what was that?

an unfortunately non-fictional story about an instant, fruitless crush

I’m oftentimes really unlucky when it comes to my personal life. Things just have a tendency to happen in the most inopportune ways for me sometimes.

A couple of weeks ago, while one of my roommates was away in his hometown, he texted the apartment group chat asking us if it’d be okay for him and some friends to film some scenes for a short film at our place. Obviously, at the time, I thought nothing of it, and happily agreed to let them do it; I found out later that the initial plan was for us to leave so they wouldn’t get in the way of our day; however, I figured I’d make myself useful any way I could, so I asked if I could be involved, and they said yes.

That said, the day before the shoot was scheduled, I was told that people involved with the short would come over to look at the “set” and decorate for the next day. And, aside from the director, a guy who I believe is a year older than me, but just finished year one of his university degree because he’s on his third major in three years, there was one more person who came to help organize. And this is where my problems began.

She was tall, a good bit taller than me; she had dark hair and piercing, deep-brown eyes; more importantly than that, though, she had a really compelling light-hearted confidence about her, and she was really funny and witty. In the brief period of time that it took for us to collectively take apart my whole bedroom (posters off the walls, desk cleared off and turned into a corner, bedsheets replaced, you name it), because it would be the principal location, and then go out and buy some extra props and some food and drinks for the filming day, it was already clear to me that the seeds of danger had made their way into my heart, and were looking into which veins and arteries to start extending their roots.

We clicked without even trying; we immediately established a degree of mutual banter, which was already starting to feel flirtatious to me even then; however, not wanting to overthink my way into the depths of the same treacherous maze I tend to end up in when I’m in situations like this, I insisted to myself that it was nothing, and I was just imagining things. Little did I know, the seeds had made their decisions, and the roots that should be sacred but oftentimes turn out venomous for me had begun extending inexorably through my bloodstream, latching onto the walls of the vessels. Worst of all, the director absolutely clocked me without even meaning to; when I asked him to remind me what her name was after she’d left, he kind of smirked a little bit and said something like “pretty, isn’t she?” I wasn’t even asking because of that - I genuinely just hadn’t remembered what her name was yet, because the other two hadn’t said it too many times; but the fact he said that to me still felt oddly fitting.

Then came shoot day. I was cautiously excited - I’d never been involved in any kind of shoots before, except for a couple of really awful music videos for the first band I was ever in, so this was a brand new experience for me. But then, of course, in the back of my mind, as I showered and shaved early that morning, there was the other matter at hand. The way she smiled at me when she walked through the door alone was enough for those roots in my cardiovascular system to get a good deal thicker.

What happened throughout the day that followed split me markedly into two sides - the one that is run by yearning on a constant basis, and the rational one. Neither of us had big roles in the film, so we got quite a bit of time between and during shots when we were in close proximity to one another; and, when I say close proximity, I mean it.

It became clear pretty quickly to me that she and I had in common a significant affinity for physical touch; perhaps her even more so than me. And, while she was gently touchy here and there with pretty much everyone involved in the shoot, it was quite different with me. She would seek out sitting next to me, more often than not in ways in which we were brushing against each other; the energy by this point was definitely flirtatious, in my mind at least. As the day went on, we started doing more and more little physically affectionate things; little touches, heads resting on one another, arms around shoulders…that first side that I mentioned, the one powered by pure longing for connection and affection, was in overdrive, profoundly intoxicated by the playful, almost teasing brushes of her soft fingers against my skin, by the warm feeling of the unexpected closeness. I was breathing every instant with such care as if it held the aroma of a million fields of beautiful flowers; drinking in the moments like they were holy water; trying to take a billion mental snapshots to keep in a precious photobook on a shelf in the back of my mind. But then, there was the other side.

Some part of me continued to be a drop of poison in my honey throughout this day; as usually tends to be the case, this was my rational side. In part, of course, it was just the pessimistic little voice, that toxic little parasite that sucks the magic out of so many situations in my life, telling me that, despite all the obvious signs, I was still somehow misinterpreting things. But mostly, it was just the profoundly realistic, steely voice whispering to me: “you know damn well this goes nowhere from here.”

Our lease in this apartment expires on the 30th of this month; and the new one doesn’t start until September, although I’m sure they’ll let us have a few days in August to settle back in. That means I have around a week left here for the summer. On the surface, this looks inconsequential - just keep talking during the summer and hang out in September, right? Well, no. If that was the case, I’d already be running through about a million fake scenarios in my mind, because I’m prone to over-romanticizing absolutely everything. But she’s not going to be here in September. Or October, or November, and so on.

Just to pull it back for a second - I don’t have a good record with real-life meetings. The most one has ever come to was a strange two-week situationship; aside from that, any people I’ve connected with romantically have come into my life through online services. As my aforementioned bad luck would have it, in this rare case where it felt like something could possibly bloom in the future, from those roots that made their way into my bloodstream, the other person just so happens to be going on an international exchange program in September. And not just for a single semester, either - for the entire year, just for good measure on my misfortune, I guess.

And so I’m left here, unsure of what to even do with myself. The roots have soaked in enough blood by now to start clogging up my arteries, which has been eating away at me for the past few days. When everyone was leaving late in the evening, she accidentally left a piece of her clothing here in my room, so I’m guaranteed to see her at least one more time whenever we arrange for me to get it back to her; plus, there’s another shoot day this coming Friday. And then that’s it. After that, if I do see her again, it’ll probably be around a year from now. Who knows what kind of person I’ll be, what kind of person she’ll be; the distance and time will almost certainly dissipate any oxygen that might have kept alive the spark that flared between us.

Just to make matters the tiniest bit worse, my room refuses to shake the strong scent of her perfume, despite the window always being open, and it having been a few days. The piece of her clothes sitting on a chair a corner, waiting patiently to be returned, can’t be helping either. As if I haven’t been thinking about her enough as is, the sweet, heady scent refuses to allow me to keep her off my mind. Plus, we’ve been talking, of course, which has only convinced me further about how smart, funny and charming she is. Why do I always put myself into these situations? Who knows. No, seriously, who knows? Whoever does should volunteer that information to me so I can stop somehow.

Just when I thought I would avoid it this year, it looks like I’m in for another summer of pining for someone who I have no chance of being with.

Yearning is going to kill me someday.