I remember the first time we met. It was at a party and I remember our gaze meeting an awkward number of times before he approached me and asked how I was doing. I remember feeling shy and flattered but also desperately trying to play it cool. I muttered something he found quite funny. It was apparent he had made up his mind to laugh at everything I said. It put me at ease, instantly because I knew he was just as nervous as I was. As we kept making awkward conversation and trying to like each other, something was happening that was truly beautiful.
In between our tongue tied introverted exchanges, we shared really comfortable silences that began to grow on me as the night went. Most people think making conversation is hard but eventually, we get there; there are common interests, mutual friends, reality television – no dearth of things to aimlessly discuss. It’s the silences that are hardest to handle. As we took turns putting ourselves out there, the nervousness disappeared, the jokes started to get funnier and I started feeling like my life was something out of a movie.
I started thinking about what life with him would be like: the places we would go to, how our first kiss would be, what we would fight about and how we would make up. It was absurd even thinking of all this at the time but something inside me was convinced I would look back at this moment and compare it with how it actually turned out. The promise of love can be sweeter than love itself.
I had a great night and he dropped me home, bid goodbye and we decided we should meet again. I still remember the next two days I couldn’t keep my eyes off my phone waiting for him to message. It was awful. But he never did. Weeks later I texted him and he nonchalantly replied in monosyllables like we were complete strangers. I couldn’t understand what was going on. Was he on drugs?
We never spoke again. I deleted his number from my phone and tried to forget about it. Every now and then, his face would pop up in my head, from out of nowhere. I was so angry at not being able to get over it. We met once. I wasn’t even crazy about him. It was just hurtful and irritating.
I saw him yesterday, after six years.
To be continued…