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Me: What about me?
Unknown Number: What do you like to do?
I hesitate, tapping my fingers against the blanket.
Because the truth is…I don’t know anymore.
I’ve spent so much time working, scraping by, trying to make something of myself that I don’t even know what I’d do if I had the time.
Me: I used to like photography. But I never have time for it anymore.
Unknown Number: That’s a shame.
Something about that hits deeper than it should.
I don’t know why. Maybe because I hadn’t even admitted that to myself yet.
Me: Yeah.
A pause.
Then—
Unknown Number: You should make time for it. Before you forget why you loved it in the first place.
I let out a slow breath, staring at my screen.
And for a moment—just a moment—I let myself believe that maybe he’s right.
* * *
The fluorescent lightsin the office flicker slightly, buzzing overhead like they’re as exhausted as I feel. The air smells like burnt coffee and printer ink, the usual staleness of corporate misery settling over the rows of identical cubicles.
I’m halfway through an email, trying to convince myself that I don’t hate my life, when a shadow falls over my desk.
Ryan.
I blink up at him, my fingers pausing over the keyboard. He’s standing there, shifting on his feet, looking oddly nervous.
That’s new.
“Hey, Sasha,” he says, clearing his throat.
I glance around, suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that Brittany is standing a few feet away at the copier, pretending she’s not listening but very obviously listening.
“Hey,” I reply slowly. “What’s up?”
Ryan rubs the back of his neck. “Uh, so…I was wondering if you wanted to grab dinner sometime?”
I stare at him.
Did I hear that right?
My brain short-circuits for a second. Ryan is a coworker. A coworker who micromanages me to the brink of insanity. A coworker who has never once hinted at seeing me as anything other than someone to hover over while I work.
And now he’s asking me out?
I scramble for a response, not wanting to make this weird.