I went out with my old friend today. I do not want to admit it, but part of me had been hoping to see him as well. I knew he usually came on Saturdays, so I asked my friend to meet me at the library first, and then we would head to the park. That was just an excuse. The truth was, I did not want to miss the chance to see him.
When I arrived, he was not there. My friend did not know I liked someone, so I could not say anything. Still, I wanted to check. I found myself doing all these cringe things, making excuses to walk around the library, lingering longer than necessary, peering into corners I had no business noticing.
Under the stairs, I spotted him—or at least, I thought I did. Just his hair. His head rested on the table, and it looked like he was dozing. I pointed him out to my friend, mentioning that he had the same hoodie as the one I had bought, only mine was white. I said it a little too loudly, hoping he might hear me, that he might raise his head. All from a glimpse of his hair.
We moved on. I suggested we look at books, another excuse, and even pretended to record a video of her when the lights went out. As I did, someone got up from one of the chairs. My heart jumped. I just knew it was him. And it was—or at least I thought it was. A flashlight cut across the aisle, and there he was, a man in a black hoodie reading a book. I looked away immediately, pretending not to notice.
After a while, he disappeared. I told my friend we should leave, just so I could pass by his table and see what book he had picked. But he was gone. All that remained was a book on Islamic history. I pointed it out, feigning curiosity.
When we finally went outside, I saw him walking in the garden. My excitement spiked instantly.
We were supposed to head to the car, but I stalled. I said I was hungry, so my friend stayed with me while I ate in the same area where he was walking. I tried to act normal, laughing and chatting, though inside I was buzzing with anticipation. Eventually, someone came to pick him up. When he left, we went to the park. Later, I told my brother about him and asked for advice. He simply said to give him my number, and if he was serious, he would approach me.
~
Today was supposed to be the day. I told myself I would finally talk to him. The problem was that he was not a regular visitor. He came randomly, and our timings never matched. When he did show up, I always lost my nerve. But today I was determined.
My family had gone on a trip, and since I could not go, I decided to make something of the day. The morning did not start well. My chai cup fell and broke, tea spilling everywhere. Still, I stayed determined. It was winter, so I wore my coat and the outfit from an event last week. People had complimented me then, and I knew I looked nice. I just needed courage.
When I arrived at the library, he was already there, in his usual spot. My heart sank. I had not planned to sit opposite him, that would have been too obvious. But the lower floor was full, and the only empty chair was across from him. I sat there.
A separator stood between us, thankfully, so I could not see his face, and he could not see mine. But I could see his shoes, and even that was enough to make my heart race. I sat there, trying to calm myself and think of what to do. My heart felt like it might leap out of my chest. Just as I was working up the courage, he got up and left. His things were still on the table, so I knew he would return. But the minutes dragged on, and he did not come back.
I panicked. What if he did not return at all? Another guy I had liked had stopped showing up one day, and I did not want to repeat that mistake. I texted my friend. She suggested leaving a note with just my number and trying to find out his name in the meantime. That part did not work.
While waiting, I moved to the entrance area with a Rumi book. From there, I could still see the spot where we had been sitting, so if he returned, I would know. As I sat, the library director appeared and invited me to a stress management workshop upstairs. I had no idea such a session existed, but I was tired of waiting, so I agreed.
Before leaving, I scribbled my number on a note, slipped it into his notebook, and went to the session. The workshop was nearly over when I arrived. The room was almost empty, which felt awkward. But then I froze. He was there, sitting in the front row.
Seeing him there made all the hustle and awkwardness worth it. I rushed in and sat in the fourth row with my notebook and pen. No one was near me until one of my friends arrived and sat beside me.
At the very end of the lesson, there was a meditation session. The instructor read a script to help us relax, but I could not. I was restless. When told to calm down and not think, all I could feel was how anxious I was and how badly I wanted to run away. My anxiety had been high that day in general, and this only made it worse. The lecture itself was good, but the meditation part got to my head.
When it ended, there was a tea break. He was there too. I felt so shy and embarrassed that I could not even get tea myself, and had to ask my friend to get it for me. I remembered the note I had left in his notebook and fear began creeping in. I wanted it back. I rushed out, retrieved the note, and stuffed it into my coat pocket.
After the tea break, everyone started leaving. My friend went to collect her things, and I debated whether I should wait. Should I stay a little longer to talk to him about being friends? I kept going back and forth in my mind.
As I was leaving, he came back to get his bag. I stared a little too much, and he suddenly looked at me. "The session today was nice, right?" he asked. I was completely spaced out but managed to say yes. He picked up his bag, smiled, and left.
The library was closing, so I collected my things. I did not want it to end like that. I had finally gathered the courage to talk to him, and I did not want the moment to slip away. I walked out at the same time as him.
We ended up side by side, walking toward the exit. The host greeted us and asked for feedback. I told him I had not known there was a session and suggested he create a group. He said one already existed and that we should both join. Apparently, he was interested too. We walked to the reception table and exchanged numbers. He gave his first, then I followed. I resisted memorizing his as he said it, letting it go, already aware of everyone around us.
He left first and I followed. He sat in the café, probably waiting for his car. I gathered every bit of courage I had and approached him. I told him I wanted to talk. He looked up, curious. "Yes?" he said. I panicked and asked if we could speak outside. He agreed, and we walked to the far end of the garden.
I fumbled badly. I tried to explain that I wanted to talk to him to learn more about religion, but he misunderstood and thought I wanted to teach him. The mix-up was frustrating and embarrassing, but eventually I got my point across. He understood, gave me book recommendations, and even gave me his number.
Before leaving, I blurted out that he looked very calm and asked how he managed that. He smiled and said it was not easy, that he had to go through a lot to become that calm. Someone came to pick him up, and as we walked toward his car, I said goodbye. He left, and I headed to mine.
Later that evening, I was beyond excited. I could not stop smiling. I recorded a video retelling everything, afraid I might forget the details. I called my friend and told her the entire story, then walked for an hour, too restless to go home. My family was out of town, so I stayed at my aunt's.
I texted him, using the excuse of asking about a book he had mentioned earlier. He replied with the title and even offered to bring a copy. We texted a little more, and I was thrilled. When it was time to leave, I did not want to stop. I sat in my car, texting, unwilling to drive away until the conversation slowed.
Looking back, I realized I overshared, ranting too quickly, pouring out far too much. But it did not matter. Today, after all this time, I had finally talked to him.