A Little Pre-CNY Dream

Our eyes met again. Against the muted hum of the lift lobby air conditioning on a quiet late pre Chinese New Year afternoon, we continued to lock on to each other, quietly, as you continued your walk from the washroom back to your desk at the left wing, and me, in my stationary state waiting for the elevator to arrive.

Each second seemed to last the longest of time, every blink of the eye, every breath, every anxious tap of fingertips against the side of my pants, every slight quiver on the lips were frozen and broken down into frames before being played back in sequence, like a painfully long-winded yet vibrantly stunning Wong Kar-Wai movie. Greedily, we fed our brains with images of each other, praying that they would last another long weekend before and extend their survival beyond the festive season.

As you advanced to within an arm’s length from me, our lips curled upwards, almost breaking into a smile, and our throats cleared, almost breaking into a ‘Hi’. But then my olfactory sensors drowned in your perfume, and I lost my bearings. Our eyes struggled to lock on as you continued on your path. Any extended contact would mean an unnatural twist to the neck, and so reluctantly, we let go of each other, and retreated back into our little worlds.

Yet another futile contact, so close yet helplessly far. While I would normally celebrate a quiet personal victory of having demanded your attention for even just a few seconds, this time there was a new surge of panic. The days of our delirious encounters are numbered. Just another month and I’ll be moving on to another location. Will fate take a twist if you were to know this?

The elevator door held open briefly, before closing shut again in front of me. I adjusted the strap of my laptop, took in one final breath of the remains of your lingering perfume, and imagined that I had wished you:

“Happy Chinese New Year, Uncle.”

BRAVEHEART ^[96]