The London sky might be grey today, but I'm still walking on sunshine. I had forgotten what it all felt like – the butterflies in your stomach recalling each little interaction, smiling to yourself thinking about that person, the jittery feeling of waiting to hear from them – these first stages of a flirtationship. I think I can call it that, this thing between Sonny and me. Something more than a friendship but not quite a romantic relationship. I blush like a teenager walking out of the King's Cross station, back on my usual morning commute after returning from France last night.

It's just been so long since I've done any of this. Dating and romance, I mean. Not even a one-night stand or a casual fling – that's just not my thing. Making my way through Granary Square on autopilot mode, my mind is free to wander. I count back to the last time I went on a date, and it was exactly eleven months ago, when Steph literally forced me to download Hinge and create a profile. Suffice to say the date had not gone well. The guy straight up lied on his profile and was drunk out of his mind by the time I arrived at the bar, and I just can't deal with that kind of bullshit.

Online dating aside, there have been a few crushes on guys at work. Which makes sense because work is where I spend the majority of my time. I don't know whether any of those guys would have liked me back or not, had I made my feelings known. Because I never did – it just never felt like worth the hassle put myself out there like that and to risk an awkward situation at the office.

There were other men who have liked me, and made it known in subtle or not-so-subtle ways, but, for whatever reason, I just never felt the same way. They were perfectly decent, some quite nice looking and smart as well, but the spark was missing. Maybe there is something wrong with me biologically that makes me very picky, that I would rather not date anyone at all than give someone a chance to change my mind.

There has to be a very specific but unknown set of criteria that makes me fall for a guy. And it takes extraordinary luck for the stars to align in such a way that those very few guys who happen to fit that set of criteria, also find me attractive enough to pursue.

Sonny definitely fits the bill, I think blushingly, not that I had known that till two days ago. All those years of watching him play football, I admired him as a public persona – his dedication to the sport, his work ethic, and the fact how nice he is. There is a Spurs fan video of a toddler who was waving at the team excitedly. All the other players just walk by ignoring her, Sonny alone says hi back. You can't watch it without smiling. But that made me think he was a great guy, not romantically fantasize about him. I know some people do think about celebrities like that, and that's fine, but to me they just feel so far removed from my reality that I can't see them that way.

When I met him in person though, it's like a switch flipped. His woody vanilla scent, his confident walk, his easy smiles, the way he looks at you making you feel seen, the way he talks to you making you feel heard, as briefly as we have known each other, the attraction was almost instant. And strong. And somehow by some miracle of God, he seems to be at least a little interested in me as well. While I don't know where it will go, or whether it will even progress beyond this point, it still feels nice. For now.

A soft breeze blows hair in front of my eyes, as I walk through the small pathway by Regent's Canal. This is my favorite part of the commute, the calm waters lined by trees on both sides always makes me feel at peace. Peace, it's such a precious thing to have in your life. I would know because I didn't have it for a long time.

Last time the 'stars aligned' for me romantically was back in college. With John. I always teased him about having such a generic name, but he was anything but a generic person. One of the smartest people I know but he was never arrogant about it. We shared the same taste in books and movies and could debate on them for hours. And most important of all, he was genuinely kind – a good person. But that same kindness made him move back home to help his aging parents a few of years after graduation, abandoning his shiny New York City career, and settling for suburban life. I had never wanted to move away from the city, it's just not something I had ever remotely considered. I can't even drive for crying out loud. But I still wanted to move with him. We talked it out and decided to wait for a year, so he has time to set everything up before I join. He broke up with me after just two months into that planned year of long distance. He said he can't see a future where I would fit in his life, and I just couldn't be his first priority at that point.

It felt like someone had wrenched my heart out. To me it had been a forever kind of love, I had given my heart fully and completely. We had made so many plans and dreamt so many dreams together, that I just couldn't imagine a life without him. But clearly, he didn't feel the same way. It was the most agonizing period of my life, I cried almost every day for months. Even when the tears stopped falling, the heartbreak remained, painfully raw.

But eventually I got over it. My first and last long-term 'real' relationship. It took going back to school to get my MBA, and then moving to a different country for me to move on, but I ultimately did. And I found my peace. My work, my family, my friends, and my hobbies, including Spurs – that's all I need right now to be happy. But now that I know the cost of giving your everything to someone, the suffering it can lead to, I wonder if I ever want to risk that again. Falling in love so deep that it has the power to destroy your peace.

The company logo shines in the morning light, small and subtle, right next to the sliding glass doors. I do a big exhale to chase out the ghosts of my past before entering the building and badging in. Back to work mode, I shelve away everything else, ready to take on the challenges of another day.

***

The pub is awfully crowded for a Thursday night – I have to push through to find Steph and Jack at the back. They already have their beers in front of them and happily snacking on some fries, or chips as they call them here. Like a lot of long-term couples, they are perfectly comfortable in silence, just absorbed with eating at the moment. I wave at them to get their attention, and they both break into synchronized smiles, getting up from their seats to give me a big three-way bear hug.

