All About You

Eighteen

“A re you almost done up there?”

Marlon calls from downstairs, as I undo my braid to redo for the third time.

I groan in frustration, my fingers getting tangled again. That’s it , I’ve decided. I’m cutting my hair, eventually. I can’t do this anymore.

I hastily press pause on my morning playlist. BTS’ Dionysus is just making me more stressed.

“Come on Garcia, or we’ll be late.”

My Tuesday morning class got pushed back an extra two hours, which won me back some free time. I thought I’d spend it putting extra effort into my appearance, in case I run into Rafayel again. Not that I don’t put effort in my looks already, but it doesn’t hurt to sprinkle a little more.

Remind me why, however, I decided to braid my hair when I’ve apparently forgotten how to.

Marlon’s footsteps echo as he ascends the stairs. He arrived half-an-hour ago, right when my family left the house, so we were free from our ruse for now.

“Um hello, invasion of space!” I call out, as his footsteps grow louder. He pauses, and I peer his shadow through the gap of my door.

“I’ll wait out here then. Just hurry.”

I roll my eyes, and open my bedroom door.

“I’ll be done soon, wait.”

Marlon peaks around the door, peering into my room.

“Wow, this place has not changed much since I was last here.”

I ignore the comment, trying to focus instead on my hair.

The last time Marlon was here was probably when we were 12, when Mum was on babysitting duty while Marlon’s parents worked longer hours at their old jobs. He’d always fiddled with my things. Once, he accidentally knocked over my beloved dollhouse that I got as a gift from my Great-Lola Lillian from the Philippines. I spent all night trying to rebuild it, and piece it back together.

The dollhouse itself is still on the top of my shelf, to which Marlon says, “Oh my gosh, that’s the house I broke isn’t it?”

“Yep it is,” I say, through gritted teeth, “Stay away from it so there’s no repeat, will you?”

I observe Marlon through my mirror as he steps away from the shelf, and heads over to my desk.

Atop of it lies Pride and Prejudice , A Whisper of the Dark , scattered loose notes from film school and a cartoonified figurine of Jungkook from BTS.

His hands reach for Jungkook, and picks him up, turning him over.

“Huh, Jungkook, I’ve heard of him! The one from BTS right? Is he your number one?”

I groan as I accidentally tug a strand of my hair a little too hard. God - Why isn’t my hair cooperating this morning?

“Yes, he’s my number one,” I respond, and the frustration from my hair flows into my tone.

“What are you trying to do?” he asks.

I give up. Releasing my hair, I let it fall in frizzled cascades over my back. Marlon doesn’t even try to hide his laughter, his face scrunching in amusement as his eyes take in my appearance.

“Nothing, I was just trying to braid it. Make it look nice and neat or whatever,” I say, my voice fading from embarrassment.

“You don’t know how to braid?” Marlon asks, genuinely curious.

“I know how to braid obviously. It just keeps coming out messy this morning. Whatever, forget it. Come on, let’s go, I’ll grab my bag.”

I’m about to leave the room, when Marlon presses his hand against my shoulder, stopping me. He looms over my figure, examining my hair.

“Hmm. Turn around”

I quirk a brow.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to braid your hair, duh.”

He steps forward, and I step backward, sceptical. He rolls his eyes, as if I’m the one being a nuance.

“Bianca makes me braid her hair sometimes. She made me learn it for her, since her Mum forgot how to do it. Just like you did, it seems.”

That tidbit of detail about Marlon’s life surprises me once again. I never thought Marlon would be the type to teach himself to braid hair just so he could make his little cousin happy. I add it to the list of redeeming qualities that I never knew about him.

“Okay fine I allow it,” I say, turning my back to him. We’re facing the vanity mirror, so I’m able to see as Marlon’s eyes roam over my hair, eyebrows pierced together as if trying to solve an equation.

“I promise you, this will be the best braid you’ve ever seen in your life.”

Marlon’s hands reach up toward my hair. His fingers brush the back of my neck, as he gathers the strands in a bunch, and the contact makes me shiver involuntarily. The reaction surprises me.

He catches my eye in the mirror, “Sorry, are my hands cold? I get a little chilly in the morning”

His fingers are indeed, not cold at all, but that would be a more reasonable explanation for my bodily reaction.

“Yes, it is,” I say, “But it’s whatever. Just continue with your excellent braid.”

His fingers weave through my hair, each contact sending shockwaves through my scalp. It’s calming, yet alarming all at once. I try to focus on anything else besides how unnervingly good this feels. My gaze floats toward his reflection in the mirror. His eyebrows are locked together, his mouth pursed to the side in concentration.

It makes him look endearing. Almost…cute.

