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How shall I hold on to my soul, so that it does not touch yours?
- Rainer Maria Rilke
It’s Christmas eve and Chiquita is out with her friend Dain and Dain's girlfriend Asa, because her family isn’t in town and Dain had assured her they were just planning to hang out anyway.
Asa legitimately doesn’t seem to care, but Chiquita declines her invitation to join them the next day too, making up something about meeting another friend of hers, Rami.
"Oh, your cool unnie from university?” Dain asks, looking interested. “How is she?"
Chiquita smiles and says yes, fine, looking around for something to change the subject to before Dain pries further. Like magic, music wafts from nearby, getting louder and clearer as they approach the source.
“Hey, that girl’s pretty good,” Chiquita points out, and they both turn to look, attention successfully diverted. It’s not untrue — the busker strumming a guitar and singing her heart out has a strikingly penetrating voice that cuts through the cold night. Chiquita stops in her tracks and really listens.
Asa laughs. “She’d be flattered if she knew you complimented her.” Chiquita is kind of known on the indie scene as an up and coming young songwriter to watch out for.
Chiquita grimaces in embarrassment and wraps her scarf more snugly around the lower half of her face and blondeponytail. Dain nonchalantly wraps her arms around Asa’s waist and Chiquita grimaces again behind her scarf-shield, moving away discreetly as if to watch the singer closer. For the span of one song, she decides to give her friends privacy.
She ends up a couple of metres away from the singer and her portable mic stand, kind of shy to stand right in front in the audience space. There’s no one else in the audience, actually, though passersby pause in their tracks like Chiquita had, visibly transfixed by the sweet and soulful voice. It seems most people are as abashed as herself to really stop and stare to their heart’s content.
But then a lady in her thirties walks right up and drops a dog-eared note into the guitar case in front of the girl, and she breaks into the hugest smile ever. It’s dazzling and everything else disappears for a second, her eyes crinkling. Chiquita swallows as the singer bows and leans into her mic to say, “Thank you,” humbly before picking the song back up without missing a beat. A few young boys nearby giggle with each other.
The singer continues singing, seeming undaunted by her audience, or lack thereof. There isn’t much in her guitar case, just a few pennies and even fewer notes of small denominations, and a sign simply stating her Soundcloud username. Chiquita has never heard of it, and feels acutely again how big this world is, and how much talent it contains. She sometimes feels so humbled that her own has had the chance to be recognised, in even the slightest way.
The song is coming to an end. Like the song before, it seems to remarkably suit the singer’s voice and style. Chiquita realises she could stand there listening for another hour; all night long. There’s no hint of the chilly weather at all in the warm, honeyed tones which are intoxicating like a cozy room she could sink into and lose herself.
But there’s a hand on her hip and Dain is whispering into her ear that Asa wants to know if she’s hungry.
"Yeah, sure I am,” Chiquita replies, starting to turn away. Her voice makes the singer look in her direction for the first time, and Chiquita stops in her tracks again because the same brilliant smile is being directed at her now, if a little dimmer. She doesn’t think much of it as the teenage guys who had drifted behind her are now clamouring forward to ask if the busker takes requests, but she smiles back before her view is blocked by the guys and Asa slings an arm around her and Dain’s shoulders to lead them away.
The next evening, after she has made a halfhearted attempt to ask Rami out and received the expected response that she’s sorry but she’ll be attending a family gathering, Chiquita ponders where she should go for dinner. Just because she’s alone doesn’t mean she should be stuck with the reheated meal in the fridge her mother had prepared days ago. It’s still cold outside, but Chiquita doesn’t feel like staying in. The only place she can think of that she’s sure she won’t bump into Dain and Asa is the same place they went yesterday. Chiquita trudges down the street with her hands in her coat pockets, getting jostled by couples and families and little kids having the night of their lives.
Then she freezes in her paces, because right there, near the same area they passed through the previous day, she can hear a familiar voice making a cheesy Christmas song sound like velvet.
She looks up, gingerly for some reason, and sees the busker crooning into the mic under fairy lights draped over the trees. There’s a slightly bigger crowd today, and Chiquita feels a pang of solidarity with the girl her age who’s surrounded by people, but singing her heart out, alone too. She’s barely able to go out and get dinner without feeling sorry for herself — much less sing to strangers on this day.
Amidst her thoughts, the song has concluded, and the crowd thins after soft applause and a few appreciative tokens tossed into the guitar case. There’s more cash in there today — the busker must have been around since before dark. Her husky voice is somewhat hoarser today, which gives it a studio-like, lo-fi quality.
