Bliss

thirty-two

"What are you doing here?" he asks, my dream response sliced in half and torn to shreds by his real one. "And is that my iPad?"

I glance at it, slide it into my bag and offer him a sheepish smile. "Your Mum gave it to me," I explain.

"She did?"

I nod, shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot. "I needed to find you."

"You did?"

I nod again.

"Well, you've found me."

"I know."

"So, what do you want?"

"To talk," I say, my shuffling increasing tenfold.

"Here?" he asks, glancing over his shoulder.

"Well, not necessarily. I just want to explain, and I guess I can do that anywhere. You know, here, there, outside, at home, even on the moon, although that might be a little tricky because of the whole oxygen situation which—"

"We can talk here," he says.

I stop shuffling. "Thanks. Thanks a lot, actually, for, you know."

"Hearing you out?"

I nod. I need to stop nodding.

He turns wordlessly, and I follow in his wake, squeezing through the crowd until we reach a staircase, and he heads downstairs. It's pitch black; that is, it is when there's not a neon sign. Then, there's a short burst of tinged artificial light that casts a glow across Isaac and the close stairwell.

Downstairs is quieter. There's a counter in one corner, and small groups huddled around the low coffee tables or spread out on the plush multicoloured sofas with cups and cups of tea.

"You should find a seat," I say as I head for the counter.

"I can get the tea," he says, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"No, honestly, it's the least I can do."

He dithers before he rolls his eyes and heaves a sigh. "Fine, I'll grab us a seat."

"Thank you."

I head for the counter. It's staffed by a two-person team, with one taking orders and the other completing them. While I wait in the short queue, I glance at the chalkboard that hangs off the exposed brick wall and take in the menu. It's short, that is everything but the tea options. There are a dozen at least, some herbal, others spiced, a few caffeinated. My eyes bounce up and down the list, the possibilities far too endless.

My phone buzzes.

From Isaac:

Masala chai. You'll love it

I can't help the smile that creeps onto my face, can't help the way my heart skips a beat. I can't help the clammy hands or the slight sheen of sweat that gathers on my forehead. Can't help the heat emanating from my cheeks or the giddiness that bubbles in my chest. If anything, the only thing I can help is a slice of rationality. But I don't want to be rational. I want to be hopeful—stupidly, irrecoverably optimistic, like Edward when he thought he had a chance in hell of saving Bella from vampire hood.

Then again, this isn't Twilight, so maybe I should be sensible. I mean, a recommendation isn't a proposal of marriage, not that I'm looking for one, but you know, maybe I shouldn't get my hopes up.

If I know anything, it's that it's my turn to lay my cards out on the table and pray he accepts them. Not that I deserve it, but sometimes we get the things we shouldn't have, and Isaac's someone I probably shouldn't have.