I blink once, twice, wishing the thought away.

I feel his knuckles brush softly against the middle of my spine, as he completes the braid. Then, lifting the plait, he carefully places it over my shoulder, his fingers grazing my neck. Involuntarily, my shoulders twitch, and he meets my eyes through the mirror.

“It’s your cold hands,” I state, a little loudly.

“Sorry again.”

I tear my eyes away from his reflection, and focus it on my own, instead.

“Ta-da! One of my best works yet,” he enthuses.

He definitely did a good job, I’ll give him that.

“Thanks Marlon,” I profess, “You really didn’t need to do this, but I appreciate it.”

Marlon smirks.

“Are you thanking me?”

“Don’t push it.”

Marlon just laughs.

“So, are you going to visit your boyfriend today?” he ponders, as we exit my room.

That’s when I realise he’s holding my tote bag. He must’ve picked it up from my study chair. The photocard I’ve chosen of TWICE member, Jihyo, dangles at his side.

“Maybe, yes, I want to,” I tell him.

We’ve reached the bottom of the stairs, and he’s still not giving me my bag. I reach for the strap, but realising my intentions, he leans back, motioning me back with his palm.

“Hey, don’t worry, I’ve got it. So, do you have a game plan?” Marlon asks, “Surely, he’ll be giving you his number today. I mean look at you with your pretty braid and cute top and all.”

He thinks I’m pretty? I ignore the thought as it drifts across my mind, and focus instead on locking up the house.

“I’m just going to see how it goes,” I respond, on the way to his car, “But that’s obviously what I’m hoping for.”

“Just be yourself, Garcia,” he says. Once inside, he places my tote bag on my lap and starts up the engine, before turning to me with a smile. “You may be a little insane, but it’s your charm. If he doesn’t ask for your number sooner or later, someone else is going to swoop in and take you away, I guarantee it.”

I scoff.

“ Sure , because my history of failed crushes paints a very positive future of suitors for me.”

“Have some faith in yourself Garcia. All those failed crushes don’t know what they’re missing,” Marlon says, shaking his head. “And besides, if this were a movie, you’d be the type of person that everyone would root for. Remember that.”

The type of person everyone would root for.

The words embed themselves as the crux of my brain. All my life I’d been the mastermind. Laying the groundwork, being the one confessing to my crushes. Through letters, through stammered words at locker bays. And while I’d been laughed at, been rejected, I never wavered on being the one who approached first.

Isn’t that how the best romances start?

With a perfect foundation, the best script?

Yet, a part of me is beginning to shift in that thought. To realise that maybe, the best things can unravel on its own.

I glance over toward Marlon. The wind caresses his hair through the open window, and a hint of a permanent smile rests on his lips.

If I had to choose the one person who I would’ve never written into my life, but has unexpectedly become one of my favourite parts of it as of present…

I would probably choose him.

“Jas, are you listening?”

A pair of fingers come to view, snapping just centimetres from my eyes. It does the trick and I jolt, not realising I’d drifted off into my thoughts again. Kiara glances at me, not so much unimpressed but amused.

“Are you thinking about your bookstore boy again?” she whispers, with an affectionate snicker.

“Yep,” I respond, plastering a sheepish smile.

Except, while I daydreamt of seeing Rafayel again, my mind seemed to keep morphing his features into Marlon’s.

“Anyways, sorry,” I continue, veering the conversation back onto its course, “What were you saying?”

“I was just saying that if you have any ideas for locations, let us know. Especially for the scenes set in a school.”

I noted down the task in my laptop notes.

“Can do that, don’t you worry,” I assure.

Kiara had called together a production meeting for the morning regarding her project that I’d decided to join for our end-of-semester assignment. Her idea aligned alot with my interests, so I joined her crew as producer.

She’d decided on a short horror, silent film inspired by a horror anime visual novel game she’d played before. I enjoy the concept of producing, but didn’t realise that it came with so many responsibilities. On top of sourcing locations for the shoot, I’ve also got to send out crew agreements, and call out for actors on our public forums.

As the list grows, I seriously contemplate why I didn’t just take on a simpler role.

The production meeting comes to an end after another ten minutes and I note down tasks that each crew member should accomplish within the next couple weeks. As we pack up our items, Diane and Kiara wait for the others to leave before surrounding me.

“Getting more and more distracted there, I see,” Kiara teases, nudging my sides.

I swat her hand away, not without shooting her an affectionate smile.

“Shall we pay a little lover boy a visit?” Diane suggests, linking her arm with mine. My heart speeds at the thought of seeing Rafayel, as always.

“I’ve uh - I’ve actually got a date with Riley tonight,” Kiara reveals bashfully.

