I told him I loved Chinese food. Then found myself apologizing to a fish.
Felix was quiet, polite, and thoughtful. He wasn't loud or flashy like a lot of the guys I'd gone out with. No cocky swagger. No immediate attempts to impress me. He had that soft boy band look, but not the heartthrob. He would've been the one with round glasses and a bow tie, the one who stood slightly off to the side in group photos and still had a fanbase just as devoted.
He was a little shorter than me, which wasn't a dealbreaker, but I could tell it made him self-conscious. He'd glanced up at me when we first met and said, "Wow, you're really tall," in a tone that didn't quite know if it was impressed or intimidated.
I smiled and said, "Thanks. I work hard on it."
He laughed. Awkwardly, but sweetly.
His parents had immigrated from China years ago because they wanted a bigger family, something they couldn't have back home. He was the oldest. Had a little sister three years younger, and he carried himself with that oldest-child energy. Reserved. Responsible. Maybe a little cautious. He told me his Chinese name meant lucky, and while I don't remember the English name he used, that stuck with me.
So, "Felix" it is. Felix means lucky ;-)
I told him I liked Chinese food. He asked me if I'd ever had "real" Chinese food. I said no, but I was open to trying anything. That was mistake number two.
We met at a quiet, tucked-away restaurant that didn't have a single fortune cookie in sight. No orange chicken. No crab rangoon. This was the real deal, small tables, tea kettles already waiting, menu entirely in Mandarin unless you flipped to the back. I barely made it to my seat before Felix was already ordering… in Chinese. With no translation. He gave the waitress a small smile, then looked back at me and said, "I hope you're hungry."
That should've been a warning.
The food came out in waves. First, a delicate plate of pickled vegetables with just enough sweetness to catch you off guard. Then stir-fried bok choy and mushrooms in a rich garlic sauce that nearly made me cry with happiness. The next dish was some kind of crispy tofu with chili oil, and I was ready to write poetry about it. There was a beef and green pepper stir-fry that practically melted in my mouth. It was all so good I was starting to think I'd unlocked a new part of my personality. Maybe I did love authentic Chinese food.
Then it happened.
Three dishes landed that changed everything.
The first was a whole fish. Not a filet. Not fish sticks. A whole fish. Staring at me. Mouth open. Tail curled like it still had opinions. It was lightly fried and covered in some incredible-smelling sauce, and Felix smiled like he'd just presented me with a treasure.
"Try the cheek," he said. "That's the best part."
I tried. I really did. But every time I reached for the chopsticks, that fish looked at me. And I'm not proud of this, but I whispered, "Sorry, little buddy," under my breath before finally taking a bite.
Was it delicious? Yes. Did I immediately panic about whether it had bones? Also yes. I chewed like I was defusing a bomb.
The second dish, I didn't recognize at all.
"What's this one?" I asked.
"Beef stomach," he replied, totally casual, like he'd just said "pot roast."
I nodded slowly, made the universal "ahh, cool cool" face, and stared at it like maybe it would turn into something else if I blinked hard enough. Spoiler: it didn't. I took one bite. It was… chewy. Rubbery. Spongy. My taste buds were confused. My jaw had questions. I smiled through it.
"Oh wow. That's… an experience."
He grinned. "It's one of my favorites."
Of course it was, Felix.
The third dish looked safe. Like dumplings. I love dumplings. I popped one into my mouth, expecting soft dough and savory filling.
What I got instead was the sun.
My entire mouth lit on fire. My soul evacuated my body. These weren't dumplings. They were hand-folded vessels of pain. The chili oil hit me like a semi-truck and I immediately started tearing up. Not crying, just... leaky.
Felix, still calm as ever, passed me a glass of tea.
"Oh," I said, voice cracking. "These are spicy."
He blinked. "They're mild."
Mild?! Sir, I could taste colors.
Despite the heat, the stomach, and the fish eyeballing me, I still really liked Felix. He was sweet and clearly proud to share something that meant so much to him. We talked about our families, school, growing up with strict parents and weird church rules. He didn't say much, but when he did, it always felt deliberate, like he only used words he meant.
He walked me to my car, no kiss, just a quiet, "Thanks for coming with me. I wanted to show you a place that reminds me of home."
And weirdly… it kind of did.Not the food, not the firebomb dumplings.Him.The calm. The care. The soft warmth under the awkward.That was the real flavor of the night.And I'd come back for seconds.