Bye-Bye Dusty Rose Shirt

Maybe it takes so long to get back to ourselves after loving someone is because when we are falling for them, we start associating every little thing with them.

I chose dusty rose paint for my room when I hadn’t even met you. But today, when I think of dusty rose, my room is not the first thing that comes to mind.

It was my first day at my first job. Everything was new: the yellow pillar, the meeting rooms named after celestial objects, and the grey-yellow workstations.

Wherever I looked, there were people, chatting, laughing, working; some were heading to the cafeteria for breakfast. As I was setting up my desk, my eyes scanned the office with restless interest. I was trying to remember every face I could see, yet today I remember only one.

White clouds filled the blue sky. The plants on the terrace struggled against the morning breeze and, now and then, sacrificed a flower. I shifted my focus back into the office to read the quote on the blue wall beside the cafeteria. Just then, a guy stood up from his desk, his hands in his pockets and his back towards me. And that was the first time I saw you in your dusty rose shirt.

This is my last week in the office. HR changed my seat last month. Sitting next to the Autumn meeting room was painful after you left. Whenever I looked up from my laptop, I still saw you standing next to the Winter meeting room, smiling at me.

I was joking and laughing with my friend when I turned to the other side and saw you smiling at me. You had a twinkle in your eyes. I don’t think I have ever seen a more beautiful smile in my life. I don’t think I will ever get over that look in your eyes.

Looking to my right was even more painful. I changed my plans at the last moment. It was your last working day. I had decided to skip work that day. But in the morning, I felt stronger than that. By that evening, I realized I was not.

It was a normal day. I came, set up my desk, reviewed the assigned tasks, met my team and friends, and headed to the cafeteria for breakfast. I took my usual seat from where I could see everyone coming in and going out. But if I’d be honest, I only wanted to see you. I don’t sit there anymore. I don’t want to.

I saw you coming towards the cafeteria and felt a heavy weight on my chest. Perhaps it was the weight of the regret of not telling you how I feel about you. Perhaps it was the weight of the realization that I will never see you again after today.

With your hands in your pockets and expressionless face, you came to get your morning coffee. How did you even survive that office coffee for two years? It was horrible.

Somehow I survived the afternoon, only to receive your farewell email in the evening. I was hesitant but still opened it. Just when I finished reading it, I looked to my right, and you walked past me with your laptop to submit it. This is it. This is where it ends.

If only there were a way to know it wasn’t all in my head? If only there were a way to know I had you? Even just for February, or just that one day when we looked into each other’s eyes and forgot everyone else around us, or just that one moment when you got too excited to find me standing outside the lift because you didn’t expect me to be there.

I went with my friend to get his new glasses. He tried on a new pair and asked me to look. One look at those black square frames, and all I could think about was going back to when you were just another guy in the office. But I cannot.

Whenever I feel the present is too painful, I think about going back in time and rewriting the story with the information I have today. If only we knew of every consequence, our actions would never be wrong. But if we’d never take a wrong step, we’d never find a new way home, or a new person on that wrong way, or just something to laugh about when we are old.

One day, I’ll sit with my friends and tell them our story again, only to forget so many details. Until then, I will dream about all the times I thought I had you. Until then, I will let dusty rose remind me of you.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.