Broken Code

Part 13

As the end of the workday drew closer, my thoughts weighed heavier. I found myself anticipating our now almost habitual evening chats. Yet, I couldn't ignore the growing sense that we had outgrown the confines of the office messenger. More often than not, we sat in silence, staring at the blinking cursor on the chat screen, as if the faint glow could somehow bridge the distance between us.

After much hesitation, I finally agreed to a phone call with Simon. When I answered his call, my heart raced with nerves. His voice, pleasant yet unfamiliar, struck me as though I were speaking to a character in a novel—someone real, yet shrouded in mystery.

That evening, we spoke for hours. Gradually, the tension dissolved, replaced by a strange sense of intimacy. He began to open up, sharing pieces of his life with a candour that caught me off guard. Yet, despite his honesty, he remained a puzzle I couldn't solve.

"I'm on the brink of divorce," he admitted with a heavy sigh. "You're the first person I've told. It's taken me ages to come to terms with it."

His voice carried a weight of sadness and resignation that stirred something in me. He went on, describing how he and his wife had been together for years, how things had once been different. Then, as he spoke my name, I felt a spark of something I couldn't quite name.

"But then you joined the company, Steffie," he said softly. "And suddenly, life felt like it had meaning again."

His words startled me. I hadn't realised I could have such an effect on someone I barely knew. Yet at the same time, I was unsettled by how much he seemed to depend on me emotionally.

"No," he continued, "I'm not suggesting a relationship. That would be too risky for me. Besides, you're married. Someone like you would never be interested in someone as dull and work obsessed as me."

His self-deprecating humour made me smile despite myself. Simon was unlike anyone I'd ever spoken to—honest, vulnerable, and disarmingly witty.

"I understand, Simon. A few years ago, my husband and I went through a rough patch, too. But we managed to work things out."

"Really?" he replied, his tone sceptical. "Relationships aren't code you can rewrite to reboot a programme. They either work from the start, or you spend your time pretending dead connections are alive. Sorry... maybe I'm just not seeing the bigger picture, but lying to yourself can only go so far."

Our conversation veered into deeply personal territory, becoming a lifeline for both of us. It was more than just a dialogue between strangers—it felt like a rare opportunity to confront our emotions and fears, to share what we couldn't tell anyone else.