Chapter 6: Five Days

Five days.

That is how long I have to wait until I see him again. Five days. Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday. Then Tuesday is my study day. Then Wednesday. Wednesday at 9:40 PM. The bench. The bus stop. Him.

It feels like forever.

On Thursday I try to work on my paper. It is due Friday at midnight. I sit at my small desk by the window with my laptop open and my books spread out and my coffee getting cold beside me. The words should come easily. I have done the reading. I have the notes. I know what I want to say. But my brain keeps drifting away from post colonial theory and back to him.

The way he said my name. The way he held the car door open. The way he waited until I was inside before he drove away.

I close my laptop. Push back from the desk. Walk to the kitchen. Pour my cold coffee down the sink and make a fresh cup. I lean against the counter and stare at the wall.

This is not like me. I am the focused one. The disciplined one. The girl who writes her papers a week early and reads ahead for every class. I do not get distracted by boys. I do not lose whole mornings daydreaming about someone I barely know.

But here I am. Daydreaming.

I wonder what he is doing right now. Is he in class? Drawing in his sketchbook? Thinking about me the way I am thinking about him? The thought makes my stomach do a small flip.

My phone buzzes on the counter. I grab it faster than I have ever grabbed anything.

It is Amina.

How is the paper going?

It is not going, I write back.

Why not?

I cannot focus.

Because of Eli?

Yes.

Girl. You have got it so bad. Do you want me to come over? I can bring food and yell at you until you write something.

I smile. Yes. Please.

Two hours later, Amina is at my door with a bag of takeout and a bottle of wine. She pushes past me into the apartment, sets everything on the kitchen counter, and turns to look at me.

"You are still wearing the hoodie," she says.

I look down. I forgot I had it on. I have been wearing it all day. "It is comfortable."

"It is his. And you are wearing it." She folds her arms. "Nubia. Sit down. Tell me everything. From the very beginning."

We sit on my small couch. I tell her the whole story. The bus being late. Him speaking for the first time. The sketchbook. The drawing of me. The diner. The pie. The walk to the car. The ride home. Every detail. Every word I can remember.

Amina listens without interrupting. This is rare for her. When I finish, she leans back and lets out a long breath.

"Okay," she says. "I understand now."

"Understand what?"

"Why you cannot focus. Why you are wearing his hoodie. Why you look like a woman who just discovered something." She tilts her head at me. "You have never felt this before. Have you?"

I shake my head. "Never."

"Not even a crush? Not even a little one?"

"I had crushes. I think. But they were never like this. They were in my head. This is in my whole body."

Amina nods slowly. "That is what it feels like. When it is real. When it is not just a crush. When your body wakes up to someone." She pauses. "Can I ask you something very personal?"

I nod. I already know what she is going to ask.

"Have you ever done anything? With anyone? At all?"

I shake my head. My face feels hot. "Nothing."

"Not even kissed?"

"No."

She reaches over and takes my hand. Her face is soft. No judgment. Just love. "Okay. That is okay. There is nothing wrong with that. You know that, right?"

"I know. I just feel behind. Like everyone else learned these things years ago and I am only starting now."

"You are not behind. You are on your own path. And honestly? There is something really beautiful about experiencing all of this for the first time with someone who actually matters. Most people waste their firsts on people they do not even remember now."

I squeeze her hand. "Thank you."

"So," she says, letting go and reaching for the wine. "What are you going to do about Eli?"

"I do not know. We are meeting at the bus stop on Wednesday. That is all we planned."

"Do you want more than that?"

I think about it. "Yes. I think I do. But I do not know how to do more. I do not know how to do any of this."

"You just do it. One step at a time. You talk. You spend time together. You see where it goes. You do not have to figure everything out right now."

"But what if he wants things? Physical things?" My voice is quieter now. "What if he expects me to know what I am doing? What if he does not want to wait for someone like me?"

Amina sets her wine glass down. "First of all, if he expects anything from you without asking what you want, he is not worth your time. Second of all, you do not know what he wants yet. Maybe he is willing to wait. Maybe he wants to go slow. You will not know until you talk to him."

The word talk hits me. She is right. I have to talk to him. I have never talked to a man about anything personal. The thought is terrifying.

"But third of all," Amina continues, "and this is the most important part. What do you want? Not what you think he wants. Not what you think you should want. What do you actually want?"

I sit with the question. What do I want?

I want to see him again. I want to hear his voice. I want to sit close to him on the bench and feel the warmth of his body next to mine. I want him to show me more of his drawings. I want him to ask me questions and listen to my answers the way he did at the diner.

And yes. I want other things too. Things I do not have words for. Things that make my body feel tight and warm and hungry. But those things scare me. They feel too big to say out loud.

"I do not know yet," I say. "I want to find out. But slowly."

"Then go slowly. The right person will wait. And if he is not the right person, you will know soon enough." She picks up her wine again. "Now let us work on your paper before you fail your class because of a boy with a sketchbook."

I laugh. It feels good to laugh. The tightness in my chest loosens a little.

We spend the next three hours working on my paper. Amina sits on the couch reading one of my books while I type at my desk. She asks questions. She pushes me when I get stuck. By the time the sun sets, I have a rough draft.

"See?" she says. "You can still be brilliant and have a crush at the same time."

"Thank you for coming over."

"Always. Now I am leaving before I drink all your wine." She stands and pulls on her coat. At the door, she turns back. "Nubia?"

"Yes?"

"It is okay to be nervous. But do not let the nerves stop you. You deserve this. You deserve to feel good things."

After she leaves, I sit on the couch alone. The apartment is quiet. Outside, the street is dark. I pull Eli's hoodie tighter around me and think about what Amina said.

You deserve to feel good things.

I have spent so long chasing goals that I forgot to chase happiness. I forgot that life is not just about finishing papers and earning degrees and making my grandmother proud. It is also about this. About connection. About wanting someone and letting them want you back.

My phone buzzes. It is him.

How is your paper going? The one due Friday?

My heart does a little jump. He remembered. At the diner, I mentioned my paper was due Friday. He remembered.

I just finished a rough draft, I write back. Thanks to my friend Amina. She came over to help.

Good friend.

The best. What are you doing?

Sitting in the architecture studio. Supposed to be working on my final project. Not working on my final project.

What are you doing instead?

A pause. The three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.

Thinking about Wednesday.

My breath catches. I stare at the words. He is thinking about Wednesday. About me.

Me too, I write back.

What part?

All of it. The bench. The diner. The car ride.

I liked the car ride, he writes. Even though it was short.

It was my favorite part.

I do not know why I said that. It feels too honest. Too open. But I cannot take it back. The message is sent.

His response comes slowly. Like he is choosing his words carefully.

Mine too. Maybe next Wednesday we can do it again. The car ride, I mean. I can drive you home. If you want.

I press my lips together. Smile against the phone screen. My fingers tremble a little as I type.

I want that.

Good. Then it is a plan.

A plan. We have a plan. Bench. Talk. Car ride home. It is simple. It is small. But it feels like everything.

I should let you work, I write. And I should sleep.

Okay. Goodnight Nubia.

Goodnight Eli.

I put the phone down. Pull the hoodie up to my chin. Close my eyes.

Five days. Only five days. Then I will see him again.

I fall asleep thinking about his hands.