Start Over

    There's a reason it's called friends to lovers, and not lovers to friends. 

    Plunk. My jasmine milk tea fell to the table with a thud as I stared at you entering the boba shop in shock, shaking off the droplets of rain from your jacket and laughing. You were with one of your high school friends, he was a year older than us, from your Calculus class. You talked about him all the time when we were together, but I never had the chance to meet or get to know him before we fell apart. I was there with one of my best friends, catching up after ending our sophomore year at college. It was literally the most unromantic place I could think of, the blender whirring from behind the counter and the tables dirty, napkins all over the floor and décor in disarray. Middle schoolers congregated on the side of the room, gym bags littering the floor as they talked loudly. Why were you here?

    “Bella,” I hissed. “He’s here.”

    She swiveled around, “Who?” I smacked her hand hard, and she winced. 

    “What was that for?” She groaned in pain. 

    “Shut up. Don’t be so obvious, can’t you tell who I’m talking about? Stop looking!” 

    You walked up to the register, still chatting with your company of choice, not noticing me sitting in the corner facing the rest of the shop yet. I looked away, trying to act inconspicuous. You looked the same as ever, with your half rimmed glasses and faded jeans. How did I look? I’ve changed my hair since then. I fingered the highlights that were grown out, the result of an impulsive night at my friend's apartment. I was wearing that sweater you would always compliment me for, you said the dusty pink hue suited me. But wait, why did any of this matter? My mind raced. I was not expecting to see you; I wasn't ready to face you yet, what could I even say? It's been months since we last messaged each other half heartedly, knowing it just wasn't the same. A year since we last talked in person. Two and a half years since we met in our senior English class and we started talking, first about class, then more. Two years since we were lovers. Two years since the nature of our relationship changed forever, for better or for worse. 

    Once, we held hands in a boba shop, somewhere a bit nicer than this one. It was quiet, most of the after school crowd still in class. But we weren't, we skipped class that time to feel rebellious. But who were we kidding? Neither of us were anything close to disobedient students or mutinous teens. For Christ's sake, I was even contemplating sending an apology to my 5th period American history teacher as I stirred the lychee jelly in my black tea with the fat boba straw. But it was nice to pretend we were people we weren't for a bit, it was our little secret. 

    We sat across from each other, in the corner, at one of those tiny tables meant for two. It was the first date I’d ever been on. I shared your straw, the first time I ever did that with someone I wasn't related to. I was always a bit germophobic, something I picked up from my family growing up. But I felt grown up in that moment, shyly taking a sip of your blended drink when you offered, that simple action feeling impossibly intimate. I wasn't germophobic, not at all. I do this all the time. What germs? That's what I hoped I was conveying as I casually drew the straw into my smiling mouth, and murmured a yes when you asked me if it was good. You asked if you could hold my hand from across the table, my heart beat faster as I nodded. You’d confess months into the future, that you were just as nervous as me.

    When our mutual friends asked, I always simply said things just didn't work out, and they would nod in understanding and move on, changing the topic. I tried to be diplomatic, not wanting to confuse anyone with contrasting accounts or affect their view of you with my words. I could’ve lashed out against you, painting you as the enemy in the heat of the breakup, the typical course of action for exes. Because although things ended mutually, it would be unrealistic to say both parties were happy. We said things we couldn't take back, caught up in the heat of the moment, frustrated by our inability to communicate, a side effect of being overwhelmed teens, both young and dumb. Despite feeling like everything was crumbling before my eyes at the time, we've grown since then, the months and years passing in a blink of an eye and mellowing the situation, the bitterness and confusion washing away with the months passing and leaving the sweet memories. 

    But I almost hated how people never probed or asked for more information, wanting to talk it out with someone, anyone, but I knew that they probably didn't want to pry or that my tone sounded final. But even if they asked, what would I have said? I didn't even really know why things didn’t work out. Every little thing just added up until we fell apart. Our uneasiness about being in love so young, the future of college looming, my issues opening up, your issues with confrontation. We were just scared. Would we still be together if we tried a little harder? Were we just testing each other? Who knows. It ended, and we moved on. Or did we? The future seems easy when you’re in love: long distance, careers, moving in together, marriage, kids. You told me your life would be happy as long as I was in it, you wanted our kid to look like me. And I told you whole-heartedly, you were it for me as well. How do you move on from a person you planned your whole life with, sharing your hopes and dreams, seeing, almost tasting, your future with them? I couldn’t. Maybe you could. 

    Shit. You noticed me. I saw you glance over, and swallow, looking away. Neither of us were ever any good at acting indifferent or low profile. I could read you immediately. How could I not, even after so long? I initially swallowed a laugh at your obvious discomfort, but sobered, and stirred my drink some more. It’s been so long. I was ready. But were you? Was there still something between us? Were we ready to try again? We were stupid kids, not knowing what we were throwing away, I understand now. As I lived some life without you by my side, I realized, it was always you. But do you feel the same? 

    An hour passed, us and our respective friends on opposite sides of the room, both trying to act normal. I half-heartedly listened to Bella talk, furtively watching the minutes tick by on the analog clock above the counter. I finished my tea eventually, the leftover ice melting over the stray boba pearls in my lychee black tea, both of our favorite drinks. I always forgot to order my drinks with less ice, the placebo that made us think you got more drink.  You’d always make fun of me for that. But despite laughing at me, you’d slyly exchange our cups, when we ordered the same thing. Although I pretended not to notice, those were the moments I felt your affection the most. 

    Lost in my thoughts, I got up abruptly, needing to use the restroom, looking down at my white scuffed sneakers tapping against the sticky tiles as I walked across the room. As I looked up, you were standing there, in line. I blinked. 

    “Hi,” you said, staring back at me. 

    “Uh, my bad,” I mumbled and walked away. What was that? I facepalmed as I walked back to the table, unable to even act suave or save face. I always lost my cool around you, that much has not changed. 

    Memories of us filled the space, making me melancholic, but Bella filled the silence with her jokes and energy, getting a laugh out of me once in a while, understanding my need for her to carry the conversation and bring a sense of normalcy. The thoughts continued to whirl in my mind. Should I go over, make pointless conversation? Ask to talk about us? But what if things changed? Could you possibly feel the same way I still do? 

    You got up, and my heart stopped. It was now or never. But I was paralyzed in my seat, all I could do was stare at my empty cup as you said bye to your friend and made your way to the door. I could have sworn you looked at me, but I may have been seeing things.

    Bella hit my hand. “What?” I snapped out of it and glared at her. 

    “Go. Don’t be dumb. I'll throw away your stuff.”

    “I could kiss you right now.” As I got up and threw my wallet and phone into my bag, I knew what I had to do. I skidded my way to the door, breaking into a sprint down the rain soaked pavement. 

    The shallow puddles splashed all over my canvas shoes as they hit the ground, soaking my socks, but I didn't care. My hood flew off, the cold drizzle soaking my hair and matting my flyaways to my cheeks. I spotted you standing, waiting, facing the intersection. It felt like a movie, a corny rom-com, the type we would always make fun of as we passed by movie theater posters, but it was real life. This is real life. My breath catches in my throat as I catch up to you, noticing how both of our glasses are absolutely splattered with droplets. You turn to me, almost like you've been expecting me. 

    I lean forward in exhaustion, my hands resting on my knees, my breath heavy and labored. I look up at you in anticipation, wiping my cheek off with one hand.

    “Hey.”

    Your face breaks out into a wide grin, one of your left teeth slightly crooked (oh how I love that tooth), a divot forming on your right cheek, right beside the corner of your smile. 

    "Hey."