Connected

His family was having a reunion back home so he planned to leave early that day. He came by to the packaging development department and I bade farewell, my back facing everyone who was staring with obvious curiosity.

I wanted so much to touch him and hug him and kiss him goodbye – I knew he would come back but every time we had to part it killed my heart because I felt like my other half was being taken away from me.

I saw him walked away, out of the corridor to the Grey area and out to the elevator which would take him to the first floor.

I went back to my desk. Stared on the computer monitor for quite a while. Then I bolted right out to the elevator, hoping that he was still there.

It was the quickest moment of my life where I totally ignored what the others were thinking – call me hopeless romantic, or deeply and stupidly in love, I didn’t give a damn.

It wasn’t the kind of goodbye I wanted. It wasn’t final, and knowing that he’d be away from me for four days, I couldn’t leave it at that.

I knew he’d probably be downstairs already but I didn’t care. I was hoping that the elevator would take ages – as usual – to get to the third floor so that he would still be waiting there.

And he was. He said, “I had a feeling that you’d come out and see me so I didn’t get on the elevator. It’s been here for ages but I was waiting for you to come out.”

I got on the elevator with him, in which there was nobody in it except us. We hugged. We kissed. We bade our goodbye.

The doors slid open. We let go of each others’ hands.

Exhaling deeply.

Staring to each others’ eyes.

Not wanting to go and not wanting to let go.

I felt my other half was gone. And that was how it always is every time we part.