All About You

Fifteen

W hen we get home from Church on Sunday, I get a text from Cheyenne.

She finally connected to some reception, and could call briefly for a few minutes.

I’ve been dying to update Cheynne on everything that’s happened, to chat to her face to face rather than just via text messages.

I settle myself upstairs on my bed and answer Cheyenne’s video call once it comes through. The picture is grainy from her end, and the movements lag heavily, but I’m just happy to finally be chatting with her face-to-face, regardless.

“Cheyenne!” I exclaim, waving profusely.

“Jas, ah! It’s been too long,” she greets back, and the sound doesn’t quite sync with the lips.

Cheyenne and I first met in Year 7, when we were seated next to each other in English. We bonded over John Green books, particularly Augustus and Hazel-Grace and have been practically inseparable ever since. I guess you could call that our little meet-cute.

Even in friendships, meet-cutes spell forever.

This year is the longest I’d been away from her, when she decided to take a gap year in Vietnam before starting her tertiary studies, but I’m happy for her. It’s been so long since she’s returned to her motherland.

“How is it over there,” I ask. The video glitches, and I’m left staring at a cluster of pixels for about 10 seconds, until it clears.

“Hot, super hot, and my family is driving me crazy! But don’t worry about that right now, give me an update on you! How’s film school? How’s that new guy you were telling me about?”

My face warms immediately at the mention of Rafayel.

I tell her everything I haven’t had the chance to text her about yet - about how Rafayel bought me a book, Tita Bea’s engagement and the fake-dating. By the end of it, Cheyenne’s jaw is on the floor.

“Excuse me, what? You’re fake-dating Marlon?”

Even though she’s in another country, I feel her screech through my bones. I nod, smiling sheepishly.

“I know, it’s surreal, I can’t believe it myself -”

“You’re fake dating Marlon for a stranger ?”

My first instinct is to say that Rafayel is not a stranger… but I know he still kind of is. An uncomfortable itch begins within me, as I shift slightly on the bed.

“I mean, it’s not just for Rafayel or anything. You know how my family has been throughout my life…” I drift off when Cheyenne chuckles affectionately.

“I love this about you Jaslene. You’ve always been one to pursue something with everything you have, even if everyone else around tells you not to be silly.”

This statement alone makes me so home-sick for Cheyenne.

All through high school, Cheyenne stuck by me, even with all my hopeless romantic escapades. She was there comforting me when I cried over Ralph in the girls’ bathroom, and she was there when I sobbed over a boy named Steven who told everyone that I’m not his type. Time and time again she’s been there, never once making me feel stupid for pursuing all these hopeless ventures.

“Ugh, I wish you were home already, so you could meet this beautiful stranger of mine,” I whine into the phone, and Cheyenne laughs.

“I wish that too. I’ll be back by Halloween, don’t you worry!”

That’s still so long away. I pout into the camera.

We continue to catch up, with Cheyenne telling me briefly about how nice it is to see her grandparents after all these years, and how it’s been surreal visiting her parents’ old house. The call sadly cuts out after ten minutes, and I sit staring at the blank screen after. Her words ricochet around my brain, about how I always pursue what I want with everything. I’ve been pursuing love all my life, to find a love that matches my parents. I just hope that this time, I’m right.

On our Tuesday morning train ride to the city, Marlon tells me, “So, I watched a couple of episodes of Sailor Moon last night.”

I gasp, a little scandalised.

“I can’t believe you continued watching without me.”

Marlon glances sideways at me, amused.

“I didn’t know you wanted to watch with me that bad.”

I definitely don’t. “Well, what do you think of it so far?”

Marlon taps his chin, as if the question is a hard one.

“Hmm, well Usagi is definitely a favourite. She’s a total badass. I can’t wait for the rest of the scouts to come though. That tuxedo mask, however…”

We both grimace at the same time, a silent agreement that Tuxedo Mask is a little helpless. The synchronised action makes us both laugh, earning us some unimpressed glares from workers around us. This time, I don’t care if they’re bothered. Let them glower.

When Marlon and I exit the station, he gives me a smirk as we part ways.

“Say hi to your lover boy today, if you see him,” he coos.

