String Theory

 “It tastes like crap,” you said.

I agreed.

You said you’d take me out for a real coffee.

I blushed and said I’d think about it. I was still intimidated, because you were the physics student, the smart guy, and I was the girl with the boho clothes, unstraightened hair and boring eyes, with one too many Julian Morris gif’s on her computer.

“Four oh three,” you said, as you got up to go.

“What?”

“My room number. In case you ever want that coffee.”

 Then you smiled at me and walked away, leaving me wondering how you could have such white teeth when you liked caffeine so much.

*

My room was on the other end of the campus, naturally. My roommate was dinky, short girl called Michelle. She had pink hair and a huge stock of watermelon bubblegum that she stuffed in our medicine cabinet in the bathroom. She said she saw me talking to you. I nodded. She asked me what it was about. I told her. She said I should take you up for the coffee.

 Three days later, I did.

 *

After seeing Dr. Tanner we went back to our apartment.

 We walked, instead of taking the subway like we normally do. You didn’t say a word to me. I didn’t say anything to you either, I just let you hold my hand because it seemed like that’s all you really wanted to do. You didn’t cry, but I wanted to.

 Our bedroom smelt like garlic, because the stupid Thai restaurant was still running and even though we lived right above we’d never eaten there and I’d always wondered if we would have liked the food. Our friends said it was good. Tommy brought some prawns over once, I remember, but I was sick then and seafood made me sicker, so you threw it out.

  I unlocked the door and I led you inside – you were still holding my hand like a blind man. I wished you would say something. But you didn’t.

 We walked to the bedroom. I opened the windows to get rid of the garlicky smell, but I let in some more by accident. I didn’t really mind it, but I knew you hated it.

 “Sorry,” I said, closing them again.

 You just sat down on the edge of the bed. It was unmade. I walked over to you and pulled off your coat and your jacket, took off your shoes and your glasses. We lay down in bed, and I held you close. At two in the morning, you started shaking.

*

When I knocked on your door, I’ll admit I was a little nervous. The three was hanging off the 403, so it looked like 40. I actually reached your floor at eight o clock, but by the time I found your room it was eight fifteen. It was only after I was standing directly in front of it that I wondered if it was a little late to call.

 You opened the door, and you were wearing a grey t-shirt that had a picture of Isaac Newton on it, only it was pop-art. I liked it, I thought it was funky.

 I used that word too much, in those days. Funky.

 You were wearing black boxers, and mismatched socks. There was a book in your hand.

 You clearly weren’t expecting me.

 “Leila,” you said, (you sounded surprised) and then you smiled at me again. “I thought you’d never come.”