A Moment Borrowed from Time

She used to pass by around 10:15 every morning.

Same hallway. Same coffee machine. Same quiet nod between two people who knew each other only in glances and timing. We worked on the same floor but in different teams, and in that way, you become familiar with someone without knowing anything about them.

We met daily.
Often more than once.
But never really met.

She would hold her paper cup like it contained more than just caffeine—maybe her shield, maybe her silence. I’d stand by the side, pretending to scroll through emails I’d already read.

There were always people around. Too many hellos and excuse-me's, too much professional courtesy. What was missing was... time. Not the kind that appears on clocks, but the kind that allows you to sit with someone, even for a moment, without rushing the end.

---

One Thursday, I stayed late.

The office was quieter, lights half-dimmed. I was staring at a screen that had nothing important on it when I heard footsteps behind me. Her. With a slightly surprised look, like catching someone mid-thought.

“You’re still here?” she asked.

I nodded, then joked without thinking, “I was waiting for the coffee machine to miss me.”

She smiled. Small, but not polite. Real.

“I think it misses me, too,” she said, walking toward it.

We stood side by side again, but this time there was no one around. No background noise. Just the soft humming of machines winding down and the tick of distant keyboards.

And then, without prompting, she said, “Feels like it’s been forever since we spoke.”

“We never really have,” I replied.

She turned slightly. “Exactly. That’s what feels strange. We see each other so often, but…”

She didn’t complete the sentence. She didn’t need to.

I looked at her then—not the rushed version I saw each morning, but her as she was now. A little tired, maybe. A little thoughtful. Holding that paper cup like it had memories, not mocha.

---

We didn’t say much more.

Just stood there for a few minutes, sipping coffee as if we had nowhere to be.
It wasn’t a deep conversation. But it wasn’t small talk either.
It was... a pause. A shared breath in the middle of a life that rarely lets you inhale.

Before leaving, she said softly:

“Sometimes we need to steal time from time itself.
It’s been ages… since we really spoke.”

---

We saw each other again the next day. Same hallway. Same nod. But something had shifted.

There was recognition now.

Like two people who had once borrowed a moment from the world—and knew what it felt like to be heard, even if just for a little while.

Kabhi waqt se waqt chura kar,

Baitho zara waqt bacha kar,

Ek arsa sa hua,

Tumse guftagu hue.