I sit across from him, the world humming softly in the background. The clatter of dishes and the conversation from nearby tables: all of it fades beneath his voice. He’s telling me about his past few days: work, silly annoyances, and random moments of joy. It never truly registers just how many years we’ve spent like this, having our regular conversations stretching for hours. We don’t flood each other’s inboxes with daily updates, nor do we call just to fill the gap between our Fridays. Instead, we patiently wait for the weekly after-hours catch-up in a Japanese restaurant.
He
rolls up his sleeve so the food won’t stain his white shirt. It’s a small
gesture that feels so familiar. I’ve seen him do it a hundred times before, and
yet, I still find myself watching. He smiles while his eyes light up as
his favorite ramen is placed in front of him. Just a moment ago, he told me he
was feeling low. And yet, here he is, looking at the meal like it’s the one
thing that can make the day a little better.
The
sadness hasn’t entirely left his eyes. I can still see its traces, lingering in
the quiet corners of his expression. But now that he’s smiling, I’m reminded
once again that this delicate balance, this ability to acknowledge his own emotions
yet carry them with such calm optimism—that’s what makes him him. And
I think I could watch him like this forever.
“This
week, I got a demanding task, so I bought a lemon cheesecake and finished it
myself,” he says, laughing. His eyes curve into crescent moons.
And
just like that, my heart stumbles. I can picture it: him, sitting alone on a
gloomy day, in front of his computer, eating his favorite Japanese lemon cheesecake as if it were a small
act of opposition against the weight of the world.
Can
I tell the whole room that I really like someone who laughs so innocently when talking about cheesecake? I want to turn to every stranger here and
say: look at him. Look at this man who finds joy in the smallest of
things. Look at this person who carries his burdens lightly, who never lets the
weight of the world steal his laughter. Take a proper look at him because I
believe there is something so joyful about being in his presence.
“What
was the task?” I ask.
“Creating
a project dashboard. I had to learn Power BI for it.” He furrows his brows
slightly, thinking.
“That
must’ve been tough. But we learned Tableau back on campus, so it shouldn’t
be that difficult, right?” I say, recalling the memory of studying in Japan, which made us best friends.
“Yeah.
But Power BI isn’t as user-friendly or intuitive, I think,”. He starts explaining the dashboard he built, detailing how Power BI
compares to Tableau.
At that moment, I realized that I never planned on falling for a tech geek, yet enjoying a conversation like this. Also, I never thought love would feel like this: soft, unhurried, and soundless. It happened somewhere between these easy conversations and bursts of laughter over tech memes. Somewhere in the way his voice softens when he speaks just low enough for only me to hear. Somewhere in the way his jokes always work because I know almost all the inside stories. Somewhere in the way the world feels a little lighter whenever he’s near.
And
now, I can’t help but be curious: Am I the only woman who gets to see this
storyteller side of him? People say that if the long-time person was meant to
win, they would have won already. And yet, here I am, wondering if I was never
meant to win his heart at all. What if someone new comes and instantly
becomes his favorite person to tell stories to?
I
want to stay still, and yet I want to tell the world. I want to write his name
in my SNS, in the sand, in the lines of every application I have built, in the
pages of every book he has ever loved, so that no matter where he goes, he will
finally see. I want people to stop and ask, Who is it that makes you
smile like this? Maybe then it would be easier for me to tell them
about him.
But
instead, I keep it a secret, not because I am afraid or unsure. I just want him
to navigate his feelings freely, even if that means he will fall for someone
else. When that day comes, I hope he tells me about the person who makes his
soft eyes even softer. Tell me about the one who makes you tell stories
even more frequently than you do with me, my heart hopes.
But
until then, take a proper look at the way I always listen just a little more
intently when you speak. Notice how I memorize your stories, even the ones
you'll forget later. See how I treasure each of these moments, knowing that you might never see me the way I see you. And maybe, one day, you
will look at me and see all the love I’ve carried so gently, so patiently. And if that
day ever comes, please don’t hesitate to come closer.
As
we part ways, he waves a hand. “I’m afraid tonight you won’t check your SNS. Don’t
forget to check it after this because I posted something.”. SNS (Social Network Service), that’s what the Japanese call platforms like Instagram. We share the
habit of rarely updating ours, so I can’t help but wonder: what could he have
possibly posted?
I
open his Instagram story, which features a picture of ramen and the caption ”#好きなんだ”,
which is read as “#sukinanda” in Japanese — a casual way of
saying "I like it". I call his name just before he walks too far from
the restaurant. He turns around.
“You meant you like the ramen?” I ask. "We can visit this place often if you want."
He
smiles, slowly shaking his head. “Take a better look.”
I
glance at the photo again. There, reflected on the table near his
ramen bowl, is my faint shadow.
"See you next Friday,” he says, waving once more.
And I am left standing there, heart pounding, breath caught between realization and hope.
--------------------
image source: Wiktoria Labudzinska via artstation.com
--------------------
Background
story: When I opened YouTube, a video of
JKT48’s #kusangatsuka MV appeared on my recommendations. I randomly played the
song and thought about how cute the lyrics were. Then, I searched for the original
version performed by AKB48. The energetic and playful melody perfectly captured
the feeling of young, reckless love: the kind where you secretly, but
not-so-secretly, adore someone. The lyrics tell the story of a girl who posts
#sukinanda (I like it) along with a picture of food, with the subtle shadow of
the person she loves in it. They hang out together with their friends on the
beach, playing the watermelon-smashing game.
The
song ends on a happy note with these lyrics: "He replied to my post
with a picture of me trying to smash the watermelon, captioned ‘with someone I
love.’"
I wanted to write a story inspired by that lovely song but with a more mature, quiet kind of love. As always, this story is labeled as fiction because it is fiction :)
