I think it’s a common saying that life is stranger than fiction. But I remember my Lit prof saying that same line (he said it in the best way) and me thinking how so ironically true it was. Because I guess life’s the stuff fiction is made of. And perhaps, life gets so weird that you’d rather think of it as a fabrication of imagination to be able to cope or even to better understand.

And maybe what I’m about to write is purely fictional. But it doesn’t really matter.

Playing inside my head was Starlight by Muse.

Had my night all set: I’d head out at around 9ish to catch the bus. Then we’d meet at around 9:20 at the square and head to the Bar. That night would be me and my classmates, my first “real” night out in a Bar with them.

I wasn’t really THAT psyched. I mean it sounded fun but the idea of me catching (or running after) the bus wasn’t something I was looking forward to. The walk home was worse! But I promised this classmate of mine I would go after announcing to the hall that he was going to dance with me (another thing I was dreading since I was TERRIBLE in the dance floor hehe).

So as I was lounging around, flipping through the channels with my housemates, I suddenly wasn’t up to partying at all. I preferred exchanging stories with them and watching Final Destination 3. But I said I’d go. So up I went to change. After trying on one outfit after another I realized that I had 10 minutes to run to the corner and catch the bus. I did reach the corner in, give or take, 10 minutes but I missed the bus. So I waited a bit in the bus stop, met some pretty strange (and drunk) people. I decided enough the amusement for the night so I headed back home to the pleasant surprise of my housemates.

I texted my classmates telling them I missed the bus (too bad). They didn’t reply right away so I assumed they didn’t need me to make their night (as if hehe). So I ended up being a couch potato for 30 minutes and then he called. I thought he was out of town so I was surprised to get a call from him. He asked where I was. And it ended with him saying he’d catch the last bus home. And I thought that’s that and I’d see him in class the next day. That’s if he decided to go to class.

Surprise, surprise! He called again. This time asking me to meet at the corner. He got a Take-away. He asked if I wanted to walk. Having cancelled all my lovely plans for the night, I figured that I might as well make the most of my frumpy outfit.

So off I went to meet him with a little grudge as my Take-away. I entered the Take-away place with a slight scowl. He greeted me by commenting on my big blue bag. “It seems you go everywhere with that,” he said with some amusement. I simply raised my chin in defense. We stepped out in the chilly night wind. I needed to pee. Really badly. And I told him so. We walked around 1.5 km. to the Supermarket.

Walking to our destination he explained himself. Why he hasn’t been to class, why he chose to stay in the City for a while, why he didn’t show my friends and I around as much as he wanted to when we went to the City. I wanted to believe him. But in the back of my head, he partied the whole 2 weeks. I didn’t argue because it wouldn’t do any of us any good. Then I remembered what he told me days back: “ If a guy tries to clear things up with someone, even if it means lying, than he must care for that person. I don’t think he’d bother to explain himself if he didn’t give a damn.” Remembering that, I simply kept quiet. He sometimes did see things in unconventional ways.

But I think what made it all forgivable was the Sorry. Quiet and unsure and almost shy. As if it took so much of his energy, his pride, to say it. And that for me was the most sincere sorry I’ve heard from a guy who often acted aloof.

Finally reaching our destination ( and FINALLY being able to take a leak), we bought some Fantas to refresh. And then, it rained.

Few drops and we thought we could make a run for it. I offered my scarf as a windbreaker (it was useless). As if sensing our efforts to escape, the drops multiplied and poured like mad, forcing us to retreat to the covered parking lot.

We sat on the benches and talked about the stuff people talk about when they’re stranded in the middle of a covered parking lot. We talked about how life should be and should’ve have turned out.

He talked about the girls he’s met. How you party with the “blondes”, bond over drinks, and have crazy fun. How you fall in love with "brunettes" with their secrets, and endless conversations, and “couchpotato-ness”. He talked about the things that make you regret but make you learn. He talked about the things you already know but haven’t really thought about. “ They teach you all these things, how to be great and achieve your goals but they never tell you what to do when you fail, when you’re finding a hard time to get There. You learn these things for yourself.” he said half to himself. Stuff.

And just like all of us, there’s always a story of unrequited love. The one who made us fall and break into pieces.

How truly hard it is to get over someone.

And he asked about my unrequited someone. I said a name and that was that. With a nod, he seemed to have understood.

The more I listened to him, the more I realized that in a week’s time I would miss him. Not because he looked like some Asian superstar, not because he chose his words with great care when he spoke, not because he was surprisingly a gentleman, and definitely not because I would be leaving in a week But mostly because, amid all the mushiness I’ve blurted out, this is the cheesiest of all: Because now I’m sitting in front of someone who is real enough to admit the shit he’s done and unpretentious and unassuming enough to show he’s capable of sentimentality and emotion (and he is, by the way, undeniably charming in his own right). And that mattered to me. The rest, you get the picture…

On the walk home, drenched and laughing, I realized that this night was a cliché come to life.

And under the lamp’s bright white light, I hugged him good night.

If ever he does exist or not, I want to thank him.