Sophie's Seasons

Originally a 750-word story, I have expanded it a little and it should still work, but of course it's a bit longer.

Sophies Seasons

I call her Sophie. She very much looks like a 'Sophie'. The blonde hair, her hourglass figure, beautiful behind and her gorgeous face.

In all these years I have never had the opportunity to ask her name. I probably could have gone out of my way to do so. Several times I've been within her hundred yards. However, after all this time I would be horrified to find out she was called Isabella or Stacey, or even Gloria. She is definitely in her early forties and looks like a 'Sophie.'

I have a daily routine. Every morning, I enthusiastically wave and say good morning to her. There is one small problem. She never sees or hears me. It would be very difficult for her to spot me waving at her from my seventh-floor office at 10:05 every morning. The thing is I may be hidden, but I can easily watch her from my large office window.

As she has her own weakness. About five past the hour, every hour she has to hurriedly march from her office, head out onto the roof of her building. It's slightly lower than mine, which gives me a perfect view. She has to go outside in all weathers to devour a cigarette. She is clearly devoted to her habitual need to smoke. I am surprised she doesn't vape. I am lucky with her needs. So much so I could probably set my watch to her routine. I can turn around on my chair and observe her appearance.

Sitting there in my warm office I do feel sorry for her being outside every day. At the beginning of the year, she is out there in her thick coat, scarf, woolly hat and gloves. I would have thought sitting inside with a cup of coffee would be preferential. No, she has needs, some days it's easier to find her because her smoke and breath create large clouds of steam in the cool mornings. They hover like a mist above her head. In the rain it is more of a challenge.

I enjoy getting to watch her blue eyes flicker with pleasure as she drags on her cigarette. Yes, it's a disgusting habit, yes, it's uncouth, yes it stinks. But here in my air-conditioned office, it's just a pleasure. I enjoy watching her smoking.

Sophie is like a beautiful onion. As the seasons change her layers get peeled off. I get to see more of her gorgeous self. The first stage as spring approaches is when the hat and scarf get left behind as her outdoor coat gets thinner, then a few more weeks roll by and out of my window, as I eat my lunch, I get to see her in her work suit. There is no longer the need for the coat. She looks great in a fitted outfit.

What impresses me is that Sophie is clearly a manager of sorts, dresses as if she means business. It must be like a hundred times I have watched her wiggling side to side on the cold wall trying to get herself comfortable. She sits, when it's not raining, on the low wall of a planter put in years ago by the developer as a roof garden. Occasionally a friend or colleague joins her. It's nice to see her smiling and chatting in an animated way. She is far more positive than the ropey looking plants withering away beside them. No one cares for the plants anymore due to cutbacks. There used to be a gardener who looked after them. Many of the rooftop visitors just dump their cigarette butts into them, as if they are a large ashtray. Sophie is good, she uses the ashtray on the wall. She is both gorgeous and considerate.

When it's unfortunately pouring down with rain, Sophie still has to come out to play, as I know she has to, addiction beats the weather, however for me she then hides under a little canopy to the side of the building vent. It's become a game of hide and seek, but if I look carefully, I can just about see her pretty face before yet again there are hurriedly forced plumes of grey smoke billowing out from that corner.

I know when she is stressed, as sometimes the cigarette is ready between her lips as she leaves the office. She is not going to delay her nicotine fix for one minute. I think it then gives her time for a hurriedly smoked second.

She also has a noticeable tick. When she is contemplating or worried about something she twists a loose bang of her hair around her little finger on her left hand. The times I've watched her dangling her cigarette scrolling on her phone, practically cutting off circulation to her pinkie. Her hair is then a spring, she let's go to ash her cigarette and it twangs away from her grip. She soon reaches for it and starts again. I think she is sitting there reading her emails, she's brought her office onto the rooftop. You couldn't be that worried by Instagram.

Other times when she has more time, or more relaxed, she will get herself set and comfortable on the wall, then looks for her pack in her handbag. I can't hear it, but I see it. As she agitated, there is almost always a gentle cough as her body prepares her lungs before she lights up.

