He’s taller than I last saw him.
That was my first thought when the familiar silhouette came out of the next room, me standing at the other end of the corridor with a bulky folder in my hands.
The next one was ‘he wasn’t supposed to be here’.
What business could he possibly have to even step into my office, my safe haven? From what I remembered he was supposed to work in a totally different department.
Had he changed job?
That job of his was a passion.
I doubt he would ever leave it for the sake of cash.
It’s not like he needed it.
I stood rooted on my spot and kept glancing aside.
So he was taller.
That navy blazer hung a bit looser for my liking.
I wanted to deduce that work got the best of him, but that geeky yet sheepish smile of his hadn’t disappeared from that face.
The only magnificent change is the lack of glasses.
Not complaining though.
Audible enough for him to hear it and looked my way.
He raised his eyebrows.
I chuckled, walking up to him.
‘What?’ he asked, grinning.
I merely rolled my eyes and dragged him away by the sleeves.
He’s not you.
He was taller than you.
And skinnier than you.
He wasn’t wearing any glasses.
It was a delusion.
I inherited that when you left.
This is pretty fun because I’m currently working with a lot of foreigners and they all give me and my colleagues weird stares whenever we do something that’s out of their culture (yet, we love seeing their reaction to everything we do).
For example, one sunny day.
A local: “Before we start today’s event… let’s pray.” All locals: *look down and silently pray* All foreigners: “………..?” One of the foreigners: *actually poked one of the locals and whispered* “What are they doing?” The poked local: “Praying.” Another foreigner: “Why are they praying?” That same local: “So today’s event goes well.” That first foreigner: “…is this normal?”
All those happened while we were still praying (or rather tried to).
Or when we were having lunch…
Local A: *offers banana fritters, aka “pisang goreng”*
Foreigner A: “Ah, I know that, it’s goreng pisang right?” All locals: “No, it’s pisang goreng.” Foreigner A: “But in my place it’s called goreng pisang.” Local B: “Well this is from Indonesia.” Local C: “And we call this pisang goreng.” Foreigner A: “BUT-” Foreigner B: (to foreigner A) “You’re the minority. Give up already.”
You know how much we love tourists and foreigners, but us locals are very much protective on a few things – among them our food and our language. Pretty much whatever you say in invalid when you’re among us and our traditional food.
Prompt from here. Only took half of the prompt because you’re not my boss and this one came in time I had this weird yet fluffy dream.
He held my hand and took me around the town, him dragging me along the way while I tried to actually absorb the view.
At one point he turned to look at me without stopping.
I raised my eyebrows, silently asking if there was something in my face.
He merely chuckled and continued to walk, looking away with a grin across his face.
Prompt from here.
This is really 2 AM in where I’m at, so let’s see if my writing cave has a light in this wee hour.
There wasn’t any real thought in her half-awake mind when her phone bleeped in the middle of the night.
She groaned and rolled over, remembering what she last saw in the mirror in the shower. For one, she was too young to look that old. Panda eyes, dry skin, pale skin tone… why won’t people realise that a working girl needs her beauty sleep in order to submit anything readable? She glanced at the flickering screen, taking a deep breath.
It was her weekend off after days of non-stop hectic piles of papers; the office can survive 2 days without her. With that thought, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
She didn’t wake up until the phone screen flickered again after the sun rose the morning. This time, she decided that it’s enough sleep for a week and picked up her phone.
One text message.
No recognisable number.
And another message.
She wasn’t even fully awake yet, but what she saw in her screen made her jump up and ran to the door. It wasn’t locked. She left the door open the whole night. A litany of curse words streamed out of her lips.
Now the only mystery was who the bloody hell took the picture of her sleeping.