Before Christopher could press the button on the wall, the elevator arrived with a soft ding. He stood upright, holding his breath in anticipation. Before the doors slid open, he caught the familiar scent of vanilla and roses.
“Good morning, Zainab,” he greeted as she stepped out of the elevator.
“Morning, Chris! Doing okay?” She asked, giving him a brief smile and a quick once-over before walking on without waiting for a reply.
“Yes, I'm okay. Have a nice day.” He called after her with a resigned look which he quickly masked when he saw his fellow janitor, Martins, watching him with a raised brow.
Waiting for the elevator, Chris fidgeted as Martins stood by his side, smirking. “What?”
“Come on, man. You're way out of your league here, you know?”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” he mumbled, tapping his foot and silently cursing the slow elevator.
“Don't pretend, Chris. You're trying to get Ms Zainab's attention but you know she's like your boss, right?”
Chris puffed his cheek and exhaled. “I'll take the stairs.”
He hid in his corner of the janitors’ office in the basement, berating himself for getting caught by Martins. He was the first person Zainab met and spoke to when she came to the prestigious tech company for a job interview.
He showed her around and thought they had a connection that day. He didn't want to daydream because of their status—she was climbing up the corporate ladder while he was just a lowly janitor, the man who made sure her office was clean.
He looked out for her everyday. She would sometimes find him in the break room and they'd chat for a while over coffee. He loved to crack jokes and watch her laugh. It was such a beautiful sound.
Then her workload grew and they saw each other less. It was a trying time for him. If nothing else, he simply wanted her friendship, to share her company.
So he planned to linger on the top floor after cleaning the offices just to see her first thing in the morning.
It was fine the first few days—she’d smile and walk to her office. Then she began to smile less when it became obvious he waited to meet her every morning.
Now that Martins knew what he was up to, the entire staff in the basement would know and probably mock him about it.
That was not the part that hurt. It was watching her smiles and the attention slowly fade. At the beginning, she was to him a queen on a throne, warm, sophisticated and ready to conquer the world with him by her side. If only as a good friend.
Now, it felt like the person he waited for every morning was an imposter on the throne—distant and indifferent.
It was time to let go.
I hope you enjoyed reading this short piece inspired by Freewrite #dailyprompt word, “imposter on the throne". It's fiction and therefore a product of my imagination. It's not tied or connected to any person or event.
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