By Samaria Deonauth
He glanced around the sparsely occupied café, scanning the unfamiliar faces, but even the face he was searching for is unfamiliar. ‘What does she look like?’ he wondered. Sure, if she said hello he’d know—he’d know that voice, hours of listening to it ensured that. But what if she walks over to someone else? It’s not like he was anything special. Just an average guy really, too insecure even to assess his appearance. He casually rubbed his cheek; it was more like a habit, always checking to ensure there was no stubble. He had this twisted notion that a beard might deter someone.
He was just an average guy, with average height and an average face trying to understand the idea of love, trying to uncover its existence. Trying to swipe his way into the idea of happiness he hoped was meant for him. What if average isn’t enough? What if she doesn’t want average? What if average doesn’t get the girl? These thoughts hadn’t occurred to him last night when they finally decided to meet. It had seemed so simple. “I’ll see you there,” he said. “I’ll find you” was her reply and she ended the chat. No time to discuss something concrete and simple such as I’ll be the one in the blue shirt.
He looked around again. Suddenly nervous, he noticed the guy in the far corner. He looked very sophisticated sitting there reading a book, well dressed and composed, yet there he was sweating from his palms. What if she walked over to the other guy? After all who would notice him when there is someone far superior right there. The bell just above the door rang as a dark haired girl stepped in. Is that Caroline? She was walking his way. He felt his pulse quicken, and just as the smile appeared on his face, it fell as she walked past him to the sophisticated guy in the corner.
It seemed to him that the universe was reminding him that he was in fact nothing special. Maybe he should have asked for her number. He slipped his phone out of his pocket, ignoring the cracked screen and tapped the app that seemed to be his destination for the last month. But she wasn’t online; she hadn’t been for the last 55 minutes. Why couldn’t she be on IG like everyone else? Everything about her was so shrouded in mystery. Maybe that’s what he liked.
He tucked the device back into his pocket and returned to observing the place. It was nice. She had suggested it. The perfect breakfast date spot, according to her. A cozy little place with a view overlooking the sea and homemade ice cream. ‘She doesn’t even know my name,’ he thought. He never told her the profile name was fake, that it was the person he wanted to be and not the person he was. He was exactly like the people he hated; he was pretending to be someone he was not.
Nervously he scanned the room again. ‘The dim lights should help,’ he thought. Maybe he wouldn’t appear so average. The couple sitting by the windows were distracting him. They seemed too picturesque. Was it possible for him to be like that, to enjoy a morning with a woman in such a carefree manner? He didn’t think that he could. Actually the thought of him having that was so foreign, and it made him uncomfortable. His thoughts returned to her. She said she would send a picture. But then she changed her mind. She kept asking him not to laugh. It didn’t occur to him then but now it made him think she was hiding something too. Hold it. What if this whole thing was just some stupid catfish? No, surely no one could fake all of that. It was too much.
He found his eyes returning to the couple who were now tangled up in each other as they shared desert. What was he doing here? He couldn’t be that person; he couldn’t disrupt his scheduled normality to include a stranger. But was she a stranger? He seemed to think he knew her, but did he? All they shared were words filtered and bounced by satellites. Maybe that could be them though, they could do things like share desserts, cuddle in cafes, post their happy moments to his story.
“Can I get you something, sir?”
He hadn’t even noticed she was standing there; she has a kind voice he thought.
“What do you suggest?” He wasn’t good at choosing, at making decisions. Menus were the worst, new places, with new things to try, were just a tad too much.
“How about our hazelnut hot chocolate?”
“Perfect, I actually hate coffee”
“I’ll have it for you in five minutes”, she smiled and walked away. She’s pretty, the simple kind of beauty that’s probably lost among the other women with their prominent features.
He fished his phone out again, checking the time. She’s late. Just by 15 minutes. But this was a difficult thing for him to process. He was always punctual. He disliked being late. He found it incredibly difficult to tolerate those who had no respect for time. But he was straddling the line between relief and disappointment. If she never showed it might not be so bad. He wouldn’t have to endure an awkward conversation in a strange place with a stranger. He found himself scrolling through his messages, their messages. The conversations he had with her seemed so ideal, they appeared rehearsed, at least to him anyway.
“Here is your drink, sir.” She had appeared before him again, without him noticing. Maybe that’s how he is; maybe he is so normal that his existence is brushed over to the point of invisibility.
“Thank you,” he murmured but he didn’t even take a second to look at her face. His eyes were fixated on his phone. He was hoping that she would message. Wait, that was precisely five minutes. She was punctual, that simple beauty.
Maybe he should have brought a book. At least that would have made the passing time bearable. It wouldn’t have felt like a complete waste. He sipped on the drink absent-mindedly as he scrolled. It was quite good, better than he expected; few things usually are. Nothing seems to live up to his expectations anymore.
He realised she was standing in front of him again, this time with a plate in hand.
“I didn’t order anything.”
“I know, but I figured you might as well enjoy this while you wait.”
The look of annoyance seized his face faster than he cared to admit. Presump-tions didn’t sit well with him either. Why should she assume that he would enjoy it? Embarrassed now, he looked up. The smile hadn’t left her face. She placed the plate on the table and walked away.
He could be such a jerk sometimes. ‘It’s a wonder he manages to keep people around,’ he thought. He stared at what he guessed must be a brownie, a very gooey, chocolate, undoubtedly calorie-filled brownie. Definitely not something he would eat, ever. But he was growing impatient; it had been 45-minutes already.
What the hell, he was already breaking his rules today. He picked up the tiny fork and deposited a sizable portion of the brownie into his mouth. He was pleasantly surprised again. She was right; he found it quite enjoyable. Even after he cleaned the plate of the crumbs he still wanted more.
But it was late, it’d been an hour and she still hadn’t appeared. He was stupid to think that someone would have appeared. Things like that just don’t happen. Surely after all these days one might have expected her to be here, but that’s people and people suck. He just wanted to leave.
As if she had read his mind, the waitress walked up to him, the radiant smile still pasted on her face.
“It’s on the house.”
“Pardon me?”
“It’s on the house; it’s us apologising for your lack of company.”
He flushed. Why it was any of her business that he didn’t have company? Without bothering to say thank you, he grabbed his bag and walked out.
The rest of the day just dragged on. She didn’’t message, and she hadn’t even come online. At this point, he was worried; it crossed his mind that something may have happened to her. But it also occurred to him that she may have just been disinterested and if that were the case, he would not be the one to message her first.
How petty it seemed to him. Human interactions have become so cold and calculating that people did only what could be perceived to be acceptable. He couldn’t text a woman he was worried about because of how it may be interpreted. It seemed silly and frivolous but that was the unfortunate reality he faced.
He resolved to continue his day as though the morning hadn’t happened. He was lying to himself; he had in fact resolved to spend his day waiting on her to message him, something that might not actually happen.
It was late, about 11:35 that night. She still hadn’t surfaced, and she probably won’t he thought. This wasn’t how he pictured it ending, and he had imagined and re-imagined their ending again and again, this just wasn’t it. He was contemplating whether or not to turn his phone off. He felt as though the disappointment might be less if it were off. He would sleep easier if it were off. But, what if she did message and he missed it? What if opportunity knocked and he wasn’t there to answer?
He didn’t wait for anyone.
He turned the phone off, stuffed it under the pillow and wrapped his arms around the woman sleeping next to him and thought. Next time, nothing messy. He lived with messy; it wasn’t for him.
