Sunday – 10:04 AM – Midtown Station
"I'm not late," I said, breathless, jogging up to Emma at the subway entrance. "You're just early."
She looked me up and down with a critical squint.
Black shirt. Denim jacket. Hair still a little damp. No tie.
"Wow," she said. "You do own normal clothes."
I gave a small bow. "Only for rare events. Fish-related emergencies. Surprise dates."
"This isn't a date."
"Of course not," I said smoothly. "That's why you wore perfume."
She stiffened slightly. Just a twitch. But I saw it.
"…It's body spray."
"I stand corrected."
She elbowed me lightly, and I laughed as we joined the crowd heading toward the Aqua Glide Marine Conservatory, Capital District
11:03 AM – Inside the Aquarium
The place was dimly lit and full of ocean blue. Giant tanks stretched from floor to ceiling, casting shimmering light across the walkways. Schools of fish swam past like floating ribbons. A stingray skimmed the glass near us.
Emma walked slightly ahead, hands in her jacket pockets, pretending not to be impressed.
I kept pace beside her. "How many times have you been here?"
"Twice. Field trip. Siblings."
"Ah, so this is technically your third time bringing a child."
She rolled her eyes. "You're lucky you're cute."
I blinked. "Wait, that was an actual compliment."
She kept walking. "It was conditional."
11:30 AM – The Touch Tank
We reached the tide pool zone—open tanks where people could touch starfish, sea cucumbers, and other slippery ocean creatures.
"I dare you," Emma said, "to touch that sea cucumber without flinching."
I grinned. "What do I get if I win?"
"Bragging rights."
I dunked my hand in.
And immediately regretted everything.
"…It moved," I muttered.
Emma stifled a laugh. "You look like it just proposed to you."
"I think it did."
Then, as I was pulling my hand back, I miscalculated—and so did she. Our hands brushed underwater.
Not a light touch.
Full-on, palm-to-palm, very warm, very suddenly-too-long kind of contact.
We both froze.
The cold water didn't help. Or maybe it did too much. Either way, I looked up just in time to see her glance away, fast.
"…We touched a sea cucumber together," I said solemnly.
"Shut up."
12:12 PM – Penguin Exhibit: Trapped in a Crowd
The path narrowed as we got near the penguin tank—families and couples bottlenecked around a popular photo-op.
"Move in," she said, pressing her shoulder into mine as people jostled past.
"Careful," I said. "Keep doing that and people are going to think we're dating."
She didn't pull away.
Instead, she leaned slightly closer and whispered in my ear, "Let them."
That shut me up for a full six seconds.
Then the crowd pushed again—and somehow, my hand landed on her waist.
Not a gentle, respectful "accidental brush."
No.
It was full-on, slightly firm, "I'm trying to steady myself but oh no you're really close" hand placement.
She froze.
So, did I.
"…Are you touching my waist right now?"
"Technically," I said calmly, "I'm supporting both of us from falling. This is a structural gesture."
She raised an eyebrow. "A structural gesture."
"You can take it up with engineering."
Her face was definitely red. Just a little.
But she didn't move away.
1:00 PM – The Mirror Tunnel (aka Final Boss)
On the way to the exit, we passed through the mirror tunnel—a hallway of LED-lit, aquatic-glass walls, designed for "reflection selfies" and "deep emotional moments," according to the sign.
There was no one else inside.
Just our reflections.
And a weirdly romantic blue glow.
She stepped in first, then turned.
Her reflection surrounded me from every angle.
"You realize this is the part in the movie where the love interest corners the guy," I said, voice softening.
She crossed her arms. "And?"
"And I'm the guy."
We locked eyes.
For a moment, the silence buzzed with electricity.
Emma stepped forward—
And then slipped. Just barely. Her boot caught the edge of the platform.
I caught her by the wrist, instinctively—pulled her forward.
Straight into me.
Chest to chest.
Eyes wide. Breaths shallow.
Our faces were way too close. Again.
"…You're doing that thing," she said quietly.
"What thing?"
"Looking at me like you're going to kiss me."
"I'm not," I lied.
"You sure?"
I didn't answer.
I leaned in, just a breath's distance—just enough for her to feel it.
And then I let go.
"Your balance's fine now," I said softly.
Her cheeks were pink.
She turned without a word and kept walking.
2:15 PM – Exit Gates
"Thanks for today," she said, voice almost normal again. "It was… surprisingly tolerable."
"That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me all week."
She shook her head, laughing softly. "We should do it again."
"Next time, I get to pick."
"Just not the zoo."
"No promises."
She turned to leave, then hesitated.
Without looking at me, she said, "Jay?"
"Yeah?"
"…If it had been a date," she said quietly, "you would've done well."
Then she walked off into the crowd.
And I stood there in the light of the fish tanks, grinning like an idiot.
Later that evening, I found myself exactly where I always seemed to end up when the noise died down—standing outside the small bakery in midtown, just two blocks from home.
The sky was purple-gold, and the scent of fresh bread drifted from the open window.
Amaya stepped out a few minutes later, still wearing her apron. Her hair was tied up messily, and there was flour on her cheek.
"Hey," she said, wiping her hands on a towel. "Didn't think I'd see you today."
"Just passing by," I said. "And maybe hoping for a cookie."
She smiled. "Lucky for you, we had leftovers."
She handed me a paper bag, still warm.
We sat on the curb together, legs stretched out, sharing the cookies in companionable silence.
Then she glanced sideways. "You were out today, huh?"
"Yeah," I nodded.
"With… someone?"
I met her eyes. I didn't flinch.
"Emma," I said honestly. "She asked. We went to the aquarium."
Amaya blinked. Once. But she didn't look upset.
"Oh."
"It wasn't a date," I added.
She looked down at the bag between us. "But it could've been."
I didn't answer.
She didn't need me to.
A moment passed. Then she leaned her shoulder lightly against mine.
"I'm glad you told me," she said quietly.
"I always will."
Another small smile. "You better."
The streetlights flickered on. A kid's bicycle rattled by.
And just like that, the quite returned.
Simple.
Honest.
Home.