I never imagined that disastrous night would pass so smoothly. It was more beautiful than I could have imagined, and I won't forget at least the part I remember. What I'm about to write is based on what I recall after waking up from my drunken stupor this morning, and on the events Michael recounted to me when I questioned him. Although I suspect he's lying about some details, I think I'll accept what he said.
My earliest memory is of him entering, slightly wet. He just brushed the rain off his hair and looked around the bar, searching for any clue that might catch him of me. But I was watching him, hidden away.
He really came? I couldn't believe it.
I quickly pulled out my phone and checked the camera, making sure I wasn't wearing any makeup. It was a really bad day to ask a guy out on a date, but what happened, happened, and now I was in trouble.
I stood up, held out my hand, and said hello. He gave me a gentle smile that almost ended our conversation before it even began. He walked over and sat down.
I hadn't meant to lose my composure like that, at least not in front of him. I thought I could control everything: my words, my gaze, even that crush I'd kept hidden for so long, like a secret that shouldn't be revealed. But drink after drink made the world lighter, or perhaps it made me less resistant, until I found myself laughing more than I should and talking without thinking.
He sat across from me, as calm as ever, watching me in a way that unsettled me more than anything else. He wasn't laughing much, but he didn't seem bothered either; he just looked, as if he saw something I hadn't intended to reveal. I tried to appear natural, to compose myself, but I swayed slightly with every movement, losing my train of thought mid-sentence, then picking it up again as if nothing had happened.
I don't know exactly when those words slipped out, or how they came out so easily. Perhaps it wasn't a clear sentence, perhaps just a foolish hint, or an incomplete confession disguised as a joke. But I felt it the moment it came out, the silence that followed, the weight that suddenly filled the space between us.
I laughed, of course I laughed, as I always do when I'm scared. I tried to bury what I'd said under layers of mild mockery, and I looked at him as if I were silently begging him to ignore it, not to pick up on it, to at least leave me with my dignity.
But he didn't.
I watched him slowly put down his glass, then raise his eyes to mine—a look I couldn't decipher, but it instantly silenced me. He remained silent for a few seconds, as if the words needed to pass through something deeper before reaching me. Then he began to speak, with an uncanny calm, as if he weren't afraid of what he was about to say.
He simply said he liked me.
I felt something in my chest shift, not from the alcohol this time, but because I no longer had anywhere to hide. This was all I wanted, wasn't it? Yet, I didn't feel triumphant, but rather something closer to complete exposure.
I looked at him, for a long time this time, without looking away. I couldn't find the right words, the perfect response I'd imagined hundreds of times. I just smiled, a small, slightly tired, very genuine smile, and said something simple… perhaps it sounded ordinary, but to me, it was as much a confession as it was an acceptance.
I didn't say I liked him, even though he knew, and I didn't say I'd been waiting for him, even though it was obvious. I simply stopped running away, and that was enough.
And at that moment, I realized that, despite all the chaos, despite the drunkenness, despite my confusion… I had never been this honest.
Now the problem is, I don't remember what happened next.