She

12^th April, ’19.

Dear diary,

It was like a movie, the first time we met. We were at a house-warming party when I looked across the room, and there she was, laughing at a joke, in the middle of the crowd. When she reached out to grab another drink from the counter, I could swear, she looked at me for a moment.

She was wearing a sunny yellow summer dress with pink flowers printed on them; her hair freely cascading a little below her shoulders.

I fought with myself over striking a conversation with her. I lost. And so I kept stealing glances of her across the room, wishing someone would introduce us.

I’m not always a believer in God, as you already know. But I think the one up there was overwhelmed by my lack of social skills and loneliness. So miraculously, someone answered my prayers and one of the hosts came over and led me to the middle of the crowd, introducing me to everyone there, including her.

She is a photojournalist. She works for an online publication. She has the brightest smile in any room.  

The house-warming party left with a few more invites to other social gatherings, poor me.

I said yes to them all.

And as a reward for behaving optimally human, I met her at again at one of those invites.

It was at the dinner buffet, that I managed all my sheer will to sit next to her. She was sitting at the edge of one of the tables. There was an empty seat right next to her and I quite aggressively moved in.

She didn’t mind. Or at least she was cool enough not to show it.

Now, my foolish self hadn’t done the math at that point. So every time I had to taste something new on the menu, I had to awkwardly request her to move, for me to climb out of my seat and hover over to the dishes.

This called for a better strategy.

So in one of these rounds, I put all that looked delicious on my plate and walked back to the table.

Outdoing my self-deprecating embarrassment, I realized how I looked in front of her and everyone else there.

But it also made her laugh a little, quietly and politely, and in my head, I took all the credit for it.

We started talking, really talking, sometime after my ‘hungry hungry hippo’ act.

She used to play badminton in college. She supports FC Barcelona. She can make the grim reaper laugh.

We started passing each other in restaurants and supermarkets.

Sometimes a hello, sometimes a nod and a smile.

Once we crossed paths at a bookstore. I was there to buy a gift for my niece but couldn't fix my mind on a particular book. I noticed her waving at me from the true-crime section.

She came over and asked me why I wasn't moving anywhere from the children's section.

"I want to gift something that she likes, but also something that surprises her and teaches her values about life. She has recently found mysteries interesting.

I've narrowed it down to Nancy Drew, but I just can't choose a favourite!"

She grinned and shook her head sympathetically. Then she scanned through the section and picked a book.

"The Hidden Staircase. It's always a winner!" she smiled.

She reads true-crime with breakfast. She can sing any Mary Poppins' songs. She is a night owl.

We would text each other through midnight till 4 in the morning sometimes.

I like movies and she’s a cinephile. She likes painting and I like to appreciate her art.

We both share a deep love for baking – especially desserts.

So when she asked me over to her house to make tiramisu, I could barely contain my cheer, in the middle of work.

Of course, I was early. But I had brought the whipped cream along, so she didn’t mind. Again, I think.

She asked if I’d like something to drink. I didn’t want to embarrass myself any further; I went with coffee.

After we were done beating the eggs and the milk, we took a break to enjoy the coffee in the cool of her balcony.

I asked her about her hometown. She had come to this city six years ago, for college.

Her eyes brightened up when we started comparing notes on the music we like. She said something about a classical symphony that made me laugh.

When we went back to the baking, a vanilla fragrant moved around the air.

We were standing very close to each other, following the recipe. We would look up at each other and smile. Her feet moved along with her soft humming and it moved me too.

I could almost reach out and hold her hand in mine. In those moments, I could tell her everything I had been playing in my mind for the past few weeks. I could close my eyes and feel her work around the table.

No! I thought to myself. No. She might not think of me that way.

I’m her guest. Anything I say might make her uncomfortable. I didn’t want to ruin a building friendship.

That is what it was right? A sweet new friendship. With a really charming girl.

And then it happened.

While I was rumbling these thoughts in my head and mixing the batter, the whipped cream had left its intended bowl and some of it had jumped out onto the table.

She stopped me. “Where are you?” she asked. Ever so kindly.

I stood there. Silent.

What could I say? That I was thinking about her the whole time I had been there. That I had wanted to look into her eyes and tell her I like her.

What could I say?

Well, I didn’t say a thing. And yet at that moment, she walked even closer to me and put her hands around my face and smiled.

I breathed low and fast. Closed my eyes. And we kissed!

The lights sparked above us and the ground below felt loose. It was cold, yet warm in her embrace.

It was the first time I had kissed a girl.

And it felt like I had waited for it my whole life. For her.

Yours,

Katrina.