Shawmila Imagines

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A wave of energy rushed through me. If I hadn't seen the waiter walking over just then, well, I don't know for certain, but I felt sure he'd have kissed me.

I pulled my dress on before I was seen and we sat back down to finish our drinks, but the atmosphere had changed completely. Every other night we'd been howling with laughter and taking the piss out of each other. Suddenly we were quiet, the air between us heavy with expectancy. I remember how excited I felt, but also how frustrated I was that this was only happening now, the night before we went home.

On our way back to his auntie's apartment, he put his arm around me, a gesture that he'd repeated a hundred times, but this one it was different, more tentative, his fingers gently circling my sun-kissed shoulder. My heart was pounding, my senses felt heightened. The smell of salt water in my hair was mingling with the subtle scent of his skin.

The humid night air felt like it was closing in on me with sound of music and people and chatting in the restaurants that we passed. Everything was intensified and unreal. My mind was already in his auntie's flat, wondering filthy things no best friend should think like that in the way I was with Shawn.

But none of that was meant to be. His aunty was waiting for us with a room full of friends and neighbours. In front of this crowd of people, we slipped straight back into our familiar roles, Camila and Shawn, totally platonic friends.

I wasn't able to sleep that night though; it was infuriating knowing that he was lying there in the next room, tantalisingly close. I imagined him in bed, fighting with the blanket in the heat, as sleepless as me. I sighed, before falling into a frustrated sleep.

•••

I say goodbye to Lauren and Ally and bolt the door of the cafe behind them as they walk out into the dark night. It's been a long, busy day and they've earned their tips, showing every customer the enthusiasm that we take pride in at Te Quiero.

When the owner told me that he wanted to take a step back to start a new venture, I wouldn't stop at the pay rise he offered me, I reeled off my ideas for a renovation and insisted on being made a shareholder.

It's a tiny amount, but it makes a massive difference. I no longer feel as though I'm throwing my energy into someone else's project. I'm doing this for me and it's given me the confidence to turn my life around.

I walk through to the little back office, checking off the changes I've made with pride. The wall that I've dedicated for local artists to exhibit their work on is constantly changing. A portrait of a proud, moustachioed man with friendly eyes reminds me of Shawn's dad.

I log in to Facebook at the office computer, welcoming the mindless distraction that will help me to switch off after a busy day.

I click onto Shawn's profile page and have a flick through his pictures. This has become a habit lately, before I know it, I find I've wasted half an hour looking at pictures of Shawn on a beach in Thailand surrounded by bikinied girls, Shawn on the back of a motorbike straddling one of his mates, Shawn's familiar, magnetic grin, Shawn at a food market bartering.

Then, "Hi stranger" - a live message from the man himself – pops up in the corner of my screen.

I blush guiltily; does he know that I've been stalking him?

Me: Hi you, how's Thailand / Laos / wherever the hell you are?

Shawn: Back at Cassa Davidson. But they were all great thanks.