When Bexley's editor Eva Mellon tries to dig up secrets on an impromptu 'Office Romeo', whose oblivious 'Juliet' stands in the way of 'her forever' with fellow colleague Josh, she finds herself eerily attracted to the no-nonsense, intimidating (but...
The cold air hit me when I walked towards the edge. The fading rain has left the air breezy and a little chilly. The petrichor hit my senses. A few drops drizzled on me as my hair dripped, and the shirt stuck to my skin. But I don't feel uncomfortable with it anymore. There were other disturbing things, and sticky, wet clothes weren't the daunting lot on the list.
The stifling cries buried within me came undone, and about half a minute later, I was crying frantically. Hints of sunlight usher on the horizon, and underneath, a world of polyester-clad people in rain shoes were speeding off to destinations they were to be. The thought felt too shitty at the moment, for I had not known where I was supposed to be. Only and if only I had known.
Perhaps I was all ash, nothing more, nothing less. Unless you get burned up bad, you don't realize that playing with fire is madness, and there I was, burning little by little, then all at once. Fuck, I was poetic. No offense to why people become poets after a heartbreak turns out pain is a bystander in the birth of art.
A moment later, I heard footsteps on the other side, and I knew I was not alone. I didn't turn around. Roof rules- Pretend you don't know each other. It made the place a bit better than all the others at Trivia. Smoke filled the air, and I heard footsteps approaching. I found a man, a little over thirty-something, standing beside me. A cigar pulled up to his lips as he took in another puff and smoked.
He wore a navy blue button-down and black-formal pants. Okay, not a Bexleyite, then. I couldn't help but notice that he had dyed his hair a popping, bright pink. Cool, I thought. He was not a Bexley employee.
"Wanna have some?" He offered, holding out a cigarette, and I shook my head, shifting on my side a little.
I tried concentrating on the ripples in the puddle that formed in the middle of the road. The car had splashed rainwater on the old lady, and she was cursing.
"Oh, you are one of those types!" He remarked after taking a smoke.
"What type?" I asked.
I was in no mood to be judged by a total stranger. He better shut up and fuck off, or be empathetic. I couldn't take another blow in a day. One thing at a time, please!
"The sad type who thinks they are too good for a smoke!" He said sarcastically.
"You don't even know me!" I hate this day! Ugh! Was this a fucked up month for Geminis? Maybe, I should go and get my planets checked. Nothing was going right.
"Cool off, Senorita! Take a cigarette. You need it!" He said and offered another one.
His eyes weren't judgmental anymore. He was trying to make it less awkward. Maybe he had seen me cry the shit out of myself. That would explain it, but with due honesty, I never smoked before.
Out of modesty I took it in, holding it between my fingers, not knowing what to do with it. I fidgeted with it a little as I put the lighter against it, but it wouldn't light up. How do you do this again? Defeat. I didn't know what I was doing.
"Fuck. You haven't lit up a cigarette before, have you?" He said and laughed.
"No, my boyfriend does that for me all the time. I am just out of practice." I lied. I don't want to come out as a prude. I never smoked my entire life, and I had zero knowledge of the dynamics of how to light the bud.
"Here, let me do that for you." He said and took the lighter, and then there it was, the orange flick of a freshly lit cigarette. I put the cigarette in between my lips and inhaled.
The smoke made me choke up, and I coughed badly. For anyone willing to try smoking, here's what you should know-
1. It tastes like shit.
2. The high is a mile away, but terminal cancer isn't. So don't. Just don't.
My eyes tear up from the coughing, and the man only stared at me as if he is ticking off the facts in his head.
"No shade there, but you are a shitty liar. You should have said you don't smoke! Like ever in life!" He laughed, and I found myself trying hard to gain my equilibrium.
"I am not lying! I have smoked. I have asthma." I said. Okay, that's a shitty lie. No one with asthma smokes without feeling like they were to die in one..two...three...four. Okay, max twelve seconds. But how will he know it all if he worked somewhere in the Trivia? It's all money and business here. No health expert or a medical prodigy would stroll here smoking!
"So you are dying? That's why you were crying. Sorry, senorita." He said and shrugged.
Ouch. Not all of it was a lie. I was dying (metaphorically), and I appreciated the pity shot. For the past half hour of my life, he was the only considerate person, so I could not help but feel a bit good, though it was all a lie.
"Know when I was your age, I was partying, getting stoned, and fucking mindlessly. It's sad that you have a job and will die so young." He said sympathetically, and I shifted on my toes. It was escalating to a personal level.
He wasn't like a hundred, so it was kind of awkward hearing from him, but I guess your 20s hit way differently than your 30s, so I'd give him that.
The cigarette remained a forgotten friend now.
"Good luck, Senorita!" He nodded and moved out while I cursed myself in my head for lying.
Some alone time at last!
I sighed when the elevator door opened once again. Will walked out of it, strolling towards me, and when we were a few inches away, he stopped. His eyes were an unknown, distant shade of grey.
What the hell did he want, now?
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