I tossed and turned in bed. Outside the window, the neon lights along the street were still dazzling—probably from some strip club, or a bar, or maybe a theater. There were few people on the sidewalks, only the occasional cluster of weekday partygoers laughing and playing around. Other than that, it was unusually quiet. I sat up and glanced at my phone. 4:38 a.m. I ran a hand through my hair and decided to get up. I paced around the living room, then walked into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of ice water. Sitting down by the sofa, my hand brushed against a book on the coffee table.
The book was a mystery, just like her. She was always caught in this cycle of probing, trying to connect, then pulling away—searching for meaning that didn’t exist. It was as if the small, mundane details of life were filled with hidden patterns. She kept searching, yet believed nothing truly held value. Doubting as she explored. Believing as she waited to be proven wrong. Thinking about the way she approached things so cautiously, afraid yet unable to stay away, I realized the corners of my mouth had already lifted. I read as my mind began replaying the details from earlier today.
I hate having my plans disrupted, though I often disrupt other people’s. I don’t like the unexpected, though lately I’ve been surprisingly delighted by it. I had actually seen her before—at some film screening hosted by some Chinese community at some theater. I was standing by the popcorn machine waiting for someone, and she was wearing a gray company cardigan with a printed logo and floral pants, asking the curly-haired blonde girl at the concessions if she could get a bottle of water. Since it was a Chinese-language film, the small single-screen indie theater was packed inside and out with Chinese people.
The blonde looked a little overwhelmed, at a loss. She asked once, and the girl didn’t catch it. She smiled and repeated herself. She had to be Chinese, even though she didn’t say a single word in Chinese. Maybe because she felt my gaze, she glanced in my direction. I quickly looked away, but I knew she’d seen me. By the time I realized, she was gone—probably already inside. I stood there, suddenly wondering where she was sitting. During the movie, I was distracted. I got up a few times, trying to spot her in the aisle. I don’t know if she was just hiding too well, or if my night vision was too poor, but I never saw her again. Not until recently.
I’m not a hopeless romantic, but I like her. I’m not interested in most people, but I care about her for some reason. I don’t like last-minute meetups, yet I told her, “Okay, wait for me, I’m coming.” I’m slow to reply to messages, but I never say no to her. I worry I’ll just become another one of her countless passing encounters—people she chats with for a while, then leaves behind. I know she can do that. I want to be the exception. How do I become her exception?
Earlier tonight, she called me out again at the last minute. I was completely unprepared. I didn’t expect to see her today—I haven’t even processed the chaos from yesterday. I wanted to see her, but once I did, I had no idea what to say, what to do, what to ask. Would asking her about herself feel too abrupt? Would talking about myself be too awkward? I had scripted an entire conversation in my head, but when I saw her, not a single word came out. She ordered drink after drink, and I watched her down each one.
Someone was playing country music on stage, and the bourbon on the rocks in front of me wasn’t my thing. I like sweet drinks; she likes them strong. Her eyes were bright as she looked at the musicians on stage. Then suddenly she stood up and tried to pull me onto the dance floor. My face burned red—she must have noticed, my ears felt hot all the way to the tips. I don’t know why I stood up, or why she suddenly ran off. By the time I realized, we were already at McDonald’s eating fries. “You like fries?” she asked. I nodded. I started talking about my ex again, this time with more details. I don’t know why—I just wanted to tell her. To tell her everything. You’re the one I’d share this with, you know that? Do you understand?
