The window across the street

He sat at his desk staring out the glass window. His office was in the city. A big corporation, multinational. He had worked there almost 6 years now. He had loved his desk since it was next to the window and allowed him a view of the main street. There was an old church diagonally across the street, the City Hall building next to the church and there was another office building of another multinational right across. Whenever he was bored of his work or whenever he had none, he would glance out the window and drift away in the many scenes and sounds. 

The street was busy with pedestrians, cars and buses. There were food carts on the side walk and people waiting to get their orders. There were flower vendors and supporters and protestors of various causes holding their banners in passive support. But he wasn't taking in any of it. His eyes were fixated on the window in the building across the street. 

Her desk was next to that window in the building across the street. She was a stranger and yet he had seen her everyday for the last six years. She was 30 now, about his age. He knew this since he saw her colleagues celebrate her birthday at her desk every year. She was 24 when he saw her the first time. She was shown to her desk by some supervisor lady and from that day on she sat at the desk by the window. She had dark brown hair which looked soft golden in the glow of the sun. She had worn a floral print dress that day. She arranged her things carefully on her desk. Some pictures of her and her friends, a small flower vase where she put in a new flower each day, some papers, pens and her computer. She was slender, poised and always seemed to be working. He glanced at her many times in a day, she never seemed to reciprocate.

He had seen her come to office everyday at about 9. She took the train. She used to leave office by 5. He would try and coincide his time with hers and grab the same train. He would see her get down 2 stops prior to his. At tea time, sometimes he saw her chat with some people from work. She looked lovely every time she smiled. He believed she had a lovely voice. He liked her.

Four years ago he saw her add a new picture on her desk. She posed with some guy who was down on his knee. That day in the train he saw the ring on her finger. She was engaged. She looked happier those days every time he saw her talking on the phone. He told himself he should stop looking out the window. He wasn't sure if he wanted to change his desk. He saw her take the train with her fiancé in the evening at times. He would bury his face behind a news paper or a book. 

He didn't see her at work for a month. The desk still had her things and he assumed she went on vacation. When she returned he saw her arrange a picture on her desk. She was a bride. She was walking in the sunset with her fiancé. His eyes teared up. He got up from his desk and went to the bathroom. He stayed there for a bit and cried. He didn't know why he was so upset for someone he had never even spoken to. 

He told himself to not gaze at her anymore and yet he would. He would see her talking happily on the phone at times. He would see her blush. He would see flowers at her desk on valentine's day. He would see her catch the train everyday with her husband now. He was still the guy who hid behind a book every time he thought she glanced. 

Time went by. There were days he saw her looking a little dull. He would imagine she had a row with her husband. Those days she would not be herself. She would appear distracted, her hair would be in disarray and she would absently look at the street. But then she would come around the next day and she would seem her happy self when she talked to her colleagues. But there was an effort to it. When she was alone at her desk, she appeared lost. He wanted to know what was causing her pain, but he never dared to talk. 

That day in the train she somehow sat next to him. He pretended to read. He saw her eyes and it looked like she had cried. She was looking out of the window barely aware of him. Her stop arrived but she was lost. He was going to talk to her when she suddenly realized and rushed to get off the train. She managed in time. 

It had been a torment to see her this pained everyday. He was going to talk to her today under any circumstance. But she was not at her desk. He wondered if she had called in sick. He knew her train stop but never knew where she lived. He wanted to talk to her so bad. He wondered if he could go in her office building and perhaps ask her supervisor for any details. But he didn't think it would be probable. The building would have secure access and what was he to say about his relationship with her when he didn't even know her name. He decided to wait and see if she turned up to office the next day. Perhaps he could talk to her then. She didn't. A week passed. The flower in the vase on her desk had dried away. He was desperate to see her, just once, just to know that she was ok. 

He went out to lunch at a cafe and saw her colleagues there. This was his only chance to know about her. He walked to them and asked them about the girl who sat at the desk by the window. They told him they didn't know anyone who sat by the window on their floor. The desk had been empty for years. He described her and the pictures on her desk. They looked at him incredulously and said there was nothing of the sorts. There was no girl and nothing on that desk. He asked if he could come with them to the building and he would show them what he was talking about. They said he cannot get in through secure access and he seemed crazy for them to be allowed as a guest. He could think of nothing more to say. He went back to his desk and to his window. He looked out. He saw her desk. He saw the pictures. He wanted to scream and let everyone know he wasn't lying. But this time there was something different about the pictures. The guy in the picture kneeling down and walking in the sunset looked different than it appeared before. This time it was him. And then the pictures vanished. The desk was clear.