After a week and a half, I found myself observing more than participating. Especially when it came to Felix and Ruth. Wherever Ruth went, Felix was not far behind. In the cafeteria, in the training room, even during breaks. I'd look around the room and somehow always end up spotting the two of them in the same frame.
I didn't know if it was conscious or accidental, but slowly a thought began forming in my head:
Maybe Felix was trying for her.
They talked a lot. They went for lunch together. They joked. And it wasn't just once or twice — it was becoming a pattern.
Watching that unfold, I didn't imagine friendship with Ruth at all. Why would I? I wasn't that communicative. I had trouble expressing myself. I rarely initiated conversations. And to be honest, I didn't see myself fitting into her circle. They were social. Loud. Effortless. I was the opposite.
Days passed like that.And somewhere inside, a small jealousy started forming. I didn't entertain it. I didn't feed it. I just acknowledged it once and then shoved it into the corner of my mind because I reminded myself — I had no right to feel that way.
After that phase, we moved to the next part of training — a module about office behavior and etiquette. This time the classroom was different. Round tables instead of straight rows. Groups instead of individuals.
And again, Felix sat with Ruth.
I watched them without really meaning to, and the first day passed just like that — quiet for me, social for them, uneventful for everyone.
But the second day, something shifted.
Ruth sat at the table beside mine — close enough for conversation, close enough for laughter to reach me without crossing the room. And that was where something resembling friendship actually started forming between us. Not through planned conversations. Not through forced socializing.
But through jokes.
Because if there was one thing I was always good at, it was making fun of whatever was happening in front of me. Trainers. Topics. PowerPoint slides. The way the corporate world packaged common sense into modules and expected applause.
I didn't joke to impress anyone. I never have. It's just how my brain survived boredom. And for the first time, Ruth heard it in person.
And she laughed.
Not a polite giggle. Not a small chuckle.A proper laugh — the kind that comes out before the brain tells the mouth to be quiet.
Strangely, I felt happy.
I didn't even know why.I wasn't performing. I wasn't competing. I wasn't trying to be funny for her. I was just being myself — the unfiltered version, the one most people either judge or misunderstand.
And the most surprising part was this: she didn't judge me.
Because my jokes sometimes crossed lines.Not vulgar, but unintentionally adult.Those kinds of jokes which most girls in my life looked at with that expression that silently said: grow up.
But she didn't flinch. She didn't act offended. She didn't give me that look.
I even told her, half joking, half admitting:
"You're pretty open-minded. Most of my girl friends judge me so much for talking like this."
She didn't deny it or argue. She just smiled, like it wasn't a big deal. And weirdly, that small reaction made me feel seen in a way I wasn't used to.
After that, without planning it, I ended up becoming part of her group. Even though Felix was still there. Even though he still talked more than me. Even though their friendship was more visible and easier to explain than whatever was happening between me and Ruth.
We would sit in training and whisper jokes about the lectures. Sometimes she'd laugh too loudly and I'd whisper:
"Don't laugh like that, you'll get us caught."
She'd laugh again anyway.
And in those moments, I felt something growing — friendship, comfort, ease, whatever you want to call it. And right beside that, without my permission, something else was growing too.
A feeling.
Not loud. Not overwhelming. Not even something I acknowledged at the time. It was just there, like a small spark under a stack of dry leaves. Quiet, unnoticed, waiting.
Even then, I wasn't at Felix's level. Their bond was obvious. Visible. Easy to identify. Mine wasn't. It was quieter than that.
But that was enough for then.