Never you mind, never forget you

“So, you’re a lawyer?”
“Yup, a corporate lawyer.”
“So, what do corporate lawyers do?”
“You know, due diligence, M & A, blah blah.”
Acha, okay.”

He talks about his hometown and why he left – (the usual suspects) opportunities and a clean slate. But more often than not, most people (add reminder: me included) left home (once) to detach and see the world. While this thought bubble pops into my head, I start to remember a random Facebook video where a Buddhist monk speaks of loving with detachment. There is an internal dialogue going on: “Should I tell him about the video? Do philosophical questions have a place on the second date? Is it too soon to bring up heavy duty stuff? Should we talk about religion? No, no, no, no. Its a complete non starter when it comes to dating.” The external conversation then ventures from work to workplace dynamics, job pressures, former lovers, microaggressions, ageism, millennial hating tendencies to a pause.

“Soooo, my friend is having a party. Do you want to come along?”
He fixes his glaze right at eye-level. I maintain contact and my intramural squirming makes an appearance. He oddly understands, cocks his head to one side and says, “Too soon?” I nod my head sheepishly and break into a chuckle while maintaining eye contact with my empty dinner plate to a) avoid him from taking a quick gander at; and b) being amused with, my very, very crimson face.

We pay the bill. He calls for a cab to head to this party and I call mine to head home. He insists on dropping me home, yet again. The cab arrives and the chivalry continues while he opens the door for me to clamber first. In the dark, almost midnight blue tinted light inside the cab, I notice his eyes for the first time – almost hazel but comforting. Like hot chocolate on a bad day.

We reach home, he runs out to catch up with me and leave me at my doorstep. I laugh and tell him, “This is so unnecessary ya. Just go jaldi for the party.” He laughs and makes me promise, “Okay. So I know you like art and all. Want to come for an origami class this Sunday?” I shrug (mostly because I suck at Origami) and nod affirmatively this time, unable to contain my excitement. He looks at me for three seconds. Bemused, I ask him “What?” He says, “Nothing. Night!” and I watch him traipse towards the cab.

Tired and exhausted, I set my bag down and climb into bed: to drift off into much needed sleep. I find myself tossing and turning, so I turn on the light to read a book. But that isn’t good enough for tonight. So I head to the kitchen to make some hot chocolate to keep me company.

[The title of this post is taken from the song “Beautiful” by Viigo.]

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