If mornings taught me patience, lunch breaks taught me hope.
Every day, as the clock crept toward noon, my eyes would drift to the time again and again. Not because I was hungry, but because that was when I would see Ruth. I never told anyone, but lunch had become the highlight of my day.
She worked on a different floor, but somehow that distance only made our meetings feel more special.
I don't know why my heart felt this way. Maybe after a long time I was feeling something real for a girl after my first relationship.
It wasn't like I hadn't come across girls more beautiful than her. Beauty was never the criteria. There was just something about her that made me feel this way, something that I couldn't categorize or compare.
Since the cafeteria was near my floor, I usually reached before her. I would get my plate, find a table, and wait. Pretending to scroll through my phone, pretending to be casual, pretending I didn't know exactly who I was waiting for.
When she finally arrived, I always looked up. And every time, she had that same smile—bright, excited, playful. I saw it every day, yet somehow it never felt repetitive.
That smile fascinated me.
I don't know when I fell for her, but I liked the childlike mentality she carried with her, and I liked the feeling of having feelings for her.
With those feelings, I went through my days.
Every afternoon we ate together, our small gang which included Felix and one of my college mates, Ryan.
She liked to roast me—about my hair, my clothes, the way I talked, the stupid jokes I cracked.
"Buffon," she would say, laughing.
And I loved it.
I loved that she was comfortable enough to tease me. I loved that she treated me like someone close, not just another office colleague. Every roast felt like proof that I mattered to her in some small way.
After lunch, we played games. Silly games, childish ones. We laughed like kids who had escaped from adult responsibilities for a while.
Those moments were small. But somehow, small moments have the biggest impact.
Those moments weren't dramatic or grand. They were simple. Ordinary. But somehow, ordinary moments have the biggest impact. And that's how things continued—not through confessions or labels, but through slow warmth, daily anticipation, and a friendship that felt a little too important to call just friendship.
There were moments when doubt crept in.
What if she only sees you as a friend?
What if you're just entertainment to her?
What if you're building dreams on nothing?
On those days, I reminded myself that I could never give her the life she deserved anyway. She felt like someone meant for bigger things, brighter worlds. I was just an ordinary guy, full of jokes and insecurities.
Still, I stayed. Because being close to her—even as just a friend—felt better than staying away.
I didn't know it then, but those lunch breaks, those little hopes, were slowly turning into something deeper. Something that would one day make me question my own worth, my choices, and my heart.
For now, though, I was just happy. Happy to wait. Happy to laugh. Happy to belong to those small moments with her.
And sometimes, happiness is all you need to fall in love—even if love is the one thing you're not supposed to feel.