She suddenly realises that the other girl appears to be staring in her direction again. Chiquita turns hesitantly, but there isn’t anybody behind her today. The singer poises her pick on the guitar frets and leans forward to say something into the mic before her next song, but Chiquita has turned away, heart racing stupidly, hoping she wasn’t recognised. The scarf had been covering half her face yesterday, so maybe. She hopes the busker doesn’t think she’s some sort of weirdo, or worse, a stalker. She walks briskly away in the direction of the convenience store, and ends up getting a microwave meal anyway; but her heart feels oddly warm and full when she lets herself back into her empty, cold house.
Next afternoon, Chiquita finds herself in the cafe nearby the same spot, already hearing snatches of song reaching her ears on the wind. She itches to be there already, watching the busker and listening to whatever song she’s singing today, whether or not Chiquita knows it.
She’s been trying to justify herself for the past five minutes when Asa arrives.
"Yo, babe.” She’s frowning, but not unhappily, just trying to figure out why Chiquita called her out alone.
“Hey, unnie.” Chiquita thought about it — Dain has known her for too long to not suspect something’s up, so Asa is her best bet.
"I, uh, really liked the food we ate here that day?” She blushes.
Asa looks at her funny. “The waffles?"
Chiquita nods. “Yup."
"Okay…” Asa makes herself comfortable on the seat opposite, then signals the waiter before going back to eyeing Chiquita dubiously. To her credit, she doesn’t ask anything more, though.
She feels like there are ants in her pants the whole time she sits there and watches Asa scarf down the waffles while barely taking bites of her own. Asa is in better spirits by the time they finish and walk out, after Chiquita pays the bill.
"You were right, the waffles are awesome. Unnie's treat, next time."
Chiquita’s only half-listening. “So how did you and Rora spend Christmas?"
As planned, that starts Asa on a jabbering monologue which leaves Chiquita free to admire the now-familiar face they’re approaching, without appearing like a creepy fan beside Asa — hopefully.
The weather is wonderful today — clear blue cloudless skies, just the right amount of sunshine. Almost like telepathy, the singer is breathing one of Chiquita's favourite songs into the mic — Ed Sheeran’s Castle On the Hill. Chiquita never imagined she would hear this song performed so intimately, so candidly, live, by such a divine voice — it feels like, for one instant, her life is complete. To boot, the girl’s English is great too.
"Are you even listening?” Asa’s demand interrupts her reverie, thankfully as the song is coming to an end. Chiquita almost shushes her, but the singer is already looking over, in their direction, and Chiquita wishes the ground would open up spontaneously.
“Hey, isn’t that that girl whose singing you complimented on Christmas eve?"
Now Chiquita really wishes she were elsewhere.
There’s no doubt the singer heard Asa’s exclamation, and Chiquita shuffles her feet as surprise flits across her features, followed by obvious pleasure. She can’t really tell from this far but it looks like the girl is blushing too. For once, she’s paused between songs for longer than usual.
"It looks like she wants to talk to you,” Asa states, putting her thoughts into words, and Chiquita panics on the spot. Without thinking, she’s grabbed Asa’s elbow and is dragging her away, ignoring her protests.
”What’s wrong with you?” Chiquita winces under Asa’s glare later, when they’re a distance away and the busker doesn’t seem to have pursued them. “I know you asked me here just to see her, so why are you running? Is it someone you know?"
Chiquita makes a few hasty excuses and leaves before Asa can extract any confessions out of her.
The next day, Chiquita arrives at the scene flanked by Rami and her girlfriend Pharita. Three’s a crowd, she figures, and the singer won’t try and speak to her if she has two buffers.
She needn’t have worried, because while the singer’s eyes immediately seek her out of the small crowd of onlookers with obvious recognition, she just flashes a small, mysterious smile before shifting her gaze away. Leaving Chiquita feeling slightly disappointed and stupid.
Still, she stays on listening at the edge of the crowd, because Pharita really likes the music and even goes up to the guitar case to leave a tip at the end of the session. Chiquita watches the busker bow to her with gentle courtesy, giving her a smile so knee-buckling Rami digs an elbow into Chiquita’s ribs and whines, “Why did you bring us here, Chi?”
Chiquita quickly tows Rami away before the singer overhears again, making Pharita run to catch up with them in confusion.