I really look forward to the summer months. I can avoid looking at my emails, take the phone off the hook and spin my office chair around and take some time to eat my sandwich and watch. There are two important data points in the year. If I was a complete nerd I would record them in a calendar. It would be great to see if the date changes over the years. The days are: - Bare Leg Monday, it's the first Monday where it's warm enough to be outside and for her to have no need to wear her tights, but cool enough that she still needs to wear the jacket. She drags on her cigarette and crosses over her smooth bare legs. I like how sometimes the sun catches and glistens against them as I look down from my window in the building opposite. She is my ray of sunshine.

The genuine highlight of the year, and maybe a couple of weeks after leg day and that is the delight of 'shoulder Monday'. I know it's hot then. I am no different. The coat and blazer have gone. I am sitting there wishing I could undo the tie. Now we are officially out of spring, the collection of summer wardrobe is being worn. There is a practically transparent white blouse she wears too. I can't see the details of her what must be a white bra from here, as when she turns around, I can clearly see the white straps. Her clothes are always smart and professional, but seasonally lighter and cooler. As she tilts her head back and forces her exhale as the grey plume of smoke like a tornado leaves her lips, I can see her bare shoulders under the cloud that delightful shade of pink from sunbathing over the weekend.

I have found that the best time to watch is her two o'clock cigarette. With her morning couple she may still wear a jacket if it's too cool. When it has properly warmed up, she is more relaxed, alternating drags on her cigarette as she scrolls on her phone.

I have sat in my office for many afternoons watching her enjoy the sun and imagined her sitting on the beach in a lovely blue bikini, she would not look good in a red one. Lying there, the sea twinkling in front of her as she is taking in the sun and without a care in the world, happily smoking away. She would look incredibly beautiful and sexy. I would love to be the one in the evening to straddle her and smother the After Sun cream onto her back and shoulders.

But I don't. I can't, I just watch on.

I can only guess that Sophie probably has a partner, maybe a husband. When she is alone, she will get the phone out and start taking selfies of herself with the background looking out over the town. I'm convinced that on occasions I've seen her doing a blouse up afterwards. I wish I was receiving the saucy pictures.

I am also convinced Sophie definitely has children. She is not at work during the school holidays. In the summer months she has a week off in August and then is only there three days a week. It's seriously annoying as it means that there is a gaping hole in my work distractions on Thursday and Friday. One positive is that my own personal productivity levels jump significantly when she is not there. But I still longingly look out the window, until it's definitive she is not at work. The door to the rooftop just doesn't open. Or if it does, it's not Sophie but a male colleague.

Before we know it, the year has moved on, Sophie is working full time again, and autumn is on it's cool way. As the leaves turn orange, on goes the blazer, I can see that it has a useful pocket for her cigarettes. There is that deft movement as her fingers fumble around in there to get them out.

Then as the warmth of the summer sun fades like her tan, on goes her tights. They will get progressively thicker as the weather gets colder. She will not suffer from the cold for her habit.

Sophie begins slowly wrapping herself up for Christmas. Getting back into a warm cocoon. On goes the big coat, hat, even a lovely red scarf. In the lead up to the festivities she wears a lovely pair of blue and white icicle pattern tights. Plus, as on Christmas Eve, rather than her normal gold studs, I can see she is wearing a pair of Christmas pudding earrings. They wiggle side to side as she stubs the cigarette out.

A little later I also get my seasonal treat when I finish work for the year. I get to breathe in her exhaled smoke as she walks to her car carrying a couple of bags with festive bows that are clanking with wine. I stand a little distance back and admire her. I don't want to be too freaky. I am just close enough to smell her sweet perfume and sour smoke.

I quietly wish her a Merry Christmas as she reaches her vehicle. Again, she never hears me as I have stopped a little way back, close enough to watch as she takes one longing drag and flicks the cigarette away as she exhales. She is clearly considerate and doesn't smoke whilst driving. I turned around smiling as I headed to my car.

In two weeks, we both start work all over again in the New Year.

The End.