I Used to Wait for Weekends, Now I Wait for Weekdays

There was a time when Fridays brought a strange sort of relief. A mental exhale. The sound of a shutting laptop on a Friday evening used to mean freedom—binge shows, lazy breakfasts, long drives, no alarms. Weekends were the reward for surviving the routine. They were mine.

But lately, something has changed.

Now, I find myself looking at the calendar differently. Counting the days not to Saturday, but to Monday. Weekends feel slower, heavier—like they’re in the way. The same silence that once felt peaceful now feels loud. Because she’s not around.

I met her at work. Or maybe it was the corridor. Or that one random team meeting where she smiled at something no one else noticed. I don’t remember the exact moment she came into my frame, but ever since she did, things shifted quietly, without warning.

It started with small conversations—“Hey, how’s your day going?” turned into long walks to the cafeteria, casual banter turned into deeper chats during breaks. She has this way of talking like the world isn’t rushing, like there’s time for everything. Including listening. That was rare.

The irony? I don’t even think she sees me the way I see her.

To her, maybe I’m just another colleague, another friend in her orbit. Someone to talk to during coffee breaks and brainstorming sessions. And honestly, I don’t blame her. I’ve never been the loudest in the room. I observe more than I speak. But with her, I find myself wanting to say more. Wanting to stay a little longer.

It’s confusing. Because this has never happened before. I’ve never waited for weekdays. I’ve never waited to just see someone across a meeting room and feel that quiet, irrational happiness. I’ve never tried to act normal while my thoughts are anything but.

She talks about her weekend plans so casually. “I might go shopping,” she says. “Meeting a few friends,” she adds. And I smile. Play it cool. Nod like it doesn’t sting a little. Because on weekends, I’m mostly waiting for Monday again.

Maybe I’m overthinking it. Maybe it’s just a phase. Or maybe this is how it feels when someone unknowingly occupies a part of your mind you didn’t even know was empty.

For now, I’m okay being the silent admirer. The weekday optimist. Because even if she never looks at me the way I look at her, she unknowingly gave my ordinary days a meaning I never saw coming.

I used to wait for weekends. Now, I wait for weekdays—not for the meetings, not for the deadlines—but for that one smile across the room, that one moment that makes the rest of the day worth it.

And honestly, that’s enough… for now.