• many years later. *

“Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam,” a feathery voice rippled through the ironic sea of silence only accompanied by clicking of pens and clanking of keyboards. 

She pulled out a notepad, scribbling information she received from the caller. The ink was smooth and rich.

“Mhm…” she answered to them politely, gently laying the pan onto the paper.

Her fingers played with the black cord that connected her computer to the wall, lacing it in her hands. Her eyes wondered to the clock. One hour to go. She gingerly placed the phone back onto its holder and shuffled through the faxes she had gotten throughout the day.

Doodles of random images that characterized the boring office job were neatly aligned on her desk. Her pencil felt light in her hand, but ambitious with possibilities. The familiar strokes calmed any stray nerves. She finished off her latest stapler sketch and placed the pencil into the mug that sat on the reception desk alongside the jellybeans that she compulsively kept in stock. 

Being a receptionist wasn’t a dream she has chased. She never found herself striving for the goal of sitting in a monotone office. When she walked by the poster that advertised the job, she didn’t think she would note the number on the board. Never would she have thought to see herself in a place where she would be in a office answering phones. No longer the ring of anxiety that racked her brain that screamed to be answered, but the ring of the phone that bridged a connection with someone.

Somewhere along the line, it all changed. She missed her opportunity. Somehow in the moment of desperation in the old classroom, she finally broke through the box that held her.

Now she was answering phones. 

It wasn’t much to others, but it meant the world to her. After finally getting herself together, she chose this job. Though she would never speak it, she feared that the burning, nagging anxiety that stopped her voice would return. After Jim had unlocked the gate that blocked her growth, she was set on not allowing the gate to weld back together in the hot pressure she felt. Speaking on a phone allowed exposure and for her to feel in control of her life. 

Her ankles were crossed with her usual, spotless sneakers. If she ever felt a sporadic urge for a break, she could get lost in the bleakness of the immaculate white. Her red curls were pulled back into her trademark hairstyle, a half up- half down. Her fingers felt icy as she typed up the first name of the new employee, reminiscent of the positive connotation she had in relation to it. Yet, she shrugged it off after allowing herself to bask in the comfort of her memories before she forced herself back into the moment. She straightened out the pale pink sweater. 

Her fingers reached to the clip that secured her untamed auburn curls and allowed them a limited liberty. The sun highlighted golden streaks and she straightened her posture. 

Something in her gut held onto the chance that the name wasn’t a coincidence. A mistake.

It was a risk to believe that there was even a possibility, the probability of her hopes being shattered like glass higher than that of it being him.

It was a risk she was willing to take.

••

It was almost one, and Jim wasn’t keen on being late to his first day. He pressed onto the gas a little harder, pushing the car into a faster pace. The car bounced on the uneven and unkempt road. He grabbed the water while still holding his eyes to the road that stretched in front of him. He took a sip, grounding himself.

He was apprehensive for a change in his stagnant life. The move from the Philly branch to Scranton branch would do him good. 

The windows were a path on memory lane. Each landmark with vibrant memories of his childhood and home. The trees turned a slightly lighter shade of brown bark and the grass a bit greener. The spring was bringing up small buds from the soil and a new journey. The “Welcome to Scranton” came in view with the large block letters. 

Eventually, his navigation pulled him into the parking lot. He shuffled through the cluttered backseat to grab onto his work bag. His bag was plain and sophisticated, and filled with nothing but wrinkled papers and dull pencils, but he felt bolder when he had it with him. 

The glass doors were heavy as he entered the office building, looking onto the sign adjacent to the evaluators to localize his place. “Dunder Mifflin” was in white against the black background. He spun on his heels and turned towards the elevator. 

••

Pam was getting antsy. She wasn’t against new people by any means, but she still found her stomach churning at the thought of it. Her leg bounced elastically, the fall of heel promoting the pushing of her toes up to bounce her knee the top of the desk. The corner of her paper was floppy and crinkled from her hyperactive fingers folding it back and forth and becoming clammy. She straightened out the desk and went towards the back shelf to restock a few paper clips. The other employees were mindlessly playing solitaire or doing the impossible- work. Any inch of productivity was a feat in this building, and it hadn’t taken long to see. The clicking of the keyboard was ringing in her ears. Although the job was simple, the boringness gave her mind too much time to frantically run, so she moved when she felt that itch run through her. She did small things to remain unnoticeable and to stay quiet. 

••

Jim made his way into the office, walking through the hall. Then he saw it, next to the first door before you reach the door into the office. An expressive watercolor painting, framed in a thin silver frame. 

There were two swings next to each other. They combined companionship and courage as they swayed, the brush strokes brining his eyes to paint a picture of the memories in his mind. 

It was…

hers?

No. It couldn’t be. Micheal had it.

That couldn’t mean she was here… could it?

••

 Jim opened the door.

••

It was him.

••

It was her.

••

She ran into towards him, an invisible force pulling them together with a tight strength. She forgot her constant focus of remaining unnoticeable. She jumped into his arms, her entire being melting into the touch, the warmth of his skin making the world seem whole. She pressed her face into his suit as her eyes left darker spots on his coat. His hand laced into her curly hair and his arm lifted her slightly above the ground, securely around her waist. He gently lowered her, and the two stood in the hall in front of reception. She felt safe and comfortable, but happy at the same time. Her mind buzzed with memories of yogurt, blue notebooks, and jello pranks. His secure, unwavering motions stabilized her running mind, tethering and protecting her. 

••

She felt so small as he held her. He held her close, watching as she relaxed into him and his firm hold. He wondered if she could feel his ecstatic heart rate that increase with each touch. Her trust and reassurance was visible, he placed her onto the cheap carpet and watched her white sneakers flatten as her gaze met his. The wrinkles in the shoes smoothed.

She felt safe. You never know how much courage you have or who the true people are until you are faced with hardship.

“Cool beans, new guy. Can I set you up with my daughter?” Creed interrupted.

“Uh. He’s not real,” Pam answered gently.

“Ah, darn.”

Jim snorted… was that really the first word to come from her?

••

Words aren’t the only communication we were given. Unless if your Creed… then maybe words shouldn’t even be spoken by you…