He opened the envelope. Her reply. His heart started racing.

He knew he had taken a risk. In writing to her, setting out his desire, his wishes. Opening himself.

And here was her handwriting on the envelope. To him.

It had been lying on his desk when he arrived in the office. He was early so she must have left it the night before. She wouldn’t arrive for half an hour.

He knew her schedule. Always noticed when she swung through the door of the office in the morning. Bringing a certain mood in with her. A complex, open, sultry, pointed air of abandon.

He was sure that only he had noticed it. Had noticed her in fact. Had taken in the sweep of her body as she moved. The way she was open to the possibilities of life that made his heart race.

She had been in the firm for around three months.  They worked in separate teams, so he hadn’t had much chance to work with her.

But he saw her all the time.

When he realised that he had started seeing her when he was on the tube, when he was making dinner, when he was alone at night, he was shocked. He had never had someone invade his personal space as she had – directly into his imagination.

He imagined talking to her over a drink, a meal. He started shaving more carefully, taking more care over how he dressed. He didn’t know what was happening to him, but he knew that it was all because of her.

And then two days ago he had found his courage. He knew he needed to connect with her.  He sat at home and wrote a letter. Not something that anyone does these days, but he did it. He wrote and re-read and started again. He wanted to tell her everything that was in his heart and mind. And it was too much, far too much.

He started the letter again. This time he was more direct. Just told her that he wanted to know her. That something in her spoke to his heart and soul. That he was attracted by her. That he wanted to connect.

He left the letter on her desk before she arrived. that day was torture. She had either read his words and was unmoved. Or she was busy, would get it in time.

He turned to the note she had put in the envelope. He opened it. Read her word. Her writing.


I am so glad you wrote. I didn’t know how to make it more obvious that I fancy you. You must have noticed how I have been dressing, acting, being.

I want to get to know you. Stay late this evening and let’s talk. Maybe catch a meal?

Thank you.

The Shy Woman”

He put the letter down. She would be here soon.  He sent an email. A single word. Yes.