The next day, Chiquita brings her family to the cafe by “coincidence”. Every day, she expects to see that the busker has moved on to a different spot, a new audience. Her heart has started skipping a beat when she hears the acoustic instrumental bass, the understated raw emotion of the saccharine dulcet that has endeared itself to her.
She returns the next and the next and the next, alone. It no longer feels awkward, almost natural to stand there listening for close to an hour, making the briefest of eye contact with the singer occasionally as she moves her eyes over the people gathered. None of them are ever the same, Chiquita is pleased to note. She’s the only one who comes back, day after day. She wonders what the busker thinks of this, if she’s flattered as Asa guessed, or annoyed. She must not find it creepy, at least, since she continues to busk at the same spot.
On the day before the last day of the year, although she has a family gathering, she makes excuses to leave early before rushing breathlessly to the cafe, as if she has a standing appointment. Unspoken but understood, just between them. It’s dumb, and Chiquita reminds herself she’s just an overzealous fan. That’s what she’s become.
But that night, she gets so absorbed in her songwriting during the cup of latte she always drinks before heading to listen, that when she looks up, the cafe is closing.
She dashes to the spot, chest tightening in disappointment to find it empty and devoid of any traces the singer had been there today. Checking her watch, she realises how late it is, and starts walking home — the chill biting tonight.
It’s New Year’s Eve. She turns up like clockwork, not expecting anything; expecting everything.
She hears the soul-snatching voice from down the street. The jolt in her heart isn’t new, but it still startles the breath out of her every time.
Today’s the day, something whispers. Today’s the one chance Chiquita has to finally speak to her.
The busker stops singing, mid-song, when Chiquita steps out of the shadows. Chiquita’s throat constricts — this can’t be happening; but the girl is shrugging her guitar off her shoulders and placing it on the ground hastily, before brisk-walking towards Chiquita as if she’s afraid she won’t see Chiquita again.
When the other girl is standing in front of her, fingers carding through her thick brunette hair to push it over a delicate shoulder, Chiquita notices she’s like, ruinously pretty. How could she not have noticed before?
She also has the most gorgeous, shy smile draped over her face. She can barely meet Chiquita’s eyes, and Chiquita feels like she’s on fire.
"You didn’t come yesterday,” the voice she knows so well by now says.
"I —“ Chiquita starts, then stops. Her voice is squeaky so she clears her throat. “I was writing at that cafe over there and lost track of time,” she blurts apologetically, deciding to throw everything in and be honest.
"Writing?” The girl obviously has no idea who Chiquita is, either. Chiquita feels her crush swell three sizes bigger.
"Like. Songs.” She can’t help smiling, and watches the foolish smile on her face bloom in response on the singer’s.
"You write songs.” Chiquita nods.
The girl covers her mouth, then looks down at the ground. “I was kind of worried,” she admits.
"About… me?"
The other nods.
"I know it was stupid to expect you to keep coming, but I got sad when you didn’t show. Then I worried something might have happened with you.
"Or… that you’d never turn up again."
Chiquita can’t believe her ears. Sure, she’d known the girl knew she was supporting her, but she never dreamt her presence had been so important.
"I — I didn’t think you’d care."
The stranger frowns, then admits after a beat, “I didn’t either. But I really wanted —"
Chiquita stares at her, and the girl halts mid-sentence. “Wanted what?” she breathes.
"To talk to you.” The beautiful stranger’s cheeks are definitely reddening now. There’s so much relief and amazement in her eyes, Chiquita is at a loss for words.
A countdown is starting nearby. She hadn’t even realised it was already midnight. Around them, people are laughing and hugging and kissing, rejoicing the end of the old year and the beginning of a new one. Chiquita feels something shift deep in her heart as the rainbow glow of distant fireworks illuminates the crown of the other girl’s hair.
"I…"
"I’m Ahyeon,” the girl says, before she can finish her sentence. “I just wanted to tell you — thanks for smiling at me, that first night — Christmas Eve. I’d just gotten my busking license the day before, and I was terrified out of my wits."
"…You saw? But I was wearing a scarf…"
Ahyeon smiles. “I could tell you were smiling. It made me feel much better. And…"
"And?"
Ahyeon hesitates. “I thought you were… really cute,” she confesses, covering her lips again and looking away.
Chiquita takes a deep breath, shaking.
I think Ahyeon's super cute, too.
That’s what she wants to say.
Instead, what comes out of her mouth is: “I’m Chiquita... Canny."
It seems to be enough, though, from the way Ahyeon’s entire face lights up bashfully. It seems to be — perfect.