This is the Day

Silence warps your tongue whenever you see them. (As always when you (don't) speak with a stranger (or any but those most trusted, really), but this time it hurts.) But this is the day: you can feel it in your bones. This is the day you make contact. [[Make a pass in writing]] [[Offer them a beverage]] [[Go all out: get them a friggin' kitten]]

Your tongue freezes up when you're confronted with people you don't trust completely, but your hands are not so bound. You always carry a notebook with you (to order food, to get directions, and so on), and you're pretty sure that just straight up writing a confession-slash-love-letter in a semi-permanent medium is definitely the way to go. [[Introduce yourself]] [[Wax poetic]] [[Invