We talked about everything and nothing at the same time, giving just the limited amount of information to carry on a conversation, but not enough to get too close. Neither of us were Vancouver locals though both ended up here thanks to our degrees. He said he was situated not too far from here while I complained about the wetness and cold, which was a complete opposite of the tropical weather I was used to. I didn't go into the reasons on why I even chose a country so far away from home it was almost on the other side of the world. Or the situation that forced me to leave everything I called my own. Following my lead, he didn't question either. He said he loved football and hockey. We argued about the rankings and transfers and it just fit. He was a Madrid fan while I supported Barça. We just fit. He tried explaining hockey to me before realising it was fruitless and we both settled on American football being overrated.

The conversation soon veered toward personal territory with him asking, "Why did you agree to this blind date? You said it wasn't really your thing." He slowed his pace and turned to regard me. I should've guessed he was a uni student. He seemed so young. The laser lighting had done nothing good to his features. His eyes were even lighter than I had thought, now that I could see him under the faint glow of the street lamps and flickering sign boards. The dark brown I had pegged his hair to be was, in fact, a startling shade of auburn I didn't know existed.

I whipped my head to the front before my stare ventured into the creep zone. "Wanted to see what I was missing." I shrugged. "Turns out, not a lot." You've already missed out on the biggest thing in your life. I stuffed my hands deeper into my jacket's pockets, balling them into fists to prevent those tremors from returning.

"And tonight was the night you decided to step out? The day before the year starts?" He smiled. This was a spur-of-the-moment question, but I could see the hint of curiosity in it.

I let myself relax and met his eyes. His smile hadn't wavered. He looked like the kind who smiled a lot. Who made other people smile a lot. I decided I liked his smile. "My friend set us up. He's been trying to do it since before the summer. Figured might as well get this over with before he starts bugging me again once the sem starts." I sighed.

"You sound like you were very excited about this whole setup." His eyebrows raised, and he bumped my shoulder with his.

I had to suck in a breath and pretend like his touch didn't still linger there. Like the small amount of heat he transferred didn't just thaw my entire being. "I'm not..." He's a stranger, he couldn't possibly know. Not in this country. "I don't think I'm ready yet. It's been over a year, and I know it's stupid—"

"It's not stupid. There's no set time limit for getting over someone. Everyone has their own process."

I tried smiling and hoped to God it didn't come out as a grimace. "I don't know what I'm doing wrong half the time. I mean, I moved halfway across the world. I should be able to forget and forgive, right? For a second there, I thought maybe I wasn't meeting the right people. That maybe I needed to go out more. Explore. Now, I'm not so sure the external factors are so much the problem as the internal."

"I, for one, don't think it's internal. You're doing far better than I did. I wasn't nearly this calm and composed on my first date with someone after the supposed love of my life dumped me."

I chuckled. "You don't know the war that is raging in my head right now."

"From where I stand, it doesn't seem like it. So many men fling themselves into situations they never would've found themselves in. Jumping into bed with someone they didn't expect to, drinking till liver failure, falling into some sort of psychological crises," he bumped his shoulder with mine again and lingered there; my body froze, "burning their ex's belongings. Things that, once they clear their head, seems so far out of their capability they don't know how to undo it. And then there's you. You're willing—or at least trying—to put the past behind you and try again. That takes effort and courage."

"Sounds like you're talking from experience." I said that and immediately clamped my mouth. Too personal.

Thankfully, he didn't answer. He turned a corner and went ahead a little to open the door for me.

I halted.

When he said we were going to some hole-in-the-wall lounge, I didn't expect it to quite literally be called HOLE IN THE WALL.

I entered, and I felt him shuffle in after me. We wouldn't have been so pressed against each other, his chest to my back if I hadn't decided this to be the perfect time to lock my knees in place and play statue. The place was cramped alright. Barely ten tables lined across two walls, and there wasn't even a stage at the far end. Just a tape signifying the start of the performance area, a mic-stand in the centre and a grand piano in the corner. The tables were so small I doubted if we could even rest our forearms on it without overlapping them. Low-lying cushioned benches stood at both edges of the table, and we had to squeeze in sideways to make our way across.

He ambled past me and held his hand out behind him, not looking. I took it without overthinking what this could mean. He led us to one of the last open tables. It looked cosy and somewhat secluded. Exactly the place lovers would sit at to talk about the kind of day they had or do whatever lovers did when they had the freedom to express their love. He draped his coat over a wicker chair and sat while I took the cushioned bench stuck to the wall.

