The corridor was dimly lit through the glass partitions. It was a Wednesday evening, after sunset. The lights in the office were lit unevenly. One room on, one room off. I walked slowly, confronted by an air of unfamiliarity in a place that was engraved in my heart. I turned left, looking into a room that was once filled by the laughter of a colleague. An infectious laughter that echoed through the corridor. The corridor was now silent, the laughter echoing only in my memories. Laughter had left the room, so had the furniture. It left a void, and the walls were struggling not to cave in.

Straight ahead, I looked at a mirror and my reflection felt like a stranger in the room. Light from the kitchen door spilled into the corridor, commanding attention to the inactivity that now lived there. There was no clanking of utensils or hunger a inducing aroma coming through the door. No one was peeping through the door, accidentally bumping into me face to face through the mirror. The dispenser neat the door stood still, the water level almost intact from where I left it the previous day. Months ago, It was a centre of activity. Months ago, I could have as well been holding a glass of water, walking back to my desk after some chit chat at the dispenser. Or walking towards it to beat the after lunch sleep.

A few days ago, the corridor was bustling with activity. Someone walking into the kitchen to refill a drink, another dashing to the washrooms, another walking out to pick a phone call. I stood in line, waiting for my turn for a photo from the photographer of the day. Someone suggested a group photo and we goofed through different pauses. The lighting was perfect, and the people in frame were dressed in fits worthy of a memory preserving photo. The theme of the day was black and gold, with a touch of colour. Gold for some was stunning jewellery, for others, a glittery golden dress that reminded me of Whitney Houston. I could not find golden wear, so I picked black, my heart of gold, and a rainbow coloured bucket hat.

I love themed parties; picking an outfit, showing  up in it, seeing the thought process put into dressing up. This was not the first themed party at the office. It had happened enough times to be considered culture. We even voted for the best dressed on major events. Dressing up added flavour to the events, an excitement and bubbliness. However, The mood was a little different that day. With my outfit, I felt like a widow who was low key enthusiastic about her husband’s death. In black, but with signs of relief, like my rainbow coloured bucket hat.

The news arrived on a Monday afternoon, approximately three months before the party. I had just unlocked my laptop after lunch when I heard the Outlook notification. I glimpsed at the participants in the meeting invite and felt a knot in my stomach. This is it, I thought to myself. This day was long time coming. I refilled my glass of water and sat in a sombre mood waiting for the meeting. It was a quick meeting. The company announced its intention to close the regional office. They went on to explain the decision was not based on individual or team performance. It was a change in business strategy and priorities. In essence; IT IS NOT YOU, IT’S ME.

Three months later, closure arrived ready to party. The black theme gave the party the character of a funeral. A delayed one. Like the village chief had delayed issuing a burial permit because a clandestine family had appeared and was claiming burial rights. I felt relief because the wait was exhausting. Three months waiting for certain death is a long time. The party was a cocktail of grief, relief, nostalgia, LinkedIn recommendation requests, and laughter to mask them all. It was a party after all, we had to have one last dance.

A voice came from one of the smaller rooms, reverberating through the corridor. I turned right towards the voice and stepped into the open office area my team used to sit. It was dimly lit, like the corridor, and seemed larger than I remembered it. It was empty. Meticulously empty. No paper lay on the floor as evidence of colleagues clearing out. The two desks I had left the previous day, standing awkwardly in the middle were gone. The wooden floor sparked in the dim light. I stood in the middle, staring into a corner where a small desk was when I joined, thinking of ways to say goodbye.