I haven’t seen Rafayel since last week and I’m really hoping that my luck is different today. Now that I was fake-dating Marlon, I could focus on pursuing Rafayel a little more confidently than when I was worried about how my parents would react.

I check the time on my phone. There’s still another hour and a half until my first class begins.

Perfect.

The excitement has me buzzing. My outfit today is pretty cute too, I think. I’m wearing one of my favourite pink vests paired with a white tennis skirt.

Yet, as I start heading toward the bookstore, sweat begins to pierce my forehead. The weather is strangely humid, despite it being officially autumn. By the time I reach the glass doors, wisps of my hair are sticking to my face, my body a little heated.

Thank goodness for the air-conditioning inside the building. I resist the urge to lift my arms so the cool air could also grace my armpits.

The space inside is bare, with hardly any customers around, except for an old lady at the non-fiction section, and a man at the romance section.

I make my way toward the interconnecting cafe, where there are a few stray students here and there, but the empty tables outnumber its occupants.

There’s an empty booth nearby the entrance, so I scramble toward it, not daring to search for Rafayel, especially in this state. Once I slide in, I immediately reach for my safety net of a makeup bag and pull out my mirror, bracing myself for the jumpscare. As expected, my face is shiny with sweat and oil, my hair ragged and lips chapped.

I decide to tackle my mirrorball of a forehead first, pressing a blotting paper against it. It comes away immediately moist, having soaked up much of the oil and sweat. I smooth the creases of my lips out next with my lip balm, before checking myself in the mirror once more.

There we go. More presentable and sane looking.

That’s when I finally let my eyes drift to the cafe counter. There’s no sign of Rafayel. My gaze skirts to the shelves. No sign of him there, either.

The excitement in me begins to simmer. What if he’s not even here today as well?

Not wanting to waste the free-time I have, I decide to tackle a portion of the two thousand word essay due next week on Silent Films and Their Impact.

I set my laptop up in front of me, place my earbuds in and press play on my study playlist. The intense electric guitar riff melody of ATEEZ’s Guerilla fills my body with immediate adrenaline. I’m convinced I could type out the entire 2000 word essay right now.

Or even flirt with Rafayel if he’s here.

Instead, within minutes I find myself typing in ‘ recent K-pop stages’ on YouTube. Whatever, the essay is only 10% of my grade anyway. My phone vibrates, pulling me from the AESPA performance I’d clicked on. It’s Marlon, asking me what I’m up to. A chuckle passes my lips. We literally saw each other no less than an hour ago.

Movement in my peripheral distracts me from the conversation. I glance up.

Oh god . It’s him.

Rafayel.

Clad in a button up black shirt and sleek trousers, his hair falling graciously over his head. Violin strings play somewhere in the distance - or maybe that’s just my imagination.

“Hey, you,” he says, as he reaches me.

I gawk at him.

Say something. Smile.

“Hi, me,” I stammer, before swallowing, “I mean, hey to you too. What are you doing here?”

The charming smile comes back again, and the butterflies grow frenzied.

“I work here, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right,” I say, and I want to crawl underneath the table because of how lame I sound.

“We’ve missed seeing you around.”

The blush rises to my cheeks before I can fight it.

“We?” I ask.

“Well, the stacks of books of course.”

“Of course.”

His gaze lingers on mine, and I swear time stops.

“So, what are you in here for today?” he questions.

I gesture toward my laptop.

“Studying, or trying to,” I chuckle, “I have to write this whole essay that’s due in a couple weeks.”

He leans closer, his body hovering a little over me, to peer at the video on my screen. An earthy scent fills my nostrils and I try not to linger on how close he is right now. I pray he doesn’t come any closer, or I swear he’ll hear the pounding of my heart.

“Well, you’ve definitely been productive.”

His eyes skirt to me then, his face closer than I’d realised, that I can make out a faint scatter of freckles across his nose. I glance away, flustered, and focus on the laptop instead.

“Have you finished that book I bought you, by the way?”

I had hoped he wouldn’t bring up A Whisper of the Dark . It’s been sitting on my bedside table ever since he bought it for me. Perhaps I ought to start it, really, for his sake at least.

“Not yet,” I admit, solemnly.

He pouts and it takes everything in me not to scream.

