THE ANCHOR

I spilled coffee again.

Of course, it had to happen while Rachel walked with legs on full display in that short skirt. The kind of skirt that makes your brain stop working. Not that my brain ever worked properly when she was around, but today was something else entirely.

I stood by the coffee machine, staring at the dark liquid filling my mug, not really seeing it. My thoughts were elsewhere, specifically on how Rachel had walked past me earlier. I let my eyes drift over her for longer than I should have. My brain was short-circuiting, imagining her crossing the room toward me, smiling like we were the only two people in the office.

That stupid fantasy again. The one where Rachel leaned in, close enough for me to smell her perfume, close enough to whisper something soft in my ear. The fantasy was so vivid I could almost feel her breath on my neck. Then, reality hit me.

The mug had overflowed.

Scalding hot coffee spilled over the rim and pooled on the floor. I scrambled to react, grabbing the nearest handful of napkins like I was putting out a fire. But the damage was done. Coffee was everywhere.

Perfect.

And naturally, that was the moment Rachel appeared.

I heard her voice before I saw her. Soft, casual, unaware of the disaster zone unfolding at my feet. "Everything okay, Michael?"

I froze, mid-wipe, crouched on the floor. The very woman I'd been daydreaming about five minutes ago, stood before me, and I was currently on my hands and knees, scrubbing at the floor with useless napkins.

And then there were her legs. Perfectly crossed, just inches from my face. I couldn't look away. I didn't want to look away. But I had to. God, I had to.

I could feel my face getting hot. Don't look too long, Michael. Don't be a creep. But it was like gravity pulled my eyes to her legs, and once there, my brain shut down completely.

I needed to say something to make this less awkward. But my brain latched onto the dumbest thing possible. "Uh, yeah," I mumbled, still on my knees, a soggy napkin dangling from my hand. "Just, um, coffee... likes to roam. An explorer, really."

What the hell, Michael? An explorer? Why did I say that?

Her eyebrow arched, her lips curving into the smallest hint of a smile. "An explorer?" she repeated, the confusion in her voice mirroring the confusion I felt inside.

I wanted to die. Right there. Just melt into the floor with the spilled coffee, dissolve into nothing, and save us both from this moment of pure, unfiltered awkwardness. My face must've been bright red by now, but I could only nod.

"Well," Rachel said after a beat, that polite smile still in place, "good luck with that." She turned on her heel, walking away with the same graceful confidence she always had as if nothing fazed her.

I slumped into my chair, staring at the mess I'd made on my desk and in my life. Another day, another disaster. I glanced at my reflection on the computer screen. My hair was disheveled, coffee stains all over my shirt, and my face still flushed from the encounter. It was pathetic.

I was obsessed. I knew it, yet I replayed the same scenes every day. I'd picture myself confidently asking her out, sweeping her off her feet, like some fantasy hero in a room-com. And then... reality would hit. I'd trip over my words, or worse, trip over my feet, spill something on her, or say something idiotic like comparing coffee to an explorer.

Every. Single. Time.

The gap between the version of me in my head and the real me, the bumbling, coffee-spilling disaster, was getting wider and wider. It wasn't like I hadn't thought about doing something. I had. Plenty of times. But every time I got close, every time I worked up the nerve to even think about asking her out, my body betrayed me. And then Rachel would flash that polite smile, and I'd remember again that she was way out of my league.

****

"You've really got to stop letting her turn you into a toddler, man," Paul said, shaking his head as I recounted my latest coffee disaster for the third time that week.

We were sitting in the breakroom, him casually munching on a sandwich while I sat there, staring blankly at my lunch like it was part of the problem. It wasn't even noon, and I felt like the day had beaten me.

"I know, okay?" I groaned, running a hand through my hair, still sticky from earlier coffee spills. "I'm aware of the problem. It's just... every time I see her, my brain stops working."

Paul snorted, not even looking up from his sandwich. "You've been into Rachel for, what, three years now? Still haven't asked her out?"

I sighed, shaking my head as I stared at my sandwich's sad, soggy remains. "She's way out of my league, man. Look at her."

Rachel was sitting at a nearby table, completely oblivious to the fact that she was the subject of my never-ending anxiety spiral. She probably didn't even remember the coffee incident from earlier.

Paul followed my gaze and rolled his eyes. "Dude, I swear, it's like you're watching a live stream of misery. You're obsessed. And not in a cute way, like, 'Aw, he's nervous but charming.' More like, 'Wow, that guy has issues.'"

"I do have issues," I muttered, tearing a piece of bread from my sandwich and rolling it between my fingers, eyes still on Rachel like some lovesick idiot. "She's not like other girls, Paul. She's... I don't know, she's Rachel."

"And you're Michael," Paul said, unwrapping a second sandwich. How did he even manage to eat two of those every day? "The guy who can't seem to keep a cup of coffee upright around her. Yeah, I've seen you in action. It's like watching a car crash in slow motion."

