Numbers Don’t Lie
A Short Story About A Man Waiting For The Right Moment With The Right Calculation
There are two possibilities tonight: I’m either going back home with her or alone. The first has higher probabilities, and numbers don’t lie. This is the night I’ve been waiting for — just the two of us, sitting on the white sand, under the dim moonlight and bright stars, with the waves washing away the sand beneath us.
We’ve been here for hours, and all I can do is nod, listen, smile, and stare into her black eyes. I’m completely immersed in her, my gaze fixed on everything she does. I know her eyes blink once every ten seconds, and when she tries to think hard, she rolls her eyes to the right and blinks three times. Sometimes, she touches her sharp nose with her index finger and rubs it up and down twice.
If I told her all of this, she’d probably be shocked, thinking what a creep I am. I can imagine her startled, covering her mouth with her delicate hands and long pink nails. Unfortunately, that’s just who I am — a mathematician. I have a good mind for crunching numbers and eyes keen on every detail.
Intuitively, it’s always easier for me to think in numbers. Numbers don’t sugarcoat anything, unlike words. If the numbers tell me I’m likely going to die, then I’m going to die — no need to sugarcoat it for me. And tonight, the numbers are on my side. After weighing our common traits, how long we’ve been together, how much time we’ve spent, and many complex variables that I can’t explain one by one, today she’s definitely going to be mine.
She keeps talking about her life, feelings, and all the gossip she knows, explaining it all so eloquently. Sometimes, she gets so caught up in her excitement that her voice becomes louder and faster. Occasionally, she unconsciously touches my shoulder, looks into my eyes, and asks, “Do you understand what I mean?”
When she does, I just nod along, but inside, I’m calculating the probability of this moment turning into something more. It’s high — higher than ever before.
Despite the trivial nature of today’s conversation, she’s smart as hell — at least, that was my first impression of her. We started by discussing the complexities of the universe, and now we’re talking about her life and feelings. That’s also why, according to my calculations, she’s into me, and tonight is the perfect time to tell her how I feel.
I’m waiting for my moment, but I know this isn’t it. The plan is simple: wait for the silence, then make my move.
So I nod along as she talks about her boss, how he thinks he knows her but doesn’t have a clue. I try to stay patient, but inside, I’m on edge. She keeps talking, and with each word, my heart races faster. Every time I thought she would pause, she just took her breath. The silence I’ve been waiting for seems to be taking forever to come.
Then, suddenly, I can’t hold it in anymore. The words burst out:
“I love you.”
I didn’t plan it, didn’t think it through — it just happened. My voice cuts through her story like a knife, and the air around us tightens. My heart pounds, the night feels heavier, and there’s no turning back — my plan has begun, and I’m left suspended in the weight of my own words.
She just sits there in silence, trying to absorb what I’ve just said. I don’t know how many seconds have passed, but it feels like time has stopped. These are the longest minutes I’ve ever experienced.
The chill wind penetrates my bones, and I’m freezing. Amidst the strong wind, the trees aren’t swaying, and the clouds aren’t moving. The sounds gradually fade away — no more overlapping waves. All I can hear is my own heartbeat. She smiles, just a bit. A bit too strained. I don’t know what she means by that and what I’m feeling, and I’m pretty sure I hadn’t accounted for this in my calculations. I feel as though I’m nailed to my seat, barely able to move.
I decide not to look at her, waiting for her answer. I look at the stars, but still, everything is frozen in motion, and time slows.
This is the part in movies where she would let me kiss her, but nah, this is the real world — no need to dramatize and romanticize it. The real world works in cold numbers; the formula that keeps our world spinning in orbit is in numbers, the formula that keeps that star from collapsing into our world is in numbers — everything, almost everything, even in mundane life, works in numbers.
She was talking a lot, but now I don’t hear anything from her. I can feel my palm starting to sweat and my finger tapping into my knee repetitively. I feel like everything went wrong, but what exactly went wrong?
I close my eyes and brush aside all of this irrationality. What would the world be like if the universe didn’t believe in numbers? I believe in numbers, like the universe believes in the mathematical formula of gravity. That’s why, even though she hasn’t given any answer, eventually I believe the numbers won’t lie.
