Ensemble:
Me, [21F]. 5’8”, Asian, brunette, leggy, 32B’s
Him, [30M]. 6’3”, white, muscular, reddish hair
This, too, shall pass. And so it did, as all things have, and do, and will.
He was my TA in my first year of university, 3 years ago. I hadn’t noticed him back then, but I was hyperaware of him now, warm and solid beside me. It was a cold night last December, the kind of deep winter night where the world is frozen in place, suspended for an instant. We were walking across campus, talking about tea with cinnamon, or maybe Italy, and I was laughing as I stopped to watch our frozen breath drift away. I remember being fascinated by the brightness of his hair, but I couldn’t tell you exactly what colour it was – not quite red, nor yellow, but the exact color of ripe orange rind. (Howard Roark, I would later joke. I’m not an Objectivist, but it was a good book! Come @ me.) When he spoke, he gestured freely with his hands, long fingers tracing the air. I was surprised by how much I liked them. We came across a half-frozen puddle, fractals cracking across its surface, and he lifted me with one arm like I was a child and strode through, blasé. I clung to him with feigned outrage. In that instant, I think we both knew.