For three years, I told myself it was just a phase.
A harmless crush.
Something that would melt away like ice under sunlight if I simply stayed focused, kept my head down and remembered the line I was never meant to cross.
His name was Mr. Roland.
My boss. Older. Married. The kind of man who carried calm in his voice and strength in his silence. He wasn't loud or boastful -just quietly present in a way that makes you want to lean closer, even when you shouldn't
He was the kind of man who spoke in low tones but made you feel like every word was meant for you. He wasn't flashy, his shirts were always crisply ironed, his hair always neat, and his wedding ring always in place. He carried the air of someone who had already seen too much of the world to be in a hurry anymore
I was only nineteen when I started working at the firm. A second-year university student trying to juggle lectures, assignments and a job that made me feel like I was stepping into the real world, one file at a time. I was grateful for the opportunity. But more than that, I was drawn to him in ways I refused to name
At first, I blamed the way he remembered my favourite tea -green tea with honey, no sugar. Or the way he always made sure I got home safely when we closed late, sending me messages like, "Text me when you get in, just to be sure". Or how he never spoke down to me even though I was the youngest in the office. I told myself it was just admiration. Maybe even misplaced gratitude
But admiration shouldn't linger in my chest when he walks past.
Gratitude shouldn't leave me breathless when he smiles.
And so, I learned to mask it.
To school my features into professionalism. To clap politely when his wife brought lunch or sent flowers on their anniversary. To listen when he spoke about his daughter with quiet pride. To be a good employee. A good girl. Uncomplicated.
Still, my heart didn't always listen.
The feelings didn't go away. They simply grew legs, learned how to sit quietly in my ribcage and watch him from across the room like they belonged there. I even tried to quit once. I wrote the resignation letter, folded it, held it like a lifeline.... then tore it up the same night. I couldn't bring myself to leave, not yet.
And just like that, a year became two. Then three.
And then everything changed.
The ring on his finger disappeared. His smile faded around the edges. Whispers filled the corners of the office.
It wasn't long before we heard what happened: They had separated. He was no longer with his wife
I didn't know what I was supposed to feel. Relief? Guilt? Hope?
I sat with all of them. None of them stayed long enough to give me clarity
I avoided being alone with him after that. Not because I was scared of him, but because I was scared of myself -of what I might say, or worse, what I might hope for.
But life has a way of putting you exactly where you swore you wouldn't be
It was a quiet Thursday evening. Most of the office had emptied. I was wrapping up some reports when he came to my desk, tea in hand and a softness in his eyes I'd never seen before
"Green tea" he said, placing it beside my mouse. "No sugar. Still your favorite?"
I nodded, and for a moment, I didn't recognise the way he was looking at me. There was something searching in it. Something tired but clear
He didn't sit. He stood there, hands in his pocket, voice low
"I've had feelings for you, Libby. For a while. I kept pushing it down.... because of everything -your age, my marriage, your future. But things are different now. And I'm not saying this to make it harder for you"
He paused. His jaw flexed like he was chewing through the weight of what he was about to say
"I just needed to say it. That's all. I won't bring it up again unless you do. I'll respect whatever choice you make. You're young. You have a life ahead of you. I just.... wanted you to know"
And just like that, he gave me one last look -gentle, maybe even a little sad- turned, and walked away
He didn't wait for my response. He didn't ask me to stay back. He didn't expect anything. He just left the tea on my desk, still warm.
And I.... I stared at it. For a long time.
I didn't know what to feel.
Or maybe I did.
But I needed time
Time to listen to the part of me that had waited quietly for years.
Time to ask myself what I wanted -outside of fear, outside of guilt, outside of everything I thought I wasn't allowed to feel
So I stayed there, in that fading golden light of a Thursday evening, my hands wrapped around a paper cup, and my heart between then and now.
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