculous I must have looked in front of him. The fleeting thought of wanting to kiss him goodbye, maybe even leaving a little hickey, crosses my mind. My brain's dirty, and my face remains expressionless.
I lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling. My eyes drift to the artwork I made, painted with shades of red. I stare at it for a long time, long enough for my thoughts to wander back to what he was wearing today.
I unlock my phone, swipe through all my apps, and find zero notifications or messages. I felt restless and anxious. Seconds later, I'm frustrated with myself for having nobody to talk to and nothing to do.
I toss my phone aside, close my eyes, and force my imagination to drift. I picture him shirtless on my desk, pulling me closer, his hands on my lower back. His lips trail along my neck, and it tickles—
"Woof! Woof!" Spark barks, wagging his fluffy tail. My husky, with his adorable little tail and energetic vibe, interrupts my daydream.
I sigh and sit up. Spark must be hungry after playing around outside. My mom takes him to the playground every evening. He's energetic—unlike me.
The last few days marked the end of our meetings, and soon, we'd be going in different directions. Our time was short, and letting it go might be for the best.
"So, will you not be continuing this job?" he asks for what feels like the hundredth time.
"No," I reply firmly.
"What will you do next?" he asks, packing his stuff. This might be our last conversation. Are we ever going to see each other again? It's probably better this way.
"I'm not sure," I answer with an awkward smile.
He nods, understanding the emotional wall I've built between us. No matter how much either of us climbs, we'll never reach the other side.
"It's okay. You have time; you're still so young," he says, trying to reassure me.
I know what I'll do after quitting, but I don't want to share it with him. I don't want us to exchange secrets or personal truths.
"I hope so," I say, playing along.
"Don't worry about it. You could have stayed here, though. I'd help you if you ever changed your mind," he offers sincerely, too sweet for someone I've only worked with for a few days.
"I don't think I'll continue. It's too hectic for me," I laugh lightly.
"Yeah, sometimes it gets like that," he says with a pleasant smile.
"Are you leaving now, or do you have more work?" he asks.
"No, I'm done. I should leave now, or I'll miss the bus," I say, glancing at the time.
"I can drop you off. Have you had dinner?" he asks.
"I'm not hungry. If it's no trouble, can you drop me off near the bus stop?" I ask, suppressing both my hunger for food and my feelings for him.
"Yeah, sure," he says, his expression lighting up.
I think that moment stuck with me the most. My life feels like a string of unfortunate events, getting worse with time. I'm losing interest in my own existence.
Meanwhile, his life seems to get better with every step—passing exams, landing his dream job, getting married. He's lucky, even in small ways. Our project deadline got postponed twice, something that never happened during my entire time at work.
Whenever I'm with him, I'm reminded of how lucky some people can be. Except for the part where he's married—everything about him leaves a bittersweet taste in my mouth.
"Get in," he says, opening the car door for me.
We wrap up a few details about the project during the drive, and before I know it, we've reached my destination. Part of me is yelling and whining internally about how I made no progress with him. Another part is lamenting how important it feels to fulfil my desires, even if it means bending my ethics.
As I try to unlock the seatbelt, it sticks. Am I doing it wrong? Or is it just my bad luck making me look like an idiot again? Not now. Not during our last meeting. I want to leave with grace, without doing anything stupid or unprofessional.
"It's like that, don't worry. My friend's dog chewed on it, so it's not in great condition," he explains.
He leans over, stretching his arm to fix it.
A subtle wave of his scent—fresh, earthy, calming—hits me. So that's how he smells.
He struggles with the seatbelt, leaning closer. His chest is near my face, and his proximity makes my heart race. I'm blushing without hesitation.
*Beep, beep!*
A car horn blares behind us, its headlights flooding the space.
Vick startles, loses his balance for a moment, and accidentally grabs my boobs. My breath catches, my chest tightens, and I stop breathing for a second.
He's clearly flustered, his eyes wide as he pulls his hand away. He glances back and forth between me and the car behind us. Then he quickly sits back in his seat.
"Sorry, it was a mistake," he stammers, starting the car and parking it a bit farther away.
As the car behind us passes, I can't help but notice the faint outline in his pants. His formal black trousers do little to hide how hard he is. He's too nervous to realise I'm looking. His gaze stays fixed on the road.
"We can cut the seatbelt," he offers suddenly, his voice betraying his nervousness.
I press the button again, and this time, the seatbelt comes off.
"It's fine now," I say, relieved.
He looks at me, his expression blank, before nodding.
"That's great," he says after a pause.
"Thank you for the ride," I say, grabbing my bag.
"Sorry about earlier. I got nervous when they honked out of nowhere. There was enough space for them to pass," he says apologetically, fidgeting slightly, his face almost puppy-like with guilt.
"Yeah. It's alright," I reply softly, about to leave.
But I hesitate.
I don't want to leave things like this, with misunderstandings lingering in the air. Yet I don't want to complicate things either. We're better off keeping a healthy distance.
Still, something inside me doesn't want this to end on such a neutral note.
I turn back, lean in close to him, and whisper, "You should take care of that hard thing before you step out of the car. People might get the wrong idea"
His face flushes deep red, and I hear his breath hitch. His hands twitch slightly, and his gaze drops to his lap. I can't help but smile as I pull away, leaving without another word.
The entire night, I couldn't stop grinning. My mind kept wandering back to the same situation.
"What the hell did I just do! When we were almost becoming strangers"