“Oh my gosh!” I exclaim, slapping her excitedly. “How did this happen?”

Kiara explains how she and Riley have been chatting more over the weekend. They’ve been clicking so well, that Riley asked her out on a date. They’re having dinner tonight at a Japanese bar in the city.

Once we reach the crossing, we bid Kiara good luck.

“You better update us, asap, ” I say.

“But if you don’t, we’ll know what you’re both up to,” Diane teases, poking at Kiara’s side.

Diane and I make our way toward the Books and Bricks, my heart raising with every step. Once we reach the building, she pulls on my arm.

“Okay, let me give you a tip, hon. Eye contact. Make sure you hold eye contact. And compliment him, boys love all the compliments,” she emphasises, leaning forward. She reaches for my braid, placing it over my shoulder, and lowers the sleeves of my puffy blouse a little. I pull back, and gasp, a little scandalised.

“ Diane !”

“We need to make sure he finally makes a move,” she whines, “Your boy seems to need a big nudge.”

Her eyes give me a once over, before nodding, seemingly satisfied. She swivels my body toward the door, slapping my butt.

“Go get 'em!”

I inhale deeply as I step through the doors. The space is practically empty once more, making it much easier to spot him. There, in the middle aisle, just beyond the central tables.

He seems to be rearranging some of the books on the shelves. My heart begins its melody, an uneven thrumming that grows stronger with each step. It’s actually unfair how much his face affects me.

But, I can’t let him know that. I need to be nonchalant. Desirable, mysterious . The innate urge to laugh bubbles in me.

How ridiculous is it that I, an 18 year old girl, does not know how to even flirt with her crush?

Once I’m close enough to Rafayel, I wait for him to turn his head the slightest in my direction, before casually sauntering past him, toward the neighbouring shelves. Feigning cluelessness.

Like a sign from God, I happen to stumble onto the young-adult romance section. Perfect .

I pretend to be occupied with the titles, and stand on my toes to reach for a particular Ann Liang title I’ve been interested in.

“Hey.”

Slowly, I turn, meeting Rafayel’s eyes and am greeted by his sweet smile as he approaches.

“I thought it was you.”

My heart reacts instantly, pounding itself against the walls of my chest. I attempt to match his smile with one of my own.

“Yes, it’s me,” I say.

I focus my attention back on the book, reaching up and pretending to struggle. Rafayel comes up behind me.

“Let me get that for you.”

His chest brushes against me as he reaches up too, his fingers closing around the book.

“Thank you, I’m too short for this,” I laugh.

Just as he pulls out the book, it somehow slips from his grasp, and the book comes tumbling down. I throw my hands up in defence, shielding my face, but he grabs it with ease before it has a chance to hit me.

We look at each other, before bursting into giggles.

“And I’m too clumsy for this,” he chuckles, meeting my gaze.

Time stops. Or it speeds up. I don’t know, I can’t tell. My breath catches in my throat, and I need to look away right there and then, to relieve my chest. I don’t though.

I have to stick to the plan. I need to stick to the script.

He breaks the stare first.

“So, new book, huh?” he points out, gesturing toward the book.

“Yeah, I thought I’d treat myself for all the hard work I’ve done lately for uni,” I explain, chuckling a little.

“I won’t say no to that,” he says, smiling, “How about the book I bought you?”

“I’m getting through it,” I lie, with a smile.

A beat lingers before us, an uncertainty. I meet his gaze, and it’s all green. Not brown.

I recall Diane’s words. Maintain eye contact. Compliment him. Reel him in. I swallow.

“You look good today, by the way, Rafayel,” I confess.

Rafayel’s lips part in a sort of surprise. I’m unsure if that’s a good thing, until I notice the twitch of his lips. It’s all the positive reaction I need.

“Yeah? Just today?” he teases.

Words tangle themselves in my throat as I struggle for an equally witty response, when someone - a manager I presume - calls out to Rafayel to attend to someone at the counter.

It’s enough to pull us out of our bubble, and Rafayel physically does so, stepping backward.

He turns in the direction of the voice, shouting out, “In a minute!”, before turning back to me.

“As much as I hate this, I have to get back to work though, or my manager will fire me. Not really, but you know,” he hesitates a moment, “Maybe you can give me your number though, so we can talk more?”

There.

Fireworks erupt around us, as he pulls his phone from his pocket, unlocks it, and pushes it against my fingers. I stare at the screen. Add new contact.

Carefully, as though this moment is fragile, I type in Jaslene:).

Entering my name into his phone feels too symbolic. An unspoken promise, almost a rule.

Once I give the phone back, he glances down, pleased.

