At eight-thirty a.m., the corridor was quiet except for the office orchestra: the tick of the heating as it warmed itself to wakefulness, the hum of the vending machine, and the low burble of the watercooler. Michael switched on the coffee machine, adding to the symphony, and stood with his tie loosened.
Rajinder appeared at the end of the corridor. He caught the faint scent of sandalwood before he saw her, straightened—not enough to be obvious.
“Morning,” she said.
“Yeah, it’s definitely morning again.”
“On the ball today, I see,” she said. She put her mug down next to his, just touching. Hello Kitty introduced itself to Liverpool FC. “Good night?”
“Not bad. Chinese takeaway and a beer. Then I settled down to watch the box.”
“Bachelor life, eh?”
“Yeah, it has its benefits. And its drawbacks. Did you see ‘Hearts Afire’ last night?”
She smiled, a small delight he always looked for. “Of course. You think I’d miss Daniel’s latest disaster?”
Michael snorted. “The man’s got no sense of self-preservation. Sneaking around with his boss’s wife.”
The coffee pot filled, and Michael lifted his mug, indicating she could go first.
“He can’t help it,” she said. “You can see it in his face, he knows it’s wrong, but he’s trapped.”
He watched her fingers as she adjusted her scarf, then quickly looked away. “Yeah. Some traps you walk into willingly.”
“That sounds like sympathy.”
“Maybe,” he said. “I mean, you can’t really choose who…”
He stopped himself and took a sip.
The pause stretched. “His boss’s wife looked happier than she’s been in the whole series.”
“She did,” Michael said. “Guess someone finally saw her for who she is.”
“That’s dangerous,” she said quietly. “Being seen.”
He met her eyes and steadied his voice. “Sometimes it’s worth it.”
Her gaze held his a second too long. “You think they’ll get caught?”
He laughed, breaking the spell. “It’s an American soap. They always get caught.”
“And then they forgive each other.”
Michael laughed again, not losing her gaze. “And there’s a wedding, and a shooting, and…”
Rajinder’s chuckle was softer than his. “Maybe that’s why we watch soaps. To see people survive things we couldn’t.”
“Maybe,” he said, watching the light shift in her eyes. “Or to see them do what we want to but never would.”
She glanced toward the office door. “We should go back before someone notices.”
He nodded, cupping his mug with both hands. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Only if they don’t move the coffee machine.”
“Let’s hope they don’t.”
She turned to leave, then hesitated a heartbeat, as if she were about to say something, but just gave him a small, brittle smile before walking away, her perfume the only evidence she’d been there.
Michael stood a moment, staring at the cups stacked on the drainer, took a sip, grimaced, and poured the coffee down the sink. He disliked coffee but loved these moments.
He just hated his treacherous cowardice.
