No Knock On The Door

There was no knock on the door, no ring bell, only a message popping up on my phone screen: your package has been delivered. I hadn´t ordered anything.

And yet, as I opened the front door of my apartment out of pure caution there it was — a tall and lean cardboard box with that easily recognizable smile printed on its sides.

The corridor outside the apartment was quiet. There was no sound coming from the other sixteen units on my floor, and the automatic lights were only turned on from the elevator to the vicinity of my door, tracing the trajectory of the unknown delivery man.

A reminder that the package hadn't simply materialised on my doorstep — there was a human aspect to it, albeit invisible.

The rest of the corridor was drowned in darkness. I looked back at the package. This site is up and handle with care written all over it, like tattoos on the torso of a short, bulky, tanned, naked man.

On a large white sticker, my name and address proved the delivery was not a mistake, that package was destined for my door, but there was no sender. If I hadn't ordered it, who had? There was no one who would care for me that much, no family, no friends, no loved ones.

I hugged it and noticed how heavy it was. Too heavy to lift, so pushing was the only way I could get it into the living room. I tore through the duct tape feeling a mixture of curiosity and fear but was left perplexed when I confirmed, separating the pieces and looking through the instructions manual, that it was a bookshelf.

I actually needed a new bookshelf. The old one was too damaged to be carried when I moved to this apartment, so my books had been piled in a corner, waiting for a moment like this.

That is convenient, I thought. A strange convenience, since I never ordered it, but still a convenience.

Assembly and clean up took the rest of the afternoon and most of the night, and when it was done. It was immense but I wasn't a girl of many possessions, so it fit comfortably after it was pushed into place.

What a beauty it was. I was tired, and in need of a shower, yes, but the shelves looked at me emptied, eager for the books they would hold, longing for them.

I took a step back and admired my work, gleeful as a child on her birthday. The fact that I hadn't ordered it was quickly dissolved and forgotten by the fact that I now had it, and it was now mine: the bookshelf.

I would have even taken a picture of it with my phone, had it not vibrated in my pocket at that very moment.

I took it in my hands. There was a message on the screen: your package has been delivered. Was it a new message or the same as earlier? Before I could open it to see the hour it was delivered, a new message, identical to the other two, appeared on the screen: your package has been delivered. What was happening?

I was too frightened. I thought I will never open the door to check the package. I went to her bedroom for sleep and set an alarm for office time.

********

I poke my head through the office door, my eyes locating my boss Mr Cather who is seated at his desk. "I'm off for lunch," I inform him. "Is there anything you'd like me to get you on my way back?"

Mr. Cather looks up at me from the file he was poring over just a minute ago and his frown turns into a smile. He is a nice man, portly and in his sixties. His hair, what little is left of it at the sides is black and white and the front is mostly bald.

I had been lucky the day he took a chance on me and hired me to work for him two years ago. During that time I have come to respect him as my boss.

His guidance has made me what I am today.

"No, no, I'm fine," he answers, though seeming a bit distracted. "Enjoy your lunch and as soon as you get back, let me know."

"Okay."

I close the door, wondering why he wants to see me when I get back. I shrug. Probably something he wants me to take care of. I take the elevator down to the ground floor and retrieve my phone from my bag.

Pushing through the swinging doors of the office building, I am texting her back when I hit a solid wall. A wall that catches me by the arms as I stumble and almost fall.

"I'm so…" the apology for my carelessness gets stuck in my throat when I look up into striking bright blue eyes. My mouth goes dry as I stare at the most handsome man I've seen in a long time.

Possibly in my lifetime. Black hair cropped short, a strong face with high cheekbones chiselled to perfection.

I tremble a bit in his arms but not because of the instant attraction to this virile man. I tremble at the power, cockiness and hardness I sense this morning. He isn't a man to be trifled with.

"You need to watch where you're going, lady," he states crossly, putting me away from him.

His chide makes me flush a bright red especially given the way he is scowling at me for almost mowing him down.

"I'm sorry sir," I finally apologize even though the words end up sounding breathy.

"You see that it doesn't happen again."

Before I could respond, he turns his back and is walking towards the elevator. Stunned by the unexpected presence of this man, I continue staring at him and the way he fills out the charcoal suit.

His blazers emphasize his broad shoulders and the breadth of the muscular chest I'd found myself up against. The close-fitting trousers displayed long, muscular legs and … Oh God, he stops at the elevator and is observing me observe him.

His smirk makes me act. I push out through the doors of the building, gulping in the fresh air of the outdoors. Well, that had been unexpected. Why am I allowing a stranger to rattle me this much?

By the time I get to the office, he will be gone and I wouldn't have to worry about seeing him ever again.

I walk the short distance to the deli where I take lunch sometimes. I try to push the man from my mind as I delve into the cobb salad and soup I order. Usually very fond of their soup, I couldn't savour it this time around.

My mind keeps going to that man. The one who made me feel like there wasn't enough oxygen in the world for both of us.

Only half-finished with my lunch, I order a bottle of Naked Juice to go and start the five-minute walk back to the office. I glance at my watch not so much checking if I'm on time to get off lunch but how many hours are left for the workday to end.

I do enjoy my job as a Personal Assistant to the CEO of Cather Publishing. This isn't how I'd envisioned using my Arts degree but after prospects seemed nil in that area, I am glad I'd gotten an MBA as well.

The streets are just beginning to fill with workers hitting up the various restaurants around for lunch when I slip back into the office building.

I'd plunged into my work through college and haven't had much time to date since working at Cather. My career had been more important two years ago and still is.

This may not be what I envisioned myself working when I finished college but I am already here and determined to give it my best shot.

I still have a few minutes to spare when I get to my desk, so I stash my bag and head for the bathroom. I keep disposable toothbrushes with me at all times. As a child, I had cavities and never want to get back there. I floss, use the toilet, wash my head and stare at myself in the mirror.

Despite the lack of men in my life, it isn't due to me being unattractive. I wouldn't be thought of as Miss. World Material but then most girls aren't. I am medium height with brown hair prevented from looking dull by the highlights and sheen of my long locks which end in the centre of my back.

The soft material of my champagne-coloured top is draped flatteringly over my small, round breasts. The top is tucked into one of my favourite pencil skirts which emphasizes my small waist, the gentle curve of my hips and the generous swell of my bottom. To complete my outfit, I am wearing black stockings and peep-toed pumps.