“Well, make sure you hurry up so we can talk about it.”

A ding on his phone draws his attention away from me. He checks it, his expression unreadable, before retreating from the table. I miss the earthy scent already.

“So I’ve got a shift to start,” he says. Pauses. “See you around, hopefully.”

Hopefully. My heart leaps into my throat as I watch him leave, heading downstairs for his shift. It’s only when he’s out of my sight that I giggle into my hand, like a lovestruck teenager.

After dinner, I start reading Whisper of the Dark , while Ria practises some piano pieces for school.

Or at least, I try to. My eyes skirt over the same paragraph on the second - or is it the third? - multiple times before I set the book down and sigh.

“What’s wrong, Ate?” Ria questions from behind me. She’s leaning forward, eyeing the novel.

I narrow my eyes toward her, before stating, “Nothing is wrong, this is a perfectly fine book. I’m just not in the mood.”

Ria shrugs, quirking a brow.

“I didn’t say anything about the book.”

At that, I toss a small pillow toward her, which she swiftly catches mid air.

A buzz from my phone snatches my attention.

A laugh escapes my lips and Mum glances over at me.

“Is that Marlon?” she questions, her words playful. I hear the piano seat scrape against the ground, and soon I feel Ria’s heavy breaths as she peers over my shoulder.

“Omg, lovebirds!” she coos, and I swat at her. Mum and Ria burst into teasing chuckles.

Warmth settles over my skin. I’ve watched many things with him in the past, most of the time with our Mums nearby. One time we watched Shrek on DVD, when we were about 10 years old, but Marlon hogged much of the popcorn and kept rewinding to watch his favourite scenes.

The other night, though, watching Sailor Moon with him wasn’t so bad. I actually enjoyed it. Strangely enough, I’m finding him to be not as irritating as he once was. It’s good to know that his brain actually matured.

“I’m going upstairs,” I tell my family.

“To talk to Marlon?” Ria teases and I narrow my eyes at her.

“Yes, in fact,” I declare.

Marlon and I take a few minutes fiddling with our laptops trying to find a good watch party website, before settling on one called TheatreAtHome , and decide to call over Facetime. It’s a little grainy and dark on his end when I answer the call, that I can’t seem to make out his face.

“Hello?” I ask.

That’s when a figure jumps at the screen rapidly, causing me to scream and drop my phone onto my lap. Chuckles burst from my speaker, and I groan.

“You should’ve seen your face,” Marlon manages through his laughter. I can see his face fully now, illuminated by his phone and laptop screen. His hair is messier than it’s ever been, falling ungracefully over his eyes.

“Shut up,” I hiss. I readjust myself on the bed, balancing my laptop on my knees.

“So how was your lover boy today?” Marlon coos, and I hope he doesn’t see how my face heats instantly.

“It was fine,” I say.

“Did he ask your socials yet? Or number?” he prods, and I shake my head.

“Not yet, but it’s whatever. We’re taking it slow.”

“Taking it slow?” Marlon scrunches his nose, as if he caught something sour, “I’m hoping lover boy hurries the hell up though. It shouldn’t take too long for a guy to realise he wants to keep chatting with the cute girl he met in the bookstore.”

I perk a brow.

“Did you just say I’m cute?” I tease, to which Marlon blows a raspberry through his lips.

“In your dreams, Garcia.”

“Whatever. I’m happy with how we are right now, thank you very much. It’s all going to plan.”

Yet, as the words leave my mouth, I question whether I’m truly confident in them. Was Marlon right? Should Rafayel be asking for my number right about now? We’d only seen each other a handful of times now.

Was that acceptable enough to then ask for contact? I swallow my thoughts, and focus on the screen.

“Anyways, are we going to watch this episode or not?”

That night, as I close my eyes and drift off, I think of Rafayel’s eyes. I reminisce on his earthy scent, the constellations on his cheeks, the sun in his eyes.

I lose myself in deluded situations of what his hand would feel like in mine. I lull myself to sleep with these romantic scenarios, feeling giddy at the thought that maybe one day, it could all come true.

Yet, just before I dip into unconsciousness, green eyes seem to shift into brown, and it’s the last thing I see before the tiredness consumes me and I’m lost in nothing but dreams.