A server came and placed two margaritas on our small table. No coasters. He patted my companion on the back with no words exchanged between them.

"You're a regular?" I asked, taking a sip and mentally dying at how smoothly the tequila went down my throat, leaving tangy lemony flavours behind.

"You can say that. The margaritas here are something else."

"It's easy imagining you here. You and your date, sipping margaritas, having a good time."

He laughed. I decided then that I liked his laugh too. "That's a pleasant sight. I'm glad you're the first to experience it me with then."

I swallowed and forced down my flush. I never expected it to be this easy talking to a man I found so attractive it made my neck sweat. But it was. With him, it felt like everything was. My heart still raced, and my breathing still went wonky, but the ease with which I could talk to him never wavered.

"I like talking to people," he blurted.

I balked. Could he read my thoughts? "What?"

"Outside, you said it sounds like I'm speaking from experience. It's not experience. Okay, wait, it is. It's just not my experience. I like talking to people. Listening to all their stories and shenanigans. Everyone has such a different view of the world, it's somewhat thrilling to see them pour their hearts out. And a little entertaining as well."

"I'm sorry I'm not giving you much entertainment." I wasn't much of a talker. Mostly because I didn't know what to say. And when I did say something, more often than not, it was the wrong thing.

"You're fascinating. I know you haven't said much, and I won't ask you to, but it's like I can read your story without words." He squinted. "Sorry, that's not making much sense. It sounded better in my head." He shifted in seat, played with the condensation that settled on the table and then asked, "Where are you from? You said halfway across the world, so which half is that?"

"India."

"Ah, should've guessed. You make up half of the other half. And you guys love your cricket, don't you?"

I could've said yes, it's a religion and steered the conversation away. Maybe added a chuckle in there for good measure. If I was stronger and more courageous like he thought I was, I could've done that. The wounds were still fresh, though, and I was still weak. How did one even recover from this? How did one heal when there was nothing left to heal? Halfway across the world and still pining. Still hurting. The tremors came back, and even balling my fingers into fists didn't stop them.

It's not advisable for you to play.

You're not fit enough anymore.

You had a good run. A fantastic one. I'm sorry, it ended this way.

I opened my eyes to find him staring. A smouldering gaze that lit up fires inside me. Heat pooled in my belly. I could feel him reading my thoughts, going through my memories, seeing the deepest, darkest side of me. He said he didn't need words.

The server returned with an electric candle. He placed it right at the centre of the table. The lights dimmed. I looked around. Candles flickered on every table, while the patrons' eyes were set on the makeshift stage.

A middle-aged, busty woman dressed in what I would call true cabaret attire entered the spotlight, gripping the mic-stand with both hands and revealing a red-rimmed smile to the audience. A balding man made home on the bench in front of the piano. His fingers floated on the keys, music unfurling softly, like a tease. Soon, the woman joined in, her voice thick and heavy, surrounding the lounge like a blanket. The tempo only went up from there, beating like a heart. Faster, harder, more urgent. I let their tunes sink into my bones, deep inside, and lost myself to their rendition of love making.

A couple had stood up and were softly swaying to the rhythm, arms flung around each other. The woman had her cheek pressed against her man's chest.

The duo switched songs. My redhead got to his feet, and for a second, it felt like he was about to ask me for a dance. Instead, he rounded the table and settled down next to me. His hips and thighs pressed against mine. He shifted so that his arm rested on the bench behind me, engulfing me in his one-armed embrace. His fingers pressed down on my shoulder, dancing along with the tunes. "Is this okay?" he asked.

Fire burned where his fingers met my clothed clavicle, as though every touch of his seared my skin. I leaned into him, into his space, and hoped that was a good enough answer.

I sat with my hands wrapped around the glass, hesitating, trembling, and then decided to suck it all up. I had swerved so far away from my protection bubble, there was no way it even existed now. If I was doing this, then I would do it all the way.

As the woman sang into the mic, and the piano lurched with a heavy rhythm, my hand reached under the table for his leg. I just barely brushed against the fabric of his jeans, and his fingers froze on my shoulder.

I heaved in a breath and spread a palm over his thigh and stroked upward. My cowardliness presented itself again, and I stopped before I could have a stroke. He was just pure muscle under my touch, all hard and hot. I squeezed and allowed myself to indulge further.

