@Insideme 7 August 2025 edited more from that month

"A smile in the corridor" Today, I went to the district court. I needed a certificate for my admission — but getting anything done in a government office is like walking through molasses. We reached around noon, but the head officer hadn’t arrived yet. No surprise there. They’re never on time. We waited. Fifteen minutes. Twenty. Then thirty. And just when impatience was about to bloom fully, there was a little commotion — the kind that announces someone important. Finally, he arrived. A man in his late fifties, short, a little overweight, walking with a certain air of authority. After confirming he was the one, I quietly followed him. He disappeared into his office, and now we had to wait until he called us in. That’s when I noticed *him*. Standing right outside the office door, in a crisp police uniform — maybe the head’s security detail. My eyes landed on him before I could stop them. And I smiled. I don’t know why I smiled — it wasn’t planned. But something about him made me do it. His face was... calm. Clean-shaven. Tall — must be around six feet. His posture strong, his presence quietly striking. And that uniform... only made him look even better. Oh God, I just wanted to look at him a little longer. But a voice behind me nudged me back into the real world — someone asking me to enter the office. I went in, talked, but there were still papers to be completed. No certificate yet. I stepped out — and there he was again. Still standing. Rifle in hand. And without meaning to — again — I smiled. I didn’t *want* to. But I did. My heart did. And though I wanted to keep watching him, I had to go finish the work. But even as I ran around offices and chased files, *he* stayed in my mind — and every time I thought of him, a smile found its way to my face. After completing part of the paperwork, I returned to the same corridor. He was sitting now, scrolling through his phone. Head bent. Not doing his duty — at least not at that moment. "That’s not his work," I told myself. "Say it honestly — you just wanted to see his face again," another voice inside me whispered. I shook my head at myself, half-laughing at my thoughts, and went inside again. But no progress. Still more procedures. Still more waiting. This court work is tiring — the endless forms, the heavy silence of these walls, the heat, the waiting rooms. I should be angry by now. Exhausted. But strangely — I’m not. I’m thinking of him. Just one passing thought, and a quiet smile lights me up again. Hours passed. I saw the head officer walking out. Is he leaving? I looked at the clock — 4 PM. My work is still not done. And yet, that didn’t bother me as much as one small, silly thought: **If he’s going, then... he must be going too.** The uniform. The rifle. The face I forgot to look at properly one last time. But I couldn’t move. I was with my father. I couldn’t run behind a stranger just to catch another glimpse. And later, when we finally came out — he wasn’t there. He was gone. I regretted not looking at him before he left. Regretted not stealing that one last glance. But guess what? My work isn't done. Which means… I’ll be coming here again tomorrow. And maybe — just maybe — I’ll get another chance. To see him. To smile. Without knowing why. I don’t know what this feeling is. But it’s *something*. And that *something* has stayed with me. To be continued......