I have a love story, like everyone does. Except mine happens twice, in two different places, at the same time.
The Love Story in my Living Area:
My housemate comes in, with her boyfriend in tow. I’m on my computer working on some office shit. She says hi and introduces Jacob. Jacob says hi and sits on the sofa, not far from where I am. I smell his perfume wafting in the stifling afternoon air, and I get light-headed. I think Clive Christian Imperial Majesty, but I know I’m wrong and it’s probably some ripped off scent. He looks cute with his Japanese eyes and he smiles a lot.
Chona, the housemate, comes out of the pantry with a pitcher of fruit juice and some cookies. She plops down on the sofa across him and they talk in hushed tones, lest they disturb me.
I mostly work at home during the weekends, by choice.
So I continue working, and they continue talking. Every now and then, I see Jacob looking at me, in my periphery. I’d then try to catch his stare, and when I do, he smiles and I look away. Chona notices and frowns a little, gets up, and goes to her bedroom. She changes into something more mall-appropriate and pulls Jacob up. She says they’re going. I say goodbye.
The Love Story in my Mind:
They leave, and about ten minutes later, Jacob comes back running. He nearly destroys the door knocking and calling me. He says he couldn’t get me off his mind and wants me. He starts kissing me and holding me and never letting me go. This is the start of our story.
The Love Story in my Eyes:
They leave, and about ten minutes later, I’m still waiting.
Just waiting.
