“You call, it’s all gonna be over baby”

It started two years ago. He was sitting across the room, with a book in his hand, strangely recluse but intensely social. I could see it the first time I caught his eye while he spoke to the people around him- through years of practice, he had perfected his poker face.

Determined, I thought it could change. Big frames don’t always show the whole picture. So I took it upon myself to crop the picture- to understand the edges, the contrast, the dimensions. To understand the dynamics of the picture- before I could understand the gravity of what it held. Six feet, two inches of the big picture- waiting to be figured out.

Two months later, I am in a cafe. Finally in a meeting that had taken weeks of planning. On a rainy day, with a mocha in my hand- I began to start the game. He deals, well obviously he has the upper hand. He begins to tell me about his Nigerian English heritage. We talk about poverty, world economics, the differences between China, England and India. Before you know it, it’s been an hour- an hour, of intense conversation dovetailed with intense eye contact. That poker face hasn’t been perfected yet, the eyes give a lot away.

His name is Peter Haas.Through the month, he spends his time in Hong Kong with me. We meet often, but he tells me that he is leaving at the end of the month. Moving to London, it seems. I try, so hard, not to get in too deep- but that’s how gamblers lose their money I guess- there’s a thrill. On his last day in Hong Kong, is where all this story begins.

He calls me out of work, like a 70’s romance novel- I sneak out and take him to my secret spot. A balcony with a brilliant view of the city. You know, just keeping it casual- watching the sea and the sunset, with a bunch of renovation workers by our side. Then, he does it- he holds me close and draws me in for a kiss. I push him away- too much public display of affection. “You’re all mine anyway.” I guess this is beginner’s luck- my first win so I play the next game.

It’s 5 am in the morning- I have stayed up to say goodbye. I walk to his house in the humid weather. I walk up to his house- I hate goodbye’s but I need to go through with this. I’ve only known him for a month anyway- so I guess this isn’t a big deal. I ring his bell, seven times. I adamantly sit outside his house- I mean I guess he can’t leave his house without opening the door anyway? I hear clatter- he’s coming, the excitement builds up. It’s like the first time your crush acknowledges you when you’re in middle school. He opens the door and as I expect him to invite me in( I mean, I did pack up his whole apartment) he holds my arm firmly and takes me down the fire exit. I know then- there is someone else.

I walk away, then and there- with a big cuss, a sweaty forehead and a dent in my heart. There is a text the next morning from me on his phone, “I didn’t want you to be alone as you left, I knew how sad you were to go and I wanted to make sure you knew you had people to come back to.” He spills the beans- there was another girl at his house, he claims that he didn’t do anything with her, “ We slept in different bedrooms,” I accept the explanation and I find myself at his friends. I’m furious, and the anger comes out in the form of kisses instead of words.

Ceterius Paribus was a concept I had learnt in 8th grade economics. All other things being equal, there was a very small chance that I was going to Peter ever again in my life. So I decide to let it go, and I speak to him, as a friend. Except a one time text turns into hours a day. I tell him I am moving to Spain, a month later- I find a ticket from England to Spain in my inbox for my birthday week.

I wonder what this is, could this be? Could this be… serendipity? I find myself in Zaragoza Airport, a small Spanish city two hours north of my home. I tuck myself into a corner, waiting to see a Big Friendly Giant. The big book I’m waiting to read more of. I don’t spot him, everyone has left. Maybe this was all a prank? A well planned, malicious, time and money consuming prank?

There he is, at the ATM- half the size he used to be, with a bald head. We spend the night in a pension. A pension is actually a small guesthouse, it’s someone’s house that has been converted into a guesthouse. Our room is actually quite innovative- with a built in shower. The next morning as we begin our day with croissants and coffee, I start to tease him. His poker face can be broken through by playing bluff.

I talk about the gorgeous spanish boy walking by us and I see nothing. Slowly, then all of a sudden,the discomfort creeps up on his face. He blurts out, “Well, if you want to be with other guys why did I just fly all the way here to see you?”

We talk about that night, maybe I should’ve escaped the fire then, when I had a chance. He tells me about the girl who slept over. It was his ex girlfriend.

Plot twist.

She was pregnant with his baby.

I’d take a moment to digest that.

……. ( to be continued.)