Tears streamed down my face and suddenly, I couldn’t speak, so I hung up and cried silently, nursing the beer glass. I didn’t even drink alcohol, but I figured I needed something stronger than my usual mango and passion fruit juice for how broken I was feeling. I’d ordered the beer cause it was the cheapest alcoholic beverage, yet I had no intention of drinking it.
Shaka had stuck around for a very long time. He knew all there was to know about me. From when my relationship started, to when it took a turn for the worst, to now, heartbroken.
I felt one hand on her shoulder and saw another push the beer glass out of my hands. I looked up even though I already knew it was him. He always knew where to find me. Or rather, I hid in places I knew he’d find me. I turned on the stool and buried my face into his torso, soaking his t-shirt with my tears.
He stood there and just let me. I let go of him after a while, looked up briefly to smile a hello, to which he smiled back. He went to the bar and ordered two glasses of mango and passion fruit.
Shaka: You look horrible.
Me: Yeah, I’m trying to look like what my heart feels. Horrible.
He reached over and held my hand. I asked him about his day and listened as I played with his hand in my hands. It was then that my mouth spoke without consenting with my mind.
Me: How is it that you’ve always loved me even when I was determined to give my heart to the one guy who didn’t deserve it, time and time again?
Shaka: You knew I loved you without even telling you. I even loved your love for him.
Me: I don’t know what to say…
He stood, walked to stand beside me and kissed me slowly. I responded, almost instinctively, my insides turning to mush.
Shaka: And now? Should I apologize for crossing the line or should I confess my love?
Me: Don’t apologize…
Shaka: I love you… I want to marry you.
This time I was the one who stood and kissed him again. I realized then that I had not known, myself, that I had loved him. Hearing him say it only confirmed what I knew in my heart of hearts but was never willing to be the first to admit it.