It’s a warm and breezy summer evening. I sit at the edge of the shore taking in the salty air and revel in the silence that seems to envelope me. I’m so lost in thought that I’m jolted out of my reverie when the phone rings. I find it and fish it out of my bag. It’s him. “Where are you?” He asks.

Fifteen minutes later, he sits alongside me on the shore, arms around my hips. I’m surprised he’s here. I hadn’t told him I was going to the beach. He somehow found his way to me. “What time do you need to be back?” I’m ok. I tell him. I can take my time. He promises to drop me home. Half an hour later, he gets up, dusts the sand off himself and puts out his hand to help me up. I find myself in the car and on my way out of the city.

We arrive at a tiny beachside cafe I didn’t know existed. It’s beautiful. Picturesque. Thatched roof, candles, the deep blue sea and the sound of the waves. He orders dinner. Actually, he just tells them to bring it. They seem to know what to bring. The food is delicious. The company, intoxicating. He is attentive, intelligent and engaging. He hands me a glass of wine and asks if we can walk on the shore. I nod. We talk. Of atoms and the universe. Of philosophy and literature. Of us. Of love. It’s almost midnight when he pauses.

I look into his eyes with the anticipation of what is to come. He seems to take the hint. He reaches out and cups my face with his hands. My heart races. He comes closer. I shut my eyes. And then he kisses me. Gently. Tentatively. As if asking for permission. I kiss him back. A deep, passionate, beautiful kiss. Now I know. I know where this is going. I just don’t know how. Yet.

Fiction: First date

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