Dear Sumiko,

I don’t doubt that this email will come to you as a surprise. You don’t know who I am and certainly I can’t claim that I know you. Technically, we’ve never met, never made eye contact, not even in the shallow way you sometimes do in a city like this, during shared coffee breaks and cigarette breaks, smiles on opposite sides of a zebra crossing, or at the offering of a seat on the bus … Though a bus is indeed where I first saw you. What a lovely coincidence that it should be the number forty-three, as I had just that day in my book read about the numbers four and three and their combination: four representing stability, three the bearer of joy and free expression. I couldn’t help but think this was a happy omen. You stepped in through the doors in your chalk-white coat, like a pale water lily, just about keeping afloat in a stream of grey overcoats. I thought you might be a vision of hope.

Sumiko (I hope you won’t mind me calling you by your first name), let me apologize if I don’t yet reveal myself. I am feeling quite shy, you know, Sumiko. And what good would it do you to know my name, when you have never seen me? Your name was the first thing I learnt about you, when your coat came open as you walked past me, revealing the name tag pinned on your heart. So imagine my surprise when I saw it bore the logo of my own company, and underneath, I realized you were wearing our in-house staff uniform. I must say the colour complements your eyes perfectly.

Let me tell you this. Your eyes, Sumiko. Your eyes are the reason I write to you. Each morning, as I come in the door you startle me with those eyes. I have to hurry past reception, because I cannot look into those eyes of molten steel. You probably think I’m just another one of those rude boys who don’t bother talking to the new receptionist. So I thought I’d write to set the record straight. I’d love to talk to you, actually.

Your Cloud

From: [email protected]

Sent: 16 January 2012 00:56

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Good Morning