The days have gotten warmer.

In California, it’s almost always warm, especially now that it’s late September. What I mean is, the days have gotten warmer for me. I had no idea there were that many birds around, but I’ve begun noticing them lately, up on their nest, building their comfort. It’s almost beautiful, the process. I never knew nature could be this wonderful.

I’ve learned that you have to surround yourself with things you want in your ideal reality. It seems to work because I’ve been smiling non-stop for days now. Once, I almost caught myself skipping down the street. I would have actually gone through with it if it weren’t for the people with eyes full of criticism. I’m learning by the day not to pay them much mind.

After class, I meet Jenny at one of our usual spots by the café. I have no idea why, but I feel compelled to embrace her. “Isn’t it so beautiful outside today, Jenny? Let’s make a picnic.”

I can tell she’s puzzled by my overdramatic display of glee, even as she completes the hug. “Someone’s in a good mood.”

“How could you tell?” I give her a smile, perhaps a bit too big.

She’s not wrong, though. My mood has bettered significantly since that evening with Shane. I don’t want to make it sound hasty, but we’ve grown quite close since then. We keep in touch often, the last of our conversation ending just an hour ago.

Although, I can’t quite tell if he’s as into me as I am in him. I mean, he does make the effort. I just don’t want to jump into conclusions.

Still, it’s a huge leap from wishing I had the gall to ask his name. Since basketball practice keeps him busy, we haven’t been able to hang out as much as I’ve wanted. But we’ve had quick run-ins and meet-ups, sometimes by the café on campus and other times off campus.

The thing is, I have no clue what this makes us. Friends? Or perhaps something more than that. Something that isn’t quite what I’m hoping for but close.

That shouldn’t entail that I’m unsatisfied with our current relationship. We are getting to know each other quite well. I had no idea Shane was a lover of comic books. Apparently, he has a whole collection, which I’m sure must have cost him a fortune. It feels rewarding sharing in on this side of him.

“You know what I need?” Jenny starts. “A long walk along the coast. I haven’t been to the beach in a while.”

Speaking of beaches, Shane grew up by the beach. It’s all he knew before his passion for basketball. I wonder if he was a lifeguard at one point, or if he’s ever surfed. I should ask him more about his time living by the coast. He seems to enjoy talking about basketball most—

“Dalia,” Jenny nudges me. “Are you listening?”

“Yes, I am.”

Jenny takes a look at me and sighs, and I don’t have to pay much attention to tell the tinge of irritation. “You know, you’ve changed ever since you cut your hair. I don’t know why you suddenly decided to do that after all these years.”

This should be good thing, shouldn’t it? Change. It’s exactly what I’ve been trying to achieve. But it doesn’t sound too good the way Jenny phrases it.

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to change my hair for a while now,” I tell Jenny. “I just never had the chance to. It looks good.”

She takes another look at me, specifically my hair, until she begins nodding. “I guess so.”

Having Jenny agree makes me feel miles better. Maybe this is the time to ask her for more tips, especially about make-up techniques. There’s only so much I can do, and Jenny’s a master at these things.

But then I receive a text message. Totally unexpected, the sender. Before I know it, I start smiling uncontrollably. It’s become so easy to smile.

“Who is it?” Jenny asks. I’m guessing the smile on my face was a bit too flashy.

“Shane. He’s checking up on me.”

It’s not Jenny’s reply I receive, but Shane’s. He’s asking about my schedule. He wants to know when next I’m free. I’m already sure of his goal before he asks me. He wants to take me out.

There goes the surge of joy again. The plans are made without Shane telling me where we’re going. I’m guessing he wants it to be another surprise. Surprise or not, I’ve already begun dreaming of the date. To think I would come so far as to be asked out on dates by a man who has genuine interest in me. Once upon a time, that was a fallacy.

But enough about that. I need to figure out what I’m going to wear come Friday evening.

___

That Friday, I take some time off work to focus on the date. I have a funny feeling about referring to it as such, but I have nothing else to call it. Can’t be a simple meet-up; there’s a surprise at stake. Can’t be as simple as hanging out either; we almost kissed last time we ‘hung out’. But perhaps there’s no need to put a label on it. It’s all for enjoyment, isn’t it?

I take the liberty of doing my own hair and make-up again. Suffice to say, I think I’ve gotten better, especially in the make-up department. No more blotches as it is. I could still do better.

