You Think I Haven’t Noticed

It has been weeks since I first noticed you noticing me.

You think I don’t see the way your eyes follow me whenever I walk down the stairs. You think I haven’t realised that every time I step outside to take a call, you somehow appear nearby. At lunch, you take a full round of the cafeteria just to walk past me—as though choosing the longer route might make it look like an accident.

At first, I dismissed it all as coincidence.

We work in the same office, after all. People cross paths. We happen to use the gym at the same time. We eat in the same cafeteria and walk through the same corridors.

But coincidences are supposed to be occasional.

This has been happening for almost two months.

At the gym, I catch the quiet awe in your eyes while I work out. Whenever I challenge myself with heavier weights, you try them too. It makes me laugh, although I never let you see it. You hover around me, always close enough to be noticed but never brave enough to say anything.

At lunch, you search through the entire row of tiffin boxes just to place yours beside mine.

I don’t know whether you do these things to get my attention.

The funny thing is, you already have it.

Every morning at eleven, I go to the second floor to meet one of my dearest friends. Somehow, you are always there too. You wait for me to collect my tea and walk towards the breakout area. Then you sit nearby, pretending to listen to music through your earphones. While me and she gossip and have tea.

It has become our unspoken daily ritual.

I see you waiting for me to arrive at the office. I feel your eyes travel from my head to my toes. Sometimes, you walk past me with your friend, talking a little louder than necessary, hoping I will look up.

And when I don’t, I see you begin to blabber to him.

I wonder what you say.

I wonder what all of this means.

I am not a woman of routine, and I think that confuses you. You try to learn when I arrive, when I leave and where I might be—but I keep changing the pattern.

Some days, I come early. Other days, I arrive late.

When you are unsure whether I have reached the office, you walk past my seat just to check. I see you through the corner of my eye, but I don’t lift my head. You pass slowly, looking only at me.

I keep my face serious until you are gone.

Then I smile to myself.

When I walk from the pool table back to my seat, I often find you pacing nearby. You look at me, and I fight the urge to smile. There is something strangely entertaining about watching you pretend that none of this is intentional.

You take the same path as my team. You appear when I am walking through the parking lot. I even changed my route for two days, wondering whether I would still find you.

I did.

Your eyes have been following me everywhere, and you still think I don’t know.

For a long time, I didn’t even know your name. I would scan the gym register, trying to find it. I told myself I didn’t care enough to ask.

Maybe I simply enjoyed the mystery.

Or perhaps I enjoyed the attention too much.

Then, today, you passed me and offered a shy smile.

I smiled back.

You have a new haircut. It suits you far better than the old one. Along with your unmistakably Gen X sense of style, it makes you look almost like a different person—perhaps foreign enough for the ticket counter at an Indian monument to charge you as the foreign national.

Later, at the gym, you asked me to pass you the 10kg dumbbells.

I handed them to you, but your eyes were not on the weights. They were on mine. There was a shine in them that I could not ignore.

I gave you a small nod and turned away.

You also have a habit of pretending to be busy on your phone whenever you walk past me. The amusing part is that you are clearly not speaking to anyone.

It makes me giggle like a little girl.

You know my name, but I still don’t know yours.

Eventually, curiosity wins. I casually ask one of my teammates to find out, and he does.

The moment I hear it, I search for you online.

There you are. I try not to stalk too much and I close the tab.

Later, I enter the cafeteria and see my teammates shaking hands with you. For a second, you look at me as though you are hoping I will stop and offer you my hand too.

I keep walking.

I leave you standing there, wanting more.

I hate to admit how much I enjoy the flicker of disappointment on your face.

That evening, there are several new people at the gym. I am the only woman there, lifting heavier weights than usual, and suddenly all eyes are on me.

I begin to feel uncomfortable.

Without saying anything, you move and stand between me and them.

I notice.

I like the quiet sense of protection you bring, although I never asked for it. I also like knowing that your eyes are on me. Somehow, it makes me push harder. It makes me reach for more challenging weights.

You always leave after I do.

It happens every day now, and I no longer believe it is a coincidence.

So, I am waiting.

Waiting for you to stop hiding behind cafeteria rounds, fake phone calls, shared pathways and carefully timed appearances.

Waiting for you to make the first move.

Until then, I will continue pretending not to notice.

And I will keep enjoying our little series of coincidences.