She Was My Favorite Distraction

The first time I saw her, she was sitting at the long wooden table near the window of the co-working space, typing with the kind of focus usually reserved for surgeons and people diffusing bombs. Hair tied up, glasses slightly slipping, a cold coffee beside her that she clearly forgot to drink. I remember thinking, Great, another productivity machine. The last thing I needed was more reminders of how undisciplined I felt some days. But then she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, sighed dramatically, and whispered, “Why are emails so emotionally draining?” And just like that… she felt human. I didn’t know her name then. Didn’t know she’d end up becoming the best and worst part of my workday. Didn’t know she’d steal my attention with the quiet ease of someone who never even tries. All I knew was: She laughed at her own mistakes. She talked to her laptop like it had feelings. And she somehow made the whole room feel softer. I tried not to notice. I really did. But she was impossible not to notice. The next day, she sat across from me. Not beside. Not diagonally. Directly across. Close enough for me to hear the tiny click of her keyboard. Close enough to catch the faint scent of something...