Two Lone Figures in a Darkened Office
I absolutely adore my desk area.
I sit at the farthest edge of the room, so I’m offered a stunning panoramic view of everyone. I see my colleagues as they first emerge from the door, or as they finally amble their way out after an exhausting day, the rowdy ones still energetic even when bidding their farewells, while the quieter (reclusive? introverted? shy?) ones like me inwardly pray that they can leave unnoticed, which rarely ever happens.
Soon, they’re being inundated by goodbyes from people they’ve never even spoken to. It’s amazing how others can be so friendly. Or thoughtless? It’s hard to tell.
Today, a few minutes past noon, the office (although it has never felt right to call it an office, not with how homely it feels like, not when you can still see vestiges of the old Spanish interiors, the only reminder of how the house was before it got transformed into a workplace) is close to empty.
If it weren’t for the bags on their chairs or the clutter on their desks, you’d have thought that they’re all absent. It doesn’t help that the room is bathed in semi-darkness, and that only a couple of lights are turned on.
Normally these things would have brought a smile to my face — after all, who doesn’t want a dose of peace and quiet every now and then? And with a hint darkness to boot. But now, for some reason, they don’t.
I ignore the rising foreboding inside me, and continue to type away mechanically on my laptop, a voice in my head droning out the words. The voice feels disconnected to me, the same way that I don’t have any inkling about the article I’m working on anymore.
All I can hear is their boisterous laughter in the kitchen, reverberating in the room even with the bulky wooden door closed. I hear the clamor of the utensils against the plates. I sense their sheer delight.
After a few more seconds, the people in my team also punch their lunch. Without sparing me a glance, they file out of the office to eat in some fancy fast food chain, the way they always do.
Shrill voices a few meters away. Strings of laughter.
A lone figure in an otherwise vacated room, the glare of her laptop screen illuminating her features. It’s difficult to discern the expression on her face, but it looks as though she’s on the verge of tears.
I don’t know how long I’ve been in that position, or when the pitter-patter of the keyboard has finally faded away. I didn’t even the notice the main door open again, and it’s only when the hesitant voice slices through the silence that I finally shake off my trance.
“Hey, you had lunch already?” He’s one of me (the more withdrawn ones, although he managed to get along with everyone else), and I can see how much of an effort it is for him to strike a conversation.
But I also see that he’s doing this not because he has to, but because he wants to. For my sake.
In my total befuddlement, I can only murmur a few incoherent words.
“Take a break, alright?”
More garbled mumbling.
It’s only when he rejoins them in the kitchen, and I’m left to wallow in my solitude, that the tears finally fall.
It’s the first kindhearted thing anyone has ever said to me here.
After weeks of employment.
