Fate or bad luck?

When I saw him, it was like all my Christmases came at once.

It was my birthday and I was overseas. On your birthday, you make birthday wishes, and so I made a wish to see him. I felt like a child, making impossible wishes, but I did it anyway.

We were at a club in Phuket, the last place I had expected to see him. When I finally did see him from across the room, everything slowed down. I didn’t know if I was dreaming (or extremely drunk). Memories from the summer in Tokyo came flooding back. I knew him in the most intimate sense of the word. I’d been waiting for him all this time and it felt like a dream to finally see him, albeit in the most unexpected of places.

When we saw each other, we both did double takes. I wasn’t sure if I should go talk to him because we left things kind of strangely. Then, I saw him walking towards me, so I decided to meet him halfway. I kissed him on the cheek, calmly, rationally, like I hadn’t been thinking about him all these months. There’s a French proverb that goes something like ‘in love, there is one who kisses, and one who offers their cheek to be kissed’. Well, it was clear which one I was.

The first thing he said to me was completely unremarkable. “There’s a lot of meatheads here.”

I was amazed at the way he could just slip in something so trivial, like we hadn’t parted ways uncomfortably the way we had.

The last time I saw him, we had been saying goodbye to each other in Roppongi. I kissed him goodbye, not knowing that it would be the last time I would see him. Now, it wasn’t the last time, and I could barely speak to him. He was standing in front of me, the person I’d been thinking about, dreaming about, writing about, for the last 4 months, and I had nothing to say.

There were a million things I wanted to say to him, that just wouldn’t come out. Such as, the accusatory “I know you came to Sydney and didn’t contact me.”

I wanted to say it so bad, just to see what his response would be, but I didn’t. He asked me several questions which I’d told him the answer to several months before already. “Are you coming back to Japan? What time are you flying out tomorrow?” He said he would say goodbye before he left, but he didn’t. He never did the things he said he would. Instead, he texted me later that night and asked again what time I was flying out. I flew home the next day with my head full of him, again.

I’d like to say that I never saw him again, but I saw him the following month, walking down the street in Tokyo. Whether it was fate, or simply bad luck I’m still not sure (I’m leaning towards bad luck).

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