CHAPTER ONE: Caught Looking

It’s as if I were dragged here by fate and tied down by her sisters. What a coincidence, this. The person I was two years ago would have already written novels about the destined path that led us to meet so haphazardly; the way a stray cat bumps into her future owner on a brisk walk through the neighborhood; the way shooting stars meet the eyes of a wistful writer.

But fate is just a clever illusion, a tapestry of serendipitous events woven together with a child-like hunger for something more. Something a little bit magical. And I am not a poet anymore.

I sat precariously poised at the dining table. My chair is made of burning coals. Refused to turn around, refused to confirm or deny if it really was your looming figure that stood curiously behind me. I suddenly became so aware of the cold air hitting my bare back. Do you know I chose this dress for you?  skin tight and  floor length, on the off chance that you would tell me I looked pretty tonight. Wild thought, wilder expectation, given the fact that we’re still strangers. But strangers don’t look at me the way you do. Is it… is it curiosity? Or is my silent persistence infuriating?

The monthly Black Student Association events were my only chance to get out of the house and live a little. "I'll be home a little late because of a team meeting," I'd tell my mom. And perhaps my words rested in the space between a desperate truth and a white lie. But as an adult in her early twenties with the social life of a well-adjusted 3rd grader, I'm using every chance to take my college experience by storm. This month's event was Met Gala themed, and you best believe the people here showed up and showed out, as black people usually do. But each time I pulled  myself into the magical performances I paid to enjoy, a fantasy plays itself out in the archival parts of my mind. There, I fall in love the way a frog plans to sing; helplessly. And each time I'm lost in my daydreams, it's of you.

My friends all know. They slyly grin and giggle whenever you look at me. But dammit, do something. Am I not obvious enough? Shall I spell it out for you and deliver it on your doorstep?

Maybe I am obvious. Maybe I’m embarrassingly see-through, like a stained glass window lit the wrong way. Yet you stay planted in the same orbit. So I move through this room pretending not to search for you in every reflection. I laugh too loudly at my friends’ jokes. I sip my drink like it’s the anchor keeping me grounded. I pretend I am not waiting for you to say something that will justify the way my heart keeps sprinting ahead of my logic.

You start walking toward me. I feel it before I see it, a shift in the room that pulls my eyes up from the table. You weave through the crowd with your hands in your pockets, head tilted like you’re trying to figure out if I’m actually looking back at you. I am. Barely.

I reach for my drink to look busy, but my fingers clip the rim and send it wobbling. I grab it too late. It bumps the table and makes a sharp clink that turns a few heads.

My friends stare. My face heats. You stop right in front of me, eyebrows raised, a smile tugging at your mouth.

“That drink fighting you or what?”

I can’t meet your eyes at first. I’m half laughing, half dying inside.

“I’m fine,” I say, even though the table almost betrayed me.

“Good,” you say, the smile settling in fully now. “I was worried I’d have to rescue you from your own cup.”

I don’t know what to do with that. You ease into the empty chair beside me like you’ve done it a hundred times. Your knee bumps mine under the table. You don’t move it right away.

Then you lean in, voice lower.

“By the way… I noticed you before you noticed me.”

You sit back for a moment, studying me, and I feel my whole body brace for whatever comes next.

TO BE CONTINUED…