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Cogito ergo sum, René Descartes.
To be able to think, is sufficient evidence to prove one's existence.
"If I can think, I am here. If I can think, I exist."
To think is to dream, and to dream is a human belief deeply rooted since childhood. To dream is a cognitive function, you could simply mistake it as an innocent bodily function.
To dream, is to think. To exist.
However, many forget that thinking is something done so effortlessly. Many also tend to forget that to think is sufficient evidence. Key word: sufficient.
Therefore, if one can think, one can exist.
If he can think, he can exist.
That's sufficient for me.
It was much like our blind date.
Atmosphere, cute.
Tension? Awkward.
Christian decides to entertain the rest of his tour in your open office. He takes the spot in the empty desk to your right. Swiveling around the chair and answering questions thrown at him.
Annalise and Sienna only send me smug glances. All of which you ignore by focusing only on your monitor. The flickering LED of mixed cyan, magenta, and yellow.
Your hand reaches out for the cute mug beside me. Every time you take a sip from your mug, you notice how it's always hot. Like taste-buds acceptable hot. Not scorching, not too warm. Just right.
Bittersweet, you hum happily as you take another sip.
A crumpled paper ball lands on your keyboard.
Your fingers pause and hover over the keys. The email you were typing momentarily paused.
You turned my head to your right and furrowed your brows. At this point, you could have more wrinkles than Sienna.
He only shrugs and points to the paper. Blue eyes shimmering with mirth.
You return your gaze back to the crumpled ball.
Uncrumpling it, you move the keyboard up more so that you can smoothen and perfect the paper on the wooden surface. Taking note of the oddly neat handwriting. The looped lowercase 'i', and doodled smiley face.
In neat cursive. You appreciate.
At the corner of the paper though, there was a poorly drawn star. Your nails trace over the shape. Eyes gently squinting as your lips curve into a soft smile. You turn back to Christian.
"Why do you draw your stars like that? It's so...wonky."
When you finally give him the attention he's been waiting for; his left leg stops shaking and he leans closer. Forearms resting against the wooden desk. Sleeves of his sweater careful on the stacks of paper around him.
His chuckle is soft.
"Wonky? Is that how you describe my poor drawing," our eyes meet, "wonky?"
"Wonky." You confirm.
He laughs, but not in an exaggerated way where people lean back. He laughs but he rests more against the strength of his forearms. He laughs, but is pulled closer to you.
"Congrats by the way," you turn around so that you wouldn't seem disrespectful. "On winning the 'company's scam'."
Dimples on his face again. "Is that what you call it?" you can see a glimpse of his fangs. Cute. "Company scam." He reiterates.
You nod. A silent agreement.
"I think I'd consider this more as an internship." He continues.
"Synonyms. Basically, the same thing."
I'm sure I butchered up his words. But it doesn't crack the smile on his face. In fact, it's like he's glowing.
"Those were my words." He glows softly. Comparable to stars. A star.
It was your turn to smile this time. "That they are."
We fall back into our routine.
Christian occupies himself with the others. More interested in mindlessly ogling at their work and pointing out some inconsistencies here and there. They comment on how the company should just employ him. How beneficial of an employee he is.
It was peaceful. Well, until Youngsoo breaks the ice and asks what everyone else was wondering.
"How do you and (Y/N) know each other?" The old man leans back against his chair. Arms crossed as he interrogates Christian.
The latter smiles. You can feel his gaze on you, but you make no effort to return it.
"Hm." He hums playfully. "No comment," he saunters off and disengages himself from the conversation. Luckily for him, his phone rings, and he politely excuses himself.
In that moment, you can feel the owlish looks from your co-workers.
"No comment." You parrot Christian's words.
"You know (Y/N)," Annalise starts, "maybe this is your chance! Co-worker relationship aren't taboo."
With no effort in looking away from your screen, you sigh, "not interested."
Sienna pipes in, "oh does it remind me of my darlin'," she happily hums the tune of wedding bells. "How we used to take our lunch breaks together," she finishes.
"No."
Youngsoo calmly says your name. This time, it gains your attention effectively. "You know we're just watching out for you, hm? The dating field is horrendous for you young kids."
He knows because he comes home to a son who cries over every boy.
