Dates

Our dates were never the kind of "dates". It wasn't me being obsessively ready, he coming to pick me up, it wasn't a planned hifi meet, and neither there used to be discussions of whether the meet up would be over a dinner, a lunch or a brunch. 

It was us, going to a cafe basement, while returning from work, not because we hadn't been on a date so long, but because it's raining, and none of us have an umbrella. It was ordering two sets of veg burgers and me stealing his French fries and smiling knowing that it would account enough for that little robbery. It was him taking the first bite and all of the insides falling out. And then, it was us laughing, and letting the two people sitting behind us stare at our mediocrity. It was us enjoying our company and then was our little exit. It was him walking towards the wrong direction, just to drop me off to the bus stop, because I so utterly asked for it. And then it was me, waiting till he crossed the road, just to make sure he wasn't as careless as me while walking down the street. 

And then a little assurance with a text message that I reached home safely. And that was all. That was enough. More than enough. 

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