Eventually, something has to give. You can’t sustain eye-contact espionage forever. Usually, the bubble pops in the most mundane way possible. Maybe you drop a pen, and he rushes over to pick it up. He hands it to you, fingers brush, and he says, “Sorry, I was just… uh… thinking.” Thinking about what, Greg? The optimal temperature for a microwave burrito?
Or maybe it never pops. Maybe you both retire to different corners of the earth, and your last memory of each other is that lingering gaze across the break room. You’ll tell your friends, “There was this guy at my old job who just, like, looked at me. From a distance. For years. I never knew his name.” They’ll laugh, but they’ll nod. Because they’ve got their own version of that story.
And honestly? It’s kind of charming. In a weird, deeply awkward way. It keeps the 9-to-5 from being a complete snooze-fest. It’s a little mystery, a tiny soap opera that costs zero dollars and runs on daydreams. It makes you feel seen, even if it’s from forty feet away by a guy who probably still thinks “YOLO” is cool.
So next time you catch him looking, just give a tiny smile. Or don’t. Maybe keep the mystery alive. After all, a little distance makes the heart grow fonder—and the office gossip section much more interesting.