"..." You're silent this time. "Thank you," but you don't disregard their kindness.
Peace blankets over us again.
The press of keys fills the ambience. Totally displaying the corporate schematic.
Eventually evening eaves over us like the way the gutter of a house shields the domesticated cat from the harsh sun. Gentle. Soothing.
"Well—I oughta be out." Sienna shuts off her monitors and packs her purse.
Hums of agreement follow with Sienna's words. Eventually the office filters out. The soft buzzing of your monitor embraces the silence, and you find yourself much more relaxed as you browse through your data entries.
You decide to go through the company's intranet. Wondering what was so special about this 'company-student' program.
Surfing through the web, you found multitude engagement posts. Some company teamwork skills, and even how to develop interpersonal skills. The posts were endless. All tagged with the company's motto and branding.
The engagement portal you had clicked on was similarly designed to that of other social media such as FaceBook or Meta's Workspace. Blank white pixels mixed with horizontal CYM coding. You still scroll through, trying to find the exact post. You know that you could have just typed it through the search bar, but it was fun seeing other texts you might have missed from your one-tracked finding.
Then there it was.
Internship – Fenerare PTY LTD.
In bold lettering. The promotional post stated:
The rest of the details are what one would expect to see on an internship flyer. Fenarare PTY LTD. was a major company to work at. Especially with the listing, contact details, and the comically drawn HR representative. The poster itself is basic.
The seat to your right gets taken. The hum of the motherboard resonates with the hum of a soft, masculine voice.
Although it cracks.
You chuckle.
When you turn around to look at him though, it feels like time stops.
Where he sits was right next to the window. The evening rays shine before him. As if they obeyed his presence and filtered around him like a king and his people. Shining his figure in a way that if you reached out to touch him, your fingers would burn from the incandescent passion that brims from his eyes. His pretty, blue eyes.
Your breath hitches. The way your throat tightens. Not from nervousness. But from the way you can't believe how you're seeing someone befitting for a muse. Like a painting from a museum. An artifact.
Christian's eyes dart to the way your fingers hover over your keyboard. Awkwardly paused. He leans forward; forearms rested on the desk as he scooches the office chair closer.
"Do I look nice?" He smiles. Dimples!
You're mesmerized. Words too caught up in your heart. Words jumbled up like puzzle pieces, andyou weren't sure on where to start.
Christian notices. Of course he does. He leans back a bit but still keeps that small distance between us. The orange pastel shifts around him, still emanating that soft glow. Like a starry silhouette.
He waits. He doesn't say anything, but he is patient.
Looking at you with the same intensity as the breathlessness you were experiencing. His eyes so unbearably soft, it's as if he's in some sort of feeling. Something. It could be love, your heart silently prayed.
In love...? You think. Your mind reels, but it stops. Taking steps back as if what you were thinking about was something inexplicably stupid. Horrendous. Downright dumb.
Love is a matter that exists when both parties believe in it. To love is to live. To live is to love. Yet he looks at you like you are the personification of his lifelong goals. He waits. He is patient.
"Yeah." You finally muster up the courage to speak. "You look handsome." The words spilled out of your mouth as if you accidentally tilted a jar of honey on a deeper angle. The dewy words that you never knew you could say to someone cascades onto this tension between us. To the papers stacked, and the monitor's hum.
Blessed by the sun, you think again. That's what it feels like. No, that is what it is.
The corners of his eyes crinkle in delight. But there are no wrinkles. He is still youthful, still full of promised wisdom and intelligence. The tips of his ear fluster red, and he doesn't stop the dopey smile that tugs the corners of his lips.
"You're beautiful." He hums. It's all he says, but it doesn't stop the way the apples of your cheeks redden under his softening gaze. He doesn't say much more, and it makes it even worse. The evening warmth embraces you as if it were an extension of him.
He calls you 'beautiful' as if it were a fact. As if there was no other need to justify his reasoning, because his confident tone alone sets this adjective as true. He calls you beautiful, and you feel beautiful.
If he thinks you are beautiful, then you must be. If you can think you are beautiful as he describes you, then you are.
No more words were needed between us. All we basked in was this serene moment of charged intensity. Of the sunset's susurration and affectionate closeness. It is in this moment alone, and only in this moment alone that you bask in life's unexpected moments.
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