He shifted slightly and parted his legs a little. His fingers moved once more. This time they went under my shirt and directly onto my skin, carving shapes along my collarbone. I shivered under his touch, though the skin on mine was warm and comfortable. He pressed down on my deltoids, undoing the knots I had been carrying for years.

Bolts of heat spread through me, rushing straight to my groin.

The music built, oblivious to the sensations overwhelming me. It flowed in waves, filling up the darkness in the lounge and passing vibrations through every molecule with a passion and desire. With a promise of more.

By the end of their set, I was a quaking mess, and the rush made me feel light-headed. I was filled to the brim. His scent in my nostrils, his skin on mine, his heat warming me. I stroked his leg, this time going higher than I allowed myself, and then back down to his knee.

The crowd applauded, and he removed his fingers from my shirt to contribute to the roaring claps, before leaning in to me, his lips on my ear. "Have a good time?"

I turned to him and felt another bolt of heat rush down. His head was so close, I just needed to sway in a bit, even by accident, and his lips would be on mine. My gaze subconsciously fell on his lips. His pink, parted lips.

"So, what next?" I whispered.

"I don't want this night to end."

"Me neither."

"Care to keep it going?"

I stuttered.

He noticed.

"I had a great time tonight," he said. "I really did. You're a great guy, and I'm certain there will be a million men waiting out there who want a chance with you. And I know you will find someone who is going to cherish you and give you the world."

"But?"

"No buts." He leaned forward and rested his forehead on mine. It took everything to not stumble and cover this distance between us. I settled for counting the freckles along his nose. "If you want, I can walk you to the bar, and you can meet up with that man who didn't cherish the treasure he had in his clutch. You can think back to tonight however you'd like and know that you had a good time, good margaritas and maybe some okayish company." He smiled. "Or, if you want, I can take you to a corner and show you just how much I've been holding back all night."

My heart staggered and then came to a full stop. I gave in to my desires and moved a little so our noses were touching.

When he spoke, his breath was on my lips. "It's up to you. I mean it. I'm happy to walk you to the bar. We had a great time together. But, if I'm allowed to be honest, I want to kiss you. I've been thinking about kissing you this whole time. Holding your face in my hands, pressing my—"

I couldn't hold back anymore. Not when he was right there. Our lips met, tequila tinged and dry. His hands found my cheeks, thumbs brushing over my cheekbones. We were shy at first, just tasting each other, then I felt his tongue ghost over my lips.

Soon, we were kissing, drawing each other close, breathing each other. I was falling, spilling into him. My want coursed through my veins, and I was sure he could sense that. There was that fire again, bellowing in my ears and down to my soul, screaming, lashing and oh-so-perfect. We were a tangle of limbs, chests, shoulders, lips, tongues, merging into one.

He pulled back first. "It's your choice." His voice was thicker than before. Darker. Lust filled. "God," he breathed. He dug his forehead into mine, our noses touching, our breaths mingling.

I had thought about the after many times. Thought about finding a man. Someone who I wanted to know better. Someone who shared the same interests as me. We would argue about football, enjoy a quiet evening with music, cook dinner together, make love every night. I imagined falling for a man who was smart, kind, had gentle eyes, inquisitive, knew me with every inch of his soul, He would be sweet but still push me into doing my best, press every single button of mine and we would argue but end up with declarations of love. It was a fantasy I indulged in. A fairy tale I let myself dream about. I thought I found a modicum of that with Arya and I was happy to hang up my fantasies and wishes. I never allowed myself to ponder about the what-ifs. Still, I knew I wanted someone who smiled and laughed at my jokes, who held my hand and told me he loved me, and wanted more of me.

Why did it feel like I met the man of my dreams tonight? On a Sunday night before the new academic year, at an hour when I should be asleep.

This man might be a Prince Charming. Or I was projecting a million fantasies onto him. There was no way he wanted me that much.

But when his hand still stayed on my cheek and his blue eyes gazed into mine with so much desire, it was hard to think of myself as just another charity case.

I would be lying if I said I didn't want this charming, elegant, smooth-talking, well-mannered, warm-blooded, handsome, and big-hearted man.

I took his hand, threading my fingers with his. "Take me," I said and pressed a kiss to his lips. "Take me away."