I think it is finally safe to write this post, considering the subject is done reading my blog. [Or at least I think he is. One can hope. And for some reason, I got psyched into feeling it would be sneaky to make it private.]
So. A Tinder win, I suppose?
Of the few people I gave my number to, only one person ended up remaining as interesting as he was on the app. The others pestered me to meet up, or kept commenting on my facial features. [Once or twice, or in the course of conversation, is fine. Pinging me exclusively to say that my lips look kissable? Ew.]
But this one person. There are butterflies. So many butterflies.
I didn’t have a good idea of what he looked like, being fully aware [and guilty] of well-angled pictures. But it didn’t matter. I enjoyed chatting with him. Conversation with him made me laugh. He was interesting, even though his life was routine [his words, not mine]. There was a definite spark.
Then we planned to meet up. And I was a mess of nerves. I couldn’t imagine why, considering how even meeting new clients doesn’t render me so idiotic anymore. I was nervous and excited and flushed. Very flushed. Think tomato. In my state of confusion, I ended up at the meeting spot a good 45 minutes in advance. Because I wasn’t feeling conscious enough. *facepalm*
In the tea shop, I settled down comfortably to wait with a novel, and was slightly surprised to realise that he is tall. And really not photogenic, because much cuter in person. And clearly as feeling as awkward as I was, thank goodness!
There were so many sensations I was swirling in. I figured, by keeping my tone light and subjects neutral, I would be able to navigate this charged situation [at least I felt it was charged] without too much embarrassment. But, and this is something I need to work on, I couldn’t actually look him in the eye. Every time I did, I could feel a blush creeping up my neck and staining my cheeks. It didn’t help that I could feel his eyes on me. I have no idea what he was thinking though, so I put it down to normal, social behaviour that I was apparently incapable of at that moment.
Thankfully, the extreme awkwardness drained as the conversation progressed. And I relaxed in his company, because he was nice. We laughed and chatted, and finally decided to look for a place to get dinner.
We found a place nearby, and sank back into a comfortable chat. I don’t know what we talked about, but the time sped past. And as the evening drew to close, I started feeling awkward again. Because all I could think about, despite valiant efforts to the contrary, was what it would feel like to kiss this guy.
By this time however, I was reasonably certain that he didn’t find me attractive. Disappointing, but not unexpected. He hadn’t come with any expectations [sensible], but me being me had already imagined numerous scenarios. The evening had far surpassed any of those though.
We walked towards the exit of the complex, and for one moment I thought I would link my arm in his. Didn’t though, because panic and fear of crossing a line overpowered the thought immediately. The spot from where I called for an Uber was slightly secluded and dark, so again my imagination started racing. He said goodbye in the typical French fashion of a light kiss on both cheeks, and a perfunctory embrace. It was quite platonic. I expected him to carry on, since he lives quite far off, but he waited till my ride arrived. Chivalry!
A few minutes later, my cab swung into the lane, and we walked towards it. And then, a little to my surprise, at the cab, he did the French farewell thing again. Only this time, after it was done, I looked up into his face, and simultaneously felt an almighty blush and millions of butterflies erupt. Thank goodness it was dark, because I am sure I surpassed tomato at that moment. Because, for a second, I thought the kiss was going to happen. There were so much chemistry crackling in that moment, it took me a while to realise that it was purely and exclusively in my head.
The moment sadly passed, and I got into the cab. A sigh escaped, partly of disappointment and partly of relief that my blushing face wasn’t visible in the dark. Settled into the seat to message my mother that I was on the way back home, resigned to the fact that all the interest was only on my side. But before the cab moved forward, my door was yanked open and he dipped his head into the car. I don’t remember exactly what he said, because I was so surprised.
But I do remember driving off with a smile, because maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t the only one who wished the evening could have gone on for longer.