There is no such thing as love at first sight, nor love that lasts—or so Zen thought. He had been in romantic relationships before, but they had never worked out. He could never truly be with someone he found genuinely attractive. And the main reason—jealousy.
Until now, he'd had two relationships that lasted a year. The first girl was a blonde with blue eyes, named Diana. She was pretty—not the kind of beauty that made your heart race—but with plump, full lips and false lashes. Zen hadn't dated her for her looks; he had chosen her because the competition for her was far less than what he would face for his real dream girl.
The second girl was someone he'd dated back in high school. She was also blonde, with gray eyes that were almost silver. She was much prettier, and honestly, if it hadn't been for her weird satanic collection—everything from voodoo dolls to tarot cards and astrology—it might have worked out.
Zen was also known to be popular with the girls. He was about six feet tall, with dark brown, almost black hair and dark brown eyes. He could easily draw a crowd at a bar or nightclub. Most of the girls wore everything from fillers to fake lashes, and he could swear he'd even seen some with toilet paper sticking out of their bras. Going out was like swiping on Tinder — trying to find just that one person.
Today, however, a few of his buddies were drinking at one of the student pubs downtown in Dublin. It was a popular spot, and since it was the start of the fall semester, many people were out trying to meet new faces.
Zen had been dragged along. He sat on one of the couches, a beer in hand, while three or four girls practically drooled over him. Most of them looked very ordinary—nothing unique that caught his eye. Fillers, fake lashes, fake booties, and breasts that looked like they'd been through it all. It was all so repetitive. At this point, he was about to give up.
"So, tell me, Zen. If you were to choose one of the girls sitting with you, who would you pick?" his buddy Scott asked, a grin playing at his lips. Of course, he had to drop that question.
Scott was about as tall as Zen was. He was a ginger with red hair and green eyes. He was the fun guy in the group of friends. However, Zen was the one who pulled the ladies, which is why his buddy liked to bring him along.
One of the girls was tugging at his arm. "You know, my girlfriends are having an afterparty at our place. You guys should come!" she slurred, clearly drunk. Zen was becoming increasingly convinced that if he didn't move soon, he'd end up covered in the last thing she had eaten.
"Sorry, I—" he started, freeing his arm from her grip. "I just need another beer. I'll be right back." He let one of the girls make way for him, deliberately heading toward the bar. That was close, he couldn't help but think.
Just as he rounded the corner of the bar, he nearly collided with someone—a girl. His eyes measured her as he stepped aside. "My apologies," he said, waiting for her to pass.
The girl looked up at him with her hazel-colored eyes, which grew wide. "No, no, don't worry! This place is packed; I may have collided with countless guys by now," she answered innocently. Her smile was refreshing; there was just something about her that caught him slightly off guard.
Zen smiled politely. "Oh… is that so? It's a rather interesting way to pick up a guy," he said, cracking a joke. His voice was soft, with a hint of curiosity.
The girl turned her posture towards him, her head slightly tilting. "Are we cracking jokes already, pretty boy?" she asked, her smile turning into a smirk. Zen measured her from top to bottom. Shit, this girl might become a problem, he sensed. Not because she actually seemed genuinely interested in him, but this girl was different. No fillers, no Botox, no signs of fake booty — no tattoos. She seemed pure, she seemed innocent. He could already feel his heart leap inside his chest. He could feel how the warmth rose to his cheeks.
"Did you get something in your eye?" the girl asked, looking at him. It took a few seconds for Zen to search his own vocabulary. "N- No... " It's nothing," he let out a soft laugh. "Your name?" he then added, before his eyes moved to the bar, and back to her, trying not to look too invested.
"I go by many names, actually, but you can call me Mary," she answered, following his gaze towards the bar. "I see, don't let me stop you. I will be downstairs at the shuffleboard," she said, before she walked off like it had all been a natural conversation.