I groaned again, slumping deeper into my chair. "Thanks for that. That's exactly what I needed."

"I'm just saying," Paul continued, mouth half-full, "you're putting her on this pedestal, man. It's like you think she's some sort of goddess or something."

I shot him a look. "Have you seen Rachel? She is a goddess."

Paul rolled his eyes again, this time more dramatically as if he couldn't believe we were having the same conversation for the hundredth time. "Look, I get it. She's pretty. She's smart. But at the end of the day, she's just a person. And she won't bite your head off if you ask her out. What's the worst that could happen?"

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head as I tore off another chunk of bread. "I embarrass myself, for one. And she'll think I'm an idiot. Which, by the way, I prove every single day without even trying."

Paul waved a hand, dismissing me like my concerns were trivial nonsense. "You embarrass yourself for free every day, dude. You might as well ask her out first. Then, at least, it's worth something. Right now, you're doing it for nothing."

I let out a long, exasperated breath, staring hard at the table. Paul wasn't helping, and he wasn't wrong either. But that didn't change that Rachel was... well, Rachel. Confident, smart, gorgeous. The kind of woman you picture with someone way cooler than me.

I could picture her with a guy who had his life together, some tall, smooth-talking finance guy in a tailored suit who knew how to tie his tie without looking like a mess. Someone who could walk up to her, say, "Hey, let's grab dinner," and just like that, he'd have her laughing over wine and pasta at some trendy restaurant downtown.

And me? I was the guy who spilled coffee on myself before 9 a.m., the guy who compared beverages to explorers in some attempt to be funny or interesting, which always backfired. I was hopeless.

Paul was still watching me. He finished his sandwich, balled up the wrapper, and tossed it toward the trash can with perfect aim. "Look, man," he said, sitting back in his chair. "You've got this whole narrative in your head that you're not good enough for her. But she's not dating anyone. She's not rejecting anyone else. So, what makes you think she'd automatically reject you?"

I opened my mouth, ready to fire back with all the obvious reasons, but nothing came out. Paul had a point, even if I hated to admit it. Rachel wasn't dating anyone, at least, not that I knew of, and she hadn't shot anyone down. So, theoretically, I had as much of a chance as anyone else, right?

Wrong. My mind immediately rebelled against the idea. Rachel probably wasn't even aware I existed outside of the awkward moments where I made a fool of myself. And even if she did notice me, it was probably just to ensure she stayed out of my path of destruction.

Paul saw the doubt all over my face and groaned. "Dude, you've got to stop with this defeatist attitude. You're making yourself miserable."

"I'm already miserable," I said, deadpan, pushing my soggy sandwich aside. "Might as well stick to what I'm good at."

Paul threw his hands up, exasperated. "Fine, wallow in your self-pity then. But just remember, you're not actually saving yourself from embarrassment. You're just living in a permanent state of embarrassment without trying to change it."

That hit harder than I expected. I was permanently embarrassing myself. I hadn't even considered that.

Paul slapped a hand on my shoulder, pulling me out of my downward spiral. "Dude, you've got this. You're a decent guy. Just ask her out like a normal person. You don't have to make it weird. She won't laugh in your face or tell the whole office you're an idiot."

I wasn't convinced. "I don't know, man. I'm pretty sure she's already figured that out."

Paul sighed. "Whatever, dude. Just think about it. Or don't. But you're not doing yourself any favors sitting around and daydreaming about her while you spill coffee on everything."

I didn't respond. There wasn't much left to say. Paul wasn't wrong, but the fear, the nerves, and the absolute terror of rejection were all very real, and no amount of logic would change that.

Over the next few days, I tried to avoid Rachel as much as possible. It was easier that way. Easier to avoid looking like a fool in front of her. But it seemed like the universe had other plans.

On Wednesday, she cornered me in the hallway. I was carrying a stack of papers, trying to mind my business, when she suddenly appeared, looking perfect.

"Hey, Michael," she said, smiling effortlessly, making my stomach flip. "Do you have the report for the Dyer account?"

My brain scrambled for an answer, but my mouth took over. "Uh, yeah, totally, I have it... somewhere... in here..." I gestured at the papers in my hands and immediately dropped half of them onto the floor.

She bent down to help me pick them up, and I nearly blacked out from sheer mortification. Her hand brushed mine, and I froze, my face turning the color of a ripe tomato. "Thanks," I mumbled, stuffing the papers into a messy stack. I couldn't look her in the eye, not with her so close. Her light and sweet perfume drifted over me, making my brain short-circuit again.

"No problem," she said, standing up. "I'll grab that report from you later."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. As soon as Rachel walked away, I took a long breath, staring down at the disaster I'd made of the papers. How was it possible to be this bad around one person?

