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Sasha’s heartbeat echoes in her ears. Can everyone else hear it too? She watches the girl behind the counter, her name tag reads “Marcy”. She smiles politely in a practiced manner, something she’s done a thousand times before, and it's a nice smile. Then her coworker makes her laugh, and it’s breathtaking how beautiful that smile is.
Sasha might be panicking, there is something wrapped around her guts like thorned ivy. Breathtaking isn’t an exaggeration because she can’t breathe for a long moment, and then another when their eyes meet. Brown, ocean-deep, intimidating in their intensity. Or maybe it’s just in her head. Like a high-school crush all over again.
Sasha stands up before she loses her nerve, otherwise she might never leave. Order a coffee, throw in a compliment. Iced Matcha Latte and she’s really pretty. Ask for her number. Sasha steps up to the counter.
“Can I just say, I love your energy?” She blurts out. Not according to plan, but smoothly. Her voice doesn't shake, which feels like a small victory in itself.
The “Right back at ya” in response is followed by a clumsy wink, if a wink can be clumsy, maybe it’s a blink.
This girl works at a coffee shop, she’s making coffee right now, so isn’t it ironic to ask “Can I take you out for coffee someday?”. But Marcy nods enthusiastically.
There's a moment of fumbling with phones. Wouldn’t it be romantic to have her number written on a cup instead? Technology kills romance.
Nevermind, Marcy saved her contact with a heart emoji. A heart emoji. Cute and endearing and maybe just a little silly.
She smiles brightly and Sasha wants to know so much more than just her breathtaking smile.
***
Sasha’s not the type to believe in love at first sight. And it maybe, definitely isn't love. But she maybe, definitely can't stop thinking about her.
Her days are a blur. Her mind keeps drifting back to Marcy’s smile, the way her eyes crinkle at the corners. She catches herself smiling at random moments. It's ridiculous, really, how much space this girl has taken up in her head.
She can’t believe she actually did it. She can't believe she actually succeeded. She feels like a teenager again, giddy and nervous.
She checks her phone obsessively, her heart skipping a beat every time she sees a new notification. Marcy’s texts are full of little jokes and anecdotes. Sasha laughs out loud.
“It's a date,” she wants to respond when they agree on the place and time. She stops herself. Maybe it's too much, too straightforward.
Chill, you’ve done it multiple times before, she tells herself. But this feels different. This feels like the beginning of something that could be real and important. And that scares her as much as it excites her.
***
Sasha’s heart does a familiar flip as they greet each other. They order drinks, and she insists on paying for Marcy. The girl is surprised but accepts without question. They find a cozy spot and sit down.
Then the conversation begins. Or at least, it tries to. Their conversation isn't exactly flowing. Sasha finds herself stumbling over her words, second-guessing, mind racing. They both have visible blushes on their cheeks.
But Marcy is good at asking random questions. “Your favorite book?” “Cats or dogs?” “The weirdest place you’ve been to?”
There’s a moment when they touch on the subject of parents. It's clear as day that it stirs emotions in Marcy. Sasha knows a thing or two herself. Her background in psychology gives her insight, and she talks, maybe a bit too passionately.
“I could listen to you talk for hours,” Marcy responds, her smile genuine, and suddenly, Sasha’s heart is doing backflips.
Those words keep invading her head, even as they take a walk later. How she longed to be appreciated again.
They arrive at the bus stop, ready to say their goodbyes. “We’re literally getting along so well,” Marcy says, looking Sasha in the eyes, her own eyes gleaming with excitement.
Sasha’s whole body floods with warmth. She’s elated, energized. Seeing someone finally doesn't feel like a “maybe,” but a heart-screamed “YES.”
It’s been a while, she thinks to herself. It’s been a while since someone made her feel this way. And she really wants to believe that it's the universe working in her favor. That she’s finally earned it. The right person for her.
***
Days go by. Sasha desperately tries to convince herself that things are perfect.
But if intimacy levels were islands, there would be an empty one between them.
Does Marcy feel this empty space too?
Why won't she open up? Is Sasha being too pushy? Is Marcy being too private? There is no such thing as too private. Sasha would be disrespecting her boundaries if she pressured for more.
“I want to get to know you.” But they have already seen each other so many times and talked for so many hours. Why does it still feel like a wall where Marcy’s heart should be?
“Close your eyes and show me who you are.” But it's just the surface, it's only the surface.
***
Taking things slow. Slower than ever. Yet it feels just right when she finally holds Marcy’s hand. She plays with her hair, gently brushes the skin on her bare shoulders, wraps her arms around her waist.
Her smell is intoxicating, her closeness is addictive.
Long hours pass and it's never enough. Why can't they stay like this forever?
And when she leaves, there are images playing in Sasha’s head of all the things that could have happened. How she wanted this girl gently pressed against the wall, hips to hips, tasting that breathtaking smile.
She sends her a message through the mist of her daydreams, “Can’t wait to see you again”. She falls asleep smiling.
***
Why is the morning ice cold if it's summer?
Sasha wakes up shivering. It’s supposed to be warm, bright, the sun peeking through the blinds. But it’s not. It’s cold, a chill seeping into her bones.
She reaches for her phone, her heart pounding for reasons she can’t quite name.
Marcy responded.
Why is the message so long? Why does it start with “I have mixed feelings”?
Oh no.
The intense beating of her heart makes her feel dizzy.
She has seen this before, this type of messages. But never like this. Heartbreaker, heartstomper. It’s always Sasha who writes them. Why is she getting one now?
“It doesn't sit right with me,” “It’s not going to work out,” “I don't want to lead you on.”
Oh no.
Oh no…
The words blur, she blinks rapidly. Marcy never wants to see her again.
The room feels like it's spinning. What if, what if…
Sasha blames herself. She wants to keep saying, “I’m sorry,” over and over, as if it could somehow change things. But it would be pathetic. Pathetic and horribly unfair to Marcy. So she only says it once. Marcy assures her that it's not her fault.
Her mind replays every moment anyway. It has to be something she said. Something she did.
She doesn't actually want to know. Because what if she’s the problem? She wasn't given a chance to fix it.
Her tears are angry, hot and stinging, she bites her lip. Mumbling to herself feels therapeutic. Calling a friend makes her smile for a moment. “Fuck that girl for breaking my bestie's heart.” But even that feels hollow.
Because that girl never wronged her. Marcy had the right to do what felt right. And what felt right was leaving…