After tonight, who knows when I’ll be able to wear an oversized T-shirt, no pants, no bra, and flap around in the living room? By flapping, I meant dancing—though the term might have not been accurate.
I wrapped my arm around a tub of mint chocolate ice cream, and with the spoon, I lead the orchestra of the live version of Call Out My Name. Such a dramatic night. The greatest of the past days where I sought to live like no tomorrow. All in hopes I could ignore the grim future creeping over me like a grey cloud.
Countless times I woke up wondering if I’ve been dreaming all this time. And the disappointment of an empty house assured me I was conscious through it all. You could say that I’ve been processing until the very last day, on which I decided to go all in.
Tonight’s all I’ve got—for a while. I dropped onto the couch, the idea that all I’ve got is so…temporary, had drained the last stretch of my sugar rush. I know I’ll regret not enjoying my last bit of freedom, but at the same time, how could I enjoy a moment I know will vanish after a night’s sleep? The song faded in my ears as my thoughts grew louder.
What a burden they gave me. When these strangers fill every room of the house, I fear I’ll reach the pinnacle of isolation. I was always alone, but at least I was free. This is insanity. It never made sense, and I fear it never will. They put their feelings first, then failed to consider mine. Now my comfort—what I value most—is confined to my bedroom. I might uncover a few limits there too. No more loud music, for one.
My inner monologue was curtly interrupted by the doorbell. It only rang once. I sprang up to pause my music, which had switched to the Weeknd’s Initiation—can’t be caught listening to that by a stranger at the door. That stranger must be a delivery driver, I thought, since my laptop stand was supposed to arrive today, and it did so later than expected.
I wiped my hands, damp from holding the ice cream tub. Then I noticed a significant stain on my grey t-shirt, right where the tub rested. But it’ll dry soon and delivery drivers don’t linger at the door anyway. I didn’t bother to turn on the porch light and twisted the knob. My eyes were on the ground, looking for a box, instead, I saw black sneakers.
I turned on the porch light right away. I was afraid, but I raised my head. This was no delivery driver, at least not one in uniform. The stranger smiled at me so kindly that it was almost unsettling. I then found myself looking up at a fluffy head of honey brown hair while attempting to evade his eyes. A few defined curls stood out in the midst of plentiful waves.
“Hi, uh, Rain?” he uttered. “I’m Hael.”
His name was a blow I don’t think I could ever recover from. It was a chilling drop from the grey cloud I mentioned earlier. One drop for when I realized who he was. Another for when I realized what filled his vision. A stained T-shirt. Bare feet. Messy hair from too much “dancing”. The forecast couldn’t be more wrong.
“I can explain,” I first said, sounding ten times more calm than I felt.
“No, no. I should be the one explaining,” he said, his smile gradually fading. “My flight was changed to an earlier one, and my phone was dead. I couldn’t tell my father so he’d tell your mother, and she’d warn you. I even thought of booking a hotel for the night so I’d show up in the morning as expected, but I ran into further difficulties there,” his rambles were hurried while his demeanour was composed. His words rang far from excuses, that was obvious. “I’m so sorry,” he continued.
There’s nothing he needed to apologize for. Not him. But I was in no position to pity him. The wind tugged at the hem of my shirt; the night was chilly. We’re in September after all, and this night might’ve been the coldest of the month. My arms and legs were covered in goosebumps, and so were his arms and his neck.
“You should come in,” I said, moving away from the door. There’s no reason to leave him standing there. He’s a stranger, yes, but one I expected.
He kept his gaze up; it never drifted down my bare legs. For that, I was relieved. He wouldn’t look past my face. The only downside is the frequent eye contact that it caused. As if I weren’t embarrassed enough.
He dragged a black suitcase in. The luggage was saturated with illustrated stickers. The stickers were far from generic. No smileys, fire emblems, or Eiffel Tower. Only a variety of characters from I don’t know where. A comic, maybe?