****

By Friday, I was in full self-pity mode. I couldn't stop thinking about Rachel, but I became a babbling mess whenever I got close to her. It was hopeless. Paul noticed my mood and decided I needed a distraction.

"Come on, man," he said, dragging me toward the Halloween fair. "You need to get out of your head. Let's hit the fair tonight. Maybe the fortune teller will tell you how to fix your Rachel situation."

I rolled my eyes, but I went along with it. Anything to get my mind off my constant failures.

The fair was the same as always: cheap beer, cheesy haunted houses, and overpriced games. Paul led the way to The Divine Ciganna's tent, the same fortune-teller booth we laughed at yearly.

"Maybe she'll tell you your future wife's name is Rachel. Wouldn't that be a cosmic coincidence?" Paul grinned.

I wasn't in the mood for jokes, but I let him push me inside. The tent smelled like incense, and The Divine Ciganna herself sat behind a small table, her dark eyes glittering under layers of scarves and jewelry. "Come in, come in," she said, waving me toward the chair. "I've been expecting you."

I sat down, trying not to roll my eyes. Paul leaned against the tent's entrance, smirking like this was the highlight of his night. "Let's get this over with," I muttered.

The Divine Ciganna didn't pull out a crystal ball or tarot cards. Instead, she waved her hands over a strange device resembling a mini projector. Suddenly, there I was. Well, an older, more tired version of me hovering in front of us like a bad sci-fi hologram.

Paul burst out laughing. "Man, Past - you look pissed."

The hologram of me sighed, rubbing his temples like he was frustrated beyond belief. "Rachel is your anchor," hologram-me said. His voice was clipped, annoyed. "Don't screw this up. The universe will collapse if you give up. You've got one shot."

I blinked, completely dumbfounded. Rachel? Anchor? Universe collapsing? "What?" I stammered, glancing at Paul, now doubled over in laughter.

The hologram flickered and vanished before I could ask anything else. Ciganna smiled at me, the kind of smile that said she knew more than she was letting on, but said nothing.

Paul clapped me on the back. "Dude, the universe is riding on you asking out Rachel! No pressure."

I stared at the spot where the hologram had been, the words echoing in my head. Rachel is your anchor. Don't screw this up.

What the hell was that?

****

By Monday, I had convinced myself the hologram was just some weird Halloween trick, nothing more. The universe collapsed because I couldn't ask Rachel out.

Ridiculous.

Except... I couldn't stop thinking about it.

Those words had bounced around in my brain all weekend, making me question everything. Was there some truth to it? Or was it all just a stupid gimmick? Either way, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was missing something. Maybe this was my one shot.

On Tuesday, I saw her at the coffee machine, looking gorgeous. My stomach twisted into knots, but I walked over before I could stop myself.

"Michael, are you okay?" Rachel asked, noticing me hovering nearby.

I blinked, realizing I'd been standing there silently for too long. "Uh... yeah. Just, um... thinking."

She smiled, but I could tell she was a little confused. "Right. Well, don't think too hard." She grabbed her coffee and left me like a complete idiot.

By the end of the week, I'd had enough. I was done being the guy who tripped over his words and spilled coffee around Rachel. I was done letting her legs throw my brain into chaos. And, weird as it sounded, that stupid hologram had gotten into my head. What if this really was my one shot? So, I did the thing I'd been avoiding for years.

I decided to tell her.

She was at the coffee machine again when I found her, her legs crossed casually, making it impossible for me to think straight. "Rachel, can I talk to you for a second?" I asked, trying to sound calm. My voice cracked slightly.

She turned to me, eyebrows raised. "Sure. What's up?"

Here it was. The moment. I took a deep breath and, like the idiot I am, blurted out the dumbest thing possible. "So, um, I've been into you for a long time, and I know this sounds insane, but a hologram version of me said the universe will collapse if I don't tell you that you're... my anchor?"

Her expression didn't change for a second, and I immediately regretted every decision I'd ever made. I stood there, waiting for the ground to swallow me whole.

Then, she laughed.

It wasn't the mean kind of laugh. It was warm, amused, and genuinely entertained by my stupidity. "That's... definitely a new one," Rachel said, shaking her head. "But you could've just asked me out for a drink."

I blinked. "Wait... you'd go out with me?"

She shrugged. "Sure. Let's see if we can keep the universe intact."

****

I still couldn't believe it. Rachel. Me. Together. And I hadn't even completely screwed it up.

We grabbed drinks after work that night, and for the first time in years, I felt like I wasn't a total disaster around her. Sure, I still fumbled through the conversation here and there, but she laughed at my jokes, smiled at my awkwardness, and didn't spill a single drop of coffee.

Rachel walked next to me that evening, her arm brushing mine; I couldn't help but feel like maybe I'd finally done something right.

And if the universe had been hanging in the balance? Well, I guess we'd never know.