The pick-up time was set for seven P.M, same as previously. I make sure my outfit is intact, because while I may dress up for my satisfaction, I still require Shane’s validation. It may be a bit embarrassing, but I’m looking forward to the compliment.

Who knew I would have to wait this long for it?

The agreed time comes and goes in a blink of an eye. At first, I think I may have missed some message of his, or a call. But there’s nothing from Shane. Nothing. The last text I received from him was a smiley face, after a very heartfelt, “Can’t wait to see you.”

Turns out he can wait. Because he hasn’t shown up.

Then the confusion starts, followed by a very hefty amount of dread. Have I just been stood up?

But it makes little sense. I find it hard to believe so, especially when he’d sounded so excited over the phone. Why would he go to such lengths only to now go radio silent?

The knot in my stomach won’t leave, neither will the restlessness. I leave Shane a call along with a couple text messages, trying to get to the bottom of this. But I get no reply, even when morning comes. There’s no sign of Shane.

This is when the anxiousness really gets to me. Is he avoiding me? Did he deem me a waste of his time? Is that it? Is that why he’s ignoring me? Was I not what he wanted?

I can’t make sense of anything. I must have done something wrong. I just need to figure out what it is.

What really adds to my panic is the fact that my calls are no longer going through. My number. It’s been blocked.

I don’t see or hear from Shane for a little over two weeks. I’d be lying if I said the whole issue is behind me. I’d be lying even more if I said I was okay. I’m far from it.

Rejection does not feel good, especially after being strung along this far. To think we almost once kissed. To think he once wanted our date to be a surprise. I’ve never once felt this stupid. I feel humiliated, like I’m being chastised for daring to hope for a better life.

Why must things always be so difficult?

Now I’m sitting in the outdoor study area, staring at the last thing connecting me to Shane. His phone number. There’s no reason for it to still be in my phone. He casted me aside, I should do the same. I should move on and forget.

Yet, the question still haunts me. Was it something I did?

I can’t believe I’m mourning a relationship that was never even real. I should have known it was too good to be true. And thinking about it now, I guess I did end up jinxing it. It ended up being a sweet, pipe dream after all.

I still don't delete his number, because some moronic part of me thinks this will all work out somehow. Surely, Shane will return my texts, my calls, my time. Surely, we'll return back to the way things were up until just two weeks ago. Surely, this was all just a mistake, a mix-up on his end.

How can I still be this painfully naive?

I tuck my phone away and gather my things up for my next lecture, the last for the day before my shift at the café.

It’s then I spot a familiar face in the crowd, one I haven’t seen in a little over two weeks. Shane Foster, looking very much alive and . . . unwell.

His left leg is in a cast, his head bandaged so thick one would think he were wearing a hat of some kind. Then come the lacerations on his face, deep and gnarly and still quite fresh. He looks brutalized to the extreme.

What happened to him?

Somewhere, I get this feeling of relief. Maybe it wasn’t something I did after all. It must have been some violent accident he landed himself in.

I go up to Shane, half concerned and yet reassured. “Hey, what happened to you?”

The look he gives me is unlike anything I’ve ever seen in a while, almost as venomous as my own mother’s gaze each time she’s reminded of the fact that I’m her daughter. It catches me completely off guard.

“Stay the hell away from me!” Shane warns, through a mouth that has been busted very brutally. It’s only now that I see that his eyes are swollen as well, and yet he manages to convey his hatred quite perfectly.

I can’t understand the situation. I’m trying to, but I can’t. I try reaching for him. “Shane, why haven’t you been answering—”

He uses all his might to push my hand away, so much that he loses his balance and ends up falling to the ground. All this just to avoid my touch.

At this point, we’ve garnered onlookers, bystanders. Shane uses this to his advantage. “I should never have given you the time of day,” he says it loud enough for everyone present. “That was my first mistake, giving you attention. I should have known you were nothing but bad news. Don’t you ever come anywhere close to me. Or I swear you’ll regret it.”

What do you say to someone who just admitted to regretting your entire existence? You say nothing. You cry instead, in front of a crowd of strangers with phones for videotapes. You stand and accept the humiliation because there’s nothing else you can do.

You let go of that ideal reality of yours, because your heart has just been shattered in a way you never thought possible.