The emotions had been building up for the past three months. Nothing was the same since she had come into his team. He stayed back in the conference rooms long after she left, just breathing in her perfume. He stole secret glances over his laptop to grab a glimpse of her. He caressed her chair with secret longing each evening after she tossed her handbag on her shoulder and walked out of the office. It was an emotion beyond his control. It was pure lust at times, and sometimes he wondered if it could even be love.
She knew. She caught him staring at her often. She could feel his deep breaths taking in her scent as she passed his seat. She woke up each morning, excited at the thought of being in the same room as him in a few hours. That thing he was feeling, it was contagious.
Hormones went berserk in that little office every day. She teased him with her stolen glances and indecipherable smiles. He drew her closer to him with his warmth and laughter. It was a game they were playing without saying a word to each other, a secret game that everyone else in the office was oblivious to. Or were they?
She held out the box of chocolates in front of him and he picked one, hands shaking, he looked into her eyes and smiled. She looked extra beautiful that day. His throat fel dry, he couldn’t even utter the words ‘Happy Birthday’ to her. All that came out of him was a mumble.
An email popped up in his inbox. ‘Can you come to my house tonight for my birthday party’? He replied immediately. ’ Yes’. They didn’t say another word to each other for the rest of the day.
There was no party.
The bedroom was where they wanted to go, and that was where they went. Those lust filled moments in parking lots, lifts, conference rooms and glass cabins sought nirvana in that bedroom. Three months of terror unleashed by raging pheromones and frenzied emotions were about to get closure. And continuity? They fell on the cool sheets, greedy and ready to be consumed by whatever monster it was that had taken over their senses all these days.
As he rolled over, his arm hit the nightstand and his cellphone that was carelessly placed on the edge fell down. His heart skipped a beat and he reached down to pick it up. The display had lit up, spreading a soft white glow all over the darkened room. He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the screen, it was undamaged. And then his heart skipped a beat again. His wife was smiling up at him from his wallpaper.
He looked at the woman on the bed. He looked at the woman in his phone.
He picked up his clothes and walked out of the bedroom without looking back.
This too was a prompt based story. Why is it that almost every single story that I wrote back then had this kind of theme? No, I’m not looking for that answer.