A handshake

Some days ago I went on a date with a guy I had barely spoken to before. When he said he loved Japanese food but then chose a scarcely interesting restaurant for the meeting, I felt it wouldn’t work out but I thought I’d give him a chance – I know I tend to dismiss people much too soon.

He looked quite nice, so that cheered me up. He seemed to like my appearance as well, and I suppose there was some sort of silent agreement on making an effort, at least for the sake of physical attraction.

As the evening went on and the talk started to unravel into confessions and stated opinions from his part, I grew quieter and quieter. I was paying close attention to the things he said, but the more he spoke the more I reckoned our views were too divergent – then I couldn’t bother to voice them.

So I turned into my timid self, smiley and attentive with that charming aura of shyness I was told I get, and my mind began to wander. I have never been able to understand why some people are so eager to express their views on relationships when they first meet someone. It feels like they are freezing all possibility at first sight, without allowing themselves to know how things could ever progress on their natural course. I was amazed and bored.

When he offered me a ride home I could sense his opinion on me differed from mine on him, and I was secretly hoping he had found me dull. He dropped me close to my street and I gave him a handshake and a wide smile simultaneously, as if I was trying to make up for the cold gesture. Instead of arranging a second date, I thanked him for the ride like it had been the grandest of favors.

I didn’t know what else to do.

 

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