“Again. I apologize. I really took you by surprise,” he said, sweeping his hair behind. His forehead uncovered, I could see streaks of sweat. Right where strands of hair were a little darker than others. So they weren’t dyed. He must’ve been quite nervous to be sweating despite the cold weather.
“It’s alright. There was nothing you could do,” I said matter-of-factly rather than kindly—at least that’s how I’d liked it to sound.
I’ve never been a host. I don’t know how to be a host. I did not want to be the host. Yet, the first day’s here—without a warning.
“I can show you to your room,” I said, motioning to the stairs.
The sooner I fulfill my initial duties, the sooner I can repatriate to my cocoon. There’s no need to socialize. That one’s not a duty. Besides, I won’t allow myself to, not dressed like that. Correction: barely dressed. The plan was to call it a night and have a proper first meeting when the sun’s up and my pants too.
“I’ll follow wherever. Thank you,” he said, smiling with eyes; they creased like lemon slices. He lowered the handle of his suitcase and lifted it promptly.
“It’s not that far,” I said with a chuckle. It just escaped out of me, like that. It had no right to.
Could this be any more awkward? Just bury me already and don’t let me attempt humour ever again.
H a e l
What a first impression I’ve made. She paled the second I mentioned my name. Still, she let me in without questions or even complaints—I deserved those. I ruined her one last comfortable night, it seems. I should’ve tried harder to find accommodations, or perhaps have spent the night at the airport. Plenty do that for connecting flights. You’re truly not yourself after a long flight. Reaching the ground again, all I dreamed of was a comfortable bed.
Before taking the lead on the stairs, Rain proposed to carry my suitcase. I refused. Then she tried asking for my backpack instead. She was met with the same answer. How could I accept when I already felt so guilty for barging in early? It doesn’t take a genius to see that I interrupted someone’s last taste of freedom—for a while. I took it away from right under her nose. She had opened the door so unassumingly.
“You can pick a room if you’d like. It can either be the one on the right, or the far left.”
While I was still at the top of the stairs, she stood in front of the towel closet. I’d have mistaken it for a room, were it not left ajar.
“I’ll take any room, but since I have the choice, I’ll pick the one near the stairs,” I said.
She nodded, then opened the door for me.
“Seems you made the lucky choice. This was my parents’ room; it’s pretty large.”
My eyes widened, and the corners of my mouth wobbled in an attempt to form a smile. The space was too large for a single person to use. It’d be wasted on me. Its sheer size reminded me of the entirety of my first studio. From the outside, the house looked humble and familial. The dining room and living room, which I only caught a glimpse of, seemed common too. I guess it’s possible to expect something this grand from the primary bedroom. It sure lived up to its name. How small must the two other rooms be?
My rent was already discounted. I really shouldn’t be taking the largest room. It’s an apartment. There’s a king-size bed, a vast desk area far enough from the bed, a wall of mirrors with immense closet space behind them, and even a round table with three chairs. The bathroom is right next door too. Albeit that could be a curse if the walls are thin.
I stepped out of the room.
“You should be using the room or at least renting it for a higher price. It would only be fair,” I said.
She stared at me, her eyes rounding.
“No, no, no,” she was quick to say, with pep. “This is definitely your room. You chose it. And I’m satisfied with my room, and moving is a hassle.”
She hauled my suitcase back inside the room, a smile showing up for the first time. “Make yourself at home. It is your home now,” she said.
I could tell she meant it, but my guilt stayed firm as if it were glued with precision.
“Would you like something to drink or eat? I can bring it upstairs so you can rest from your trip,” she just had to say. The guilt grew heavier then.
“I’m alright, thank you. Thank you very much.”
I didn’t worry too much about who I’d be living with, seeing I’m in no position to be selective, but I’ll admit that I’m relieved. Rain appears to be genuinely kind. What I’ve heard of her wasn’t sugar coated. It didn’t come from the biased perspective of a mother. Seems my days here will be just fine.