Coffee in the Cubi

Leaning forward to place the cup on the mat proved to be quite a feat. Well, it sure will be, if you have your earphones limiting the extent to which you can stretch. While I tried to resume my work, tapping my foot to Alanis Morrissette, she came over and plopped herself on the seat next to me. I pretended not to notice her. She was not to give up that easily.

Flouting workplace decorum, she sat atop my desk, cross-legged, hands propped on their elbows-on-knees-pose, piping hot coffee warming her palms. Lime-green salwar kameez that was stiff with delicate smelling starch. She wore her slightly damp hair loose, gathered in a miniscule hairclip that was looking hapless in a jungle of raw curls. Heavily kohled, dark expressive eyes. High cheekbones, and a body most men would drool over. She was a sensuous South Indian beauty, awrite.

I had to give up. I took off the earphones, refilled my cup, faced her and smiled. She directed me to look over my shoulders at the guy sitting in the workstation nearby. I saw him swaying his headphone-clad head wildly to the tune of some song nobody else could hear. I looked back to face her. We smiled over our tacit conversation.

She went back to her seat when we saw a couple of heads popping out of their cubicles…. Like prairie dogs on hind legs.