“I’ll chat with you soon,” he says, exiting the aisle. It’s only when he’s out of sight, that the world seems to move again. I breathe deeply, and the air entering my lungs feels so refreshing.

I actually did it. I got his number. He asked me first.

Diane is practically giddy with excitement, bouncing on her heels when I walk through the doors.

“So?” I relay to her a detailed explanation of what just happened, and she whoops.

“Took him long enough,” she proclaims, “ Now the real fun is going to begin. He better ask you out on a date next.”

“Hopefully,” I giggle and we link arms.

“Did you manage to get his socials? I want to stalk him,” Diane interjects, pulling out her phone with her free hand. I shake my head.

“Sadly just his number, but I’ll ask him later, maybe.”

“Boo. Please do, I want to stalk.”

On the train ride home, I think about the encounter with Rafayel.

Everything, so far, is going exactly to plan - from the meet-cute, to the ruse, to now. Word by word, as though jumping from the pages of the rom-com novels on my shelves.

Was it truly happening? The beginning of my love story?

It’s something I’ve wanted for so long.

I’d already experienced my meet-cute. That, I can tick off the list. Now is the next step.

The falling .

Given my poor track record of crushes, I’m nervous. I’m not used to the thought, the notion of someone liking me back. And I wanted it oh so badly.

There’d been one other time that a boy reciprocated my feelings, and not for just three hours. It was during Year 11 - this particular boy and I’d been growing closer as friends. I’d always sought friendship as the best basis for a relationship and believed us to be on the right track.

I confessed my feelings to him, and he confessed back.

But my euphoria only lasted about a week, when he told me that he didn’t feel the same anymore.

What could have possibly happened in a week that he decided I wasn’t worth it anymore?

The possibilities, the questions tormented me.

What did I do wrong?

So now, facing the very real possibility that Rafayel could maybe, genuinely like me back, that this isn’t simply a delusion anymore, presented me with the same fears.

What if, in a week, he decides that he’s had enough of me?

What can I possibly do to convince him to stay?

Once I arrive home, I call Ria to my room to debrief.

She nods along, pulling all the correct expressions at the twists and turns of my narrative.

It isn’t until I reach the end that she exclaims, “It’s about time he did that but this is good, really good!”

I smile at her enthusiasm.

“Does he have social media?” Ria asks.

“I haven’t asked him yet.”

After a beat, Ria adds, “So, you don’t think that the budding relationship between you and Marlon will affect anything?

Relationship ? My mouth grows warm, suddenly, and I stammer out, “There’s no relationship -”

Ria motions with her hand for me to stop whatever I’m about to say.

“I mean your friendship, obviously. I guess, just still be careful. I just don’t want you putting Rafayel on a pedestal when he’s still technically a stranger.”

Her words make sense, but I didn’t want to hear sense right now. Not when fireworks have been going off in my brain all day, ever since Rafayel gave me his phone.

I just want her to hype me up, to be excited over the fact that my first romance could come to fruition with the cutest boy I’d ever met.

I want her to squeal with me over the fact that I’m actually on track to mirroring my parents’ love story. For once, to see love, and love-love the way I do.

“Okay. I hear you. Anyways, I’m gonna go study now,” I say, getting up from my bed and grabbing my laptop.

Ria sighs, exiting my room without a word.

I let my laptop start up, focusing on anything but her words and the implications beneath them, yet as the seconds go by, the words begin to simmer themselves in my brain.

Anything with Marlon…that was an anomaly. A hurdle. It’s nothing, really. Just friends.

On cue, my phone pings. I check it, my heart jumping. It’s from an unknown number.

I inhale sharply, chest turning in over itself. My fingers are shaking as I type my response.

I quickly add his contact information to my phone. First, I enter him as Raf 3 until I realise how insane that looks. Then, I backspace on the heart and simply have him as Rafayel , yet somehow that looks too passive aggressive.

I finally settle on Rafayel :).

For the rest of the night, Rafayel and I have a back and forth banter like that. It turns out, Rafayel doesn’t have a social media presence. He prefers not to spiral too much, since he knew he would get addicted to the endless doom scrolling.

We talk about trivial things, about what he’s doing (he’s watching a replay of a soccer game), about what he’s currently studying (he’s studying part time as an english major, and is in his second year of university), where he went to school, what he does when he’s not working.

It’s when my eyelids begin to grow heavy that I tell him I need to sleep, though it’s all against my will. I close my eyes, but the fireworks in my stomach prevent me from drifting.

All of this truly feels plucked from a rom-com movie. Images of Rafayel’s face, of his fairy-tale smile, his heartthrob hair, and his green eyes are cast through my mind like a kaleidoscope.

And once I finally begin to drift, all I see is green, and nothing else. As it should be.