Dating : He hated his job, being a cog in a wheel that would still spin even if he took a sick day.

h2>Dating : He hated his job, being a cog in a wheel that would still spin even if he took a sick day.

He hated his job, being a cog in a wheel that would still spin even if he took a sick day. It was time to move on. He wrote his resignation the old fashioned way, with paper and pen, leaving for the train station with that ‘first day of the rest of my life’ feeling.

He sat in the same spot every day, usually drifting off until the 7:55am eastbound train arrived. Today he didn’t drift, after finding his way into the deepest green eyes directly across from him on the westbound platform. She looked up from a well read copy of Cujo. Her gaze, unassuming, warm, lit her delicately featured face.

The girl next door reads King, he thought. Perfect.

She noticed him noticing her, smiled. “Good book?”, he asked with his eyes. “Scary.”, she returned with hers.

That was a year ago, his resignation was still in a sealed envelope.

Over months the books would change, but the exchanges stayed the same. “Good book?” — a smile or a grimace would let him know — and on and on. In a world of instant gratification, this just looking, sharing glances, was enough. After a ring appeared on the fourth finger of her left hand, he knew that glances would be all.

A few weeks later, just as she finished Gone Girl, she wasn’t in her spot. She’d taken a sick day, couldn’t stand being a cog anymore, he understood that.

Two days. Three. A week. A month. She’s braver than me, he thought. Her resignation letter had made it out of the envelope. Good for her. Tomorrow his letter would make it to his boss’s desk.

He sat in his spot, smiling at the thought of his letter. The first day of the rest of his …

… a stranger was walking to her spot. The mans face was raw, salty from tears as he lay a single rose and a note. The stranger bowed his head.

He wouldn’t call out, even if he had the words. As the stranger walked away, the sound of his footsteps made a sorrowful scuffling that left an uneasy silence in their wake. He couldn’t stand it anymore, he had to know. He walked down the steps to the westbound platform and picked up the rose so gently as if it would break.

The note read. “Rebecca,

Be with angels.”

He wept, glancing across the platform at his spot. This was how she saw him every day, as he asked his wordless questions she answered in gestures and looks. In his grief, for a moment, he felt warm. She was sitting beside him, placing a tender kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you, for being the happiest part of my work day. I’ll never forget you”, she whispered, then she was gone.

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