The Virus

How many times has he dreamed of being alone with her? In his fantasy, he has been her rescuer, her clown, her prince, her one true love...

But now that he is actually ALONE with HER, he is not prepared to play the role of a dripping wet disheveled cursing knight in distress as she enters the elevator.

He then tries to evade her pitying glances. He looks down to his now shoggy pair of loafers. Just a while back, he accidentally missed his bus stop and in the middle of walking the distance, the rain poured out all its mighty menace on him.

Now he is soaking wet.

"Achooo!"

"You can't go to work like that--" She comments, her last word recoiling up and down his spine.

"Uh-huh. But I can't go home either. I have a deadline before noon."

"By noon, you'll go down with the flu and you'd be lucky if you can concentrate at all on finishing your report."

"I'll take that risk-- aacchu!"

"Save the virus and do yourself a favor, go home."

"No."

"You know what, sometimes, you need to think of yourself first."

"How can I do that when all I can think of is you--" He suddenly blurts out. He bits his tongue and curses himself. How could he think that loud?!

"Wha--"

"Ehrr-- I mean-- why aren't we on our floor yet? We're running late!"

"Did you mean that?"

"Yeah, I do! We're going to be really late! Oh, we haven't pushed a button yet, that's why!"

"You know what your problem is? You don't really care about me. Because if you do, you'll listen to me. I'm concerned about you getting sick. And you know what else? You're not thinking of me at all, because if you really do, you won't keep me guessing about what you really feel for me--"

And as he stares back at her sad eyes, he feels rooted at his drenched spot, dejected all over again.

Suddenly, she says in a caring soothing whisper, "Really, please Zach, take a cab, go home, change into dry clothes and be back before ten. I'll cover up for you. Then treat me to a nice lunch later."

She then pushes the "open door" button and waits for Zach to step out of the elevator.

Before the door closes, he catches her mischievous grin that turns into the sincerest and sweetest of her smiles.

Somehow, he feels warm now. Almost dry even. Maybe he doesnt' need to go home and change?

But he can't let Suzanne down. For today, he is not just daydreaming.

First and Last Favor

Leila will always refer to his smile as the Mint Chocolate Chip Baskin Robbins ice cream of her heart. Seeing him smile, like he does now, sends shivers up her spine making her hands and feet cold, yet her heart warm all over. She can’t explain why every time Ned smiles, she starts to feel as if nothing else matters but his cherubic face, and the stubborn “zing!” in her heart.

And there is also his pair of eyes that become slits under his dark eyebrows whenever he laughs. There it is again! His face looks like the perfect portrait of a face all aglow with sheer happiness.

No, Ned’s smile isn’t for Leila. She doesn’t even know who it is for. All she knows is that Ned is now laughing while carelessly clutching the phone to his ear.

The hell she cares who he is talking to!

Hell, she cares. A lot. In fact, there’s nothing on her mind but Ned and his smile, Ned and his laugh, Ned and his cherubic face, Ned and the sound of his voice, Ned and everything that makes the “zing” on her heart sounds like Bach, or maybe Beethoven, or Skid Row.

Yes, she cares. She has a fancy word for how she’s feeling now. Love at first day at work.

But Ned doesn’t. Try with all her might, Ned will never see her as special as the one whom he is talking to over the phone. He doesn’t even know her name and her table is just next his, and it’s her first day—

“Leila? Leila, right?” Ned covered the mouthpiece and turned to Leila.

“Yep, and you’re Ned, right?” Leila said while trying to sound casual, although she felt herself choke.

Ned winked and carelessly shuffled through the papers on his table, the phone now cradled by his shoulder to his ear. Then he turned to Leila and in the most gentle voice said, "Heard you were the fastest typist ever recruited by Butter Fly Limited—will you please help me with this?" and handed Leila a paper with marks and comments on the margin.

Leila took it, read it, "What help do you need? I mean, this is uh—"

“I don’t want to type it myself, can you please, please?” implored Ned as if all that matters to him is Leila’s help.

Leila smiled, half-heartedly. She turned her computer on and waited for Ned to tell her he was just joking.

But Ned wasn't joking. He now put down the phone and turned to Leila again.

"Thanks, really. The truth is, I can't make myself do it. I like it here, you know, but sometimes one has to leave things that he likes to be with things and people he loves," explained Ned.

Well, then, good luck,” is all Leila could say. She could have asked him what he meant but she couldn’t make herself do it. There was a gargantuan lump in her throat, and she was trying so hard to fight back the tears.

Leila ran the word processor and clicked the new blank document icon. She blinked at the paper lying alone on her clean table.

This is Ned’s first, and well, last favor. It gripped her heart with a wrench of unimaginable hurt and regret. She couldn’t still believe as she read the letter in front of her, Ned’s letter. Though harder she stared, words didn’t mutate into a memorandum. The first sentence still reads, “This is to tender my irrevocable resignation effective immediately.”