It's a first date, and as usual, I'm running late.
Busy streets, buzzing peeps, hasty leaps... with flowers wrapped around my arms, and I can feel my cheeks getting warm. It's just like another first date before when I went out with some heartbreaker who left my eyes sore. And I also quite remember the day I was hurrying like this, only to be rejected at the dinner table and get dismissed.
But when I met her, I could no longer mope because all she's ever given me is hope.
"Where have you been?" she asks with the most delicate smile I've ever seen.
And for a moment when she laid her gaze on me, it's like the world has stopped moving instantly, and here I am breathless, standing before the best, and I myself also wonder in stillness, where have I been? Perhaps out there pointlessly chasing, out there foolishly begging for the love of the wrong people, but does it matter now when this girl I'm staring at looks so beautiful?
And I wish I could openly surrender, and tell her that I never saw her coming, that I never imagined falling, falling for a stranger who became the reason for my healing.
Instead, I can only say, "I'm sorry," when I can just state what everyone else can see, but I know I'm still too shy to tell her she's pretty. "I should've been here at seven-thirty."
As we walk side by side to our seats, she raises her wrist to find out it's already a minute before eight, and then sincerely responds, "It's okay. I'm always going to wait."
And I swear to myself that next time, I'm never gonna be late.