My mug of coffee felt heavy in my hand, its content warm to the touch. She was holding her own mug, watching other people, taking a sip every so often.
“You look good,” I commented, and finally made her look at me. She smiled then, her face losing some of its tension lines.
“Well, you don’t look too shabby yourself,” her voice sounded tired, but the smile was still there.
Trading stories, we were able to catch up on what is happening in our lives. The real stuff, not the ones found on SNS.
“Are you still not on muka buku?” I shook my head in the negative. She smiled again, followed by a chuckle. “I guess you never will be on it.”
“I guess so. Too much information, all the time. That’s worse than working in a newsroom.”
Another chuckle. “I do not miss that much.”
– – –
“So. Are you guys friends with benefits?” Blunt as usual and I detected a note of curiousity and slight admiration in her voice.
“You know how I am. I don’t sleep around.” Despite our very different lifestyles and outlook on life, we get along really well and she respects my social boundaries as I do hers.
“I do know you. That’s why I’m asking. Because you sound like you’re really into this guy, enough to throw caution to the wind.”
“I do like him. A lot. And that scares me.”
Her eyes widened further as she takes another sip of her coffee. “Why are you scared?”
“I’m scared that this might actually work out.” There, I finally said it out loud.
She smiled at that. “Gosh. You’re really something. Gone sailing all over, travelled alone, interviewed bigwigs, yet so chicken!”
“I know, right.”
She turned serious suddenly, her hand snaked out to reach mine across the table. “You deserve to be happy. And I hope things work out with him. Because I think you’ll need a long time to recover if it doesn’t.”
Ain’t that the truth, now.