I don't have too many close friends, but Steph is one of them, and as happy as I was that she found love with Jack, sometimes I selfishly miss having her just to myself. But Jack is a fantastic guy. In time we got to be good friends as well and I don't really mind third wheeling with them once in a while. But that's not what's happening today, we are still waiting on Matt to join. Matt and I both met Steph at work and the friend group has persisted even after Steph left the job to work on a startup a couple of years ago.

Matt had texted us that he's running late because he missed the stop on the tube. Ironic, because he's the only native Londoner in the group. I am, of course, an American transplant, Steph moved here from Hong Kong as a teenager and Jack is an Irishman from Dublin.

'How was the trip? Tell us all about it. Did you meet any French men and how many frog legs did you eat?' Steph opens the conversation.

'No and zero,' I laugh. 'It was good though, the trip I mean, very...' I can feel my cheeks heating up as I end the sentence, 'eventful.'

'Are you... blushing? Omg I was just joking before, but did you actually meet a guy?' Steph is in disbelief.

'No, no, no.' I try to backtrack. I don't know if I'm quite ready for honesty at this stage, and technically I didn't meet Sonny during the trip. I had already 'met' him when I watched him play, either live or on TV. I just got to know him better. But whatever happened between us feels just too insane to share publicly right now. And it's not like I've heard from him yet or something, the thought gnawed at the back of mind. So, I wouldn't even know what exactly there is to share in the first place.

Matt grabs my shoulders from the back and shakes me as a way of greeting before taking a seat.

'Are we discussing Bella's love life? One of my favorite subjects,' he grins.

'No.' I repeat emphatically, hopefully ending this discussion.

'I don't know if it's a romantic thing or what, but she's acting weird for sure,' Steph frowns. 'Something is up.'

'You two, leave her be.' Jack comes to my defense. I give him a grateful look and scowl at my now ex-friends.

'By the way, guess what. Samantha from the ads team was there,' I deftly move the conversation to a different avenue.

'Oh my god, I don't have the best memories working with her team, but I guess I was pretty burned out by then,' Steph laughs. I had met initially Samantha through Steph.

'Is this the same Samantha who always posts a gif of a rocket launching for every new feature her team ships?' Matt snorts. 'A bit suggestive, if you ask me.'

'Get your mind out of the gutter,' I laugh. 'We chatted quite a bit, she's really nice. We should all hang out some time. She asked about you, Steph.'

'Well, count me out.' Matt can be so oddly stubborn about the weirdest little things. Steph and I just roll our eyes at the same time, and collectively decide to ignore him.

Jack, ever the peacemaker, placates Matt with the food menu, and we all huddle in, happily pondering our options.

***

It's only been three days but everything that happened in France already feels so surreal. Like it was something I read in a book and then confused with real life.

I stir the beef stew, waiting for it to boil over so I can set it to simmer. Friday night, and I'm alone at home cooking. I would find it sad if I wasn't so exhausted from wrapping up all the work that had piled up while I was away. Right now, cooking in silence is the therapy I need.

The liquid starts to bubble, and I turn the heat down to low, covering the pot. The task completed, all the thoughts that I had been ignoring the whole day, bubble over as well.

Why hasn't he texted? I know I haven't been in the game for a long time, but wouldn't guys usually at least send a short message as an opener or something at this point?

Did I misread the whole situation, and it was really all nothing? Who knows why he asked for my number, maybe millionaire footballers just randomly ask a lot of girls' numbers and forget about them afterwards promptly. It's all just a bit of fun, with no real intent to take it any further.

I'm happy I got this opportunity to learn new things and make new friendships that I'm looking forward to deepening in the future. That's what he said though. If he didn't want to really take this any further, then why say that? Maybe, it had nothing to do with me and it was all my delulu. He meant other friendships, like new sports sponsorship deals or whatever. Who knows.

The aroma of the simmering stew wafts through the kitchen, but it does little to comfort the swirl of thoughts in my mind. The disappointment lingers, and the questions persist.

I feel a chill setting in my heart, like I was sitting in front of a cozy fire, and someone has poured a bucket of cold water all over it.

When I was in college, I hurt my eye. It was a microscopic injury, a tiny scratch on my retina made by my own nails. I missed my aim while trying to shove popcorn into my mouth, too engrossed watching Jurassic World at the theater. It's hilarious in hindsight to be honest because the movie wasn't even that great. Anyway, it was pure agony for twenty-four hours, and the urgent care doctor just sent me home with numbing drops, saying it should be better in no time. The intense pain was soon gone, but till this day, that eye still hurts and tears up in the morning whenever the air is dry, or I haven't been sleeping enough.

Some wounds never fully heal. You move on, and get over it, but deep down it's there, ready to lurk out of the shadows.

Sonny and I met for such a brief period, and we made no promises to each other. Yet, this feels a just a little bit like that familiar hurt when John started ignoring my calls. The beginning of the end.

I shake my head. This is nothing like that. We are not dating. And it's not like I messaged him, and he left me on read or something.

Maybe he's just busy, I reason with myself. After all, he's a footballer with a demanding schedule, commitments, and probably a thousand other things on his plate.

Just stop caring about this so much, Bella. If there is something there, it will sort itself out. And if it doesn't it wasn't meant to be. I need to let it go and focus on protecting my peace. At all costs.

***

It's match day. Late in the afternoon, sunlight still streaming in from my windows as I settle down in my bed with my computer. I'd stayed up till late last night finishing up my latest read, so I woke up at noon today and spent most of the morning lying around.

I might not have heard from Sonny but at least I get to see him today. On the screen, that is. Spurs are playing Southampton, an afternoon kick-off away in Hampshire. I turn on the game, a couple of minutes before the start. Sonny is in the line-up, as expected, in his usual left-wing position. The team walks out into the field, Son towards the end. He looks so different than when I last saw him, more subdued. I know Spurs are not having the best season but are things really that bad internally within the team?

The whistle blows, unleashing a flurry of anxious energy. Saints fight like cornered tigers, while Spurs stumble, leaving a trail of substitutions via injuries. By halftime, score ends up at 1-1. The second half explodes with pent-up fury. Two Spurs goals fly into the net like thunderbolts, and it feels like we can clinch the victory. But Saint score at the 77th minute, from an ex-Arsenal player to boot, and then they equalize with a penalty in the final minutes. It was such an unfairly awarded penalty, the opposition player exaggerating the slightest bit of contact made. The final whistle cuts through the stunned silence, leaving players slumped and dejected.

Fucking hell. This is bad. The Saints are dead last in the league, and we still dropped points against them. Now Spurs are further down the table, hopes of qualifying for any European competitions next season getting even slimmer. If the vibes in the club were toxic before, they will be nuclear now.

The players clap at the away fans, and my eyes find Son. He's putting up a brave face, but his eyes tell a different story. My heart lurches painfully.

The manager interviews come out post-match. He has completely thrown the team under the bus and there is no going back. I was already not a fan this season since he's been misusing Son in the wrong position, away from the goal. This is just the nail in the coffin, he's got to go, and judging by the comments on Twitter, most fans agree.

Shots are being fired in every direction, the whole fanbase is in an uproar, blaming everyone. I read all the comments, and analyses, still in bed, not knowing what to think. The manager about to be sacked, the team in shambles. I can't imagine what Sonny is going through right now. With all this drama, no wonder he was happy to find some distraction in France.

Maybe that's all that was. A distraction.

The sun has gone down, darkness settling in the room. The glow from my MacBook screen is the only source of light. I take a deep breath and close the laptop to get away from the chaos, but a sense of heaviness still remains. My mind wrestles with conflicting emotions – the disappointment of not hearing from Sonny, the frustration with the team's situation, and the genuine concern for someone I've come to know and like beyond the football field. It's an odd blend.

The mid-century modern clock on my bedroom wall ticks on, marking the passage of time as I wrestle with my thoughts. Should I text him? But what would I even say? I can't even admit that I know anything about the Spurs situation, so I can't really offer any words of comfort. Also, if France and everything that happened there was truly a distraction, then he wouldn't want me to talk about football anyway. Not to mention again, he might have already forgotten about everything that happened. And even if he had meant to take this any further, with everything that's going on it has to be the last thing on his mind.

I close my eyes, concluding there is nothing to be done. It wasn't meant to be. The timing is not right, and I need to accept that.

Suddenly the stillness of the room is broken as my phone buzzes into life. A message. I raise myself to peek at the screen. My heart starts to race before I can stop to think and reason with myself.

But I guess my heart had the right idea. The sender's name, illuminated by the soft glow, shows itself. It's Sonny.

I unlock the phone with Face ID, careful not to tap the message as I don't want to mark it as read.

'Hey'

Another buzz.

'It's Sonny here'

Well of course it is, he didn't need to tell me that. He told me to save his number, didn't he, I grin ear to ear, suddenly feeling giddy. Should I say hi back? Or wait a respectable couple of hours before replying, to show how busy and unbothered I am. I laugh to myself at how far from the truth that is. But such are the conventions of modern love. Thus begins a slow and drawn-out ritual of back-and-forth small talk, till after weeks of this you either spark forward onto the next step, or fizzle back into silence.

I'm still contemplating my next action when the phone buzzes again.

'Are you free tomorrow? Let's meet :)'

I guess Sonny doesn't do 'slow and drawn-out'. The implications of his simple words ripple through me, and I find myself grappling with the unknown, the sweet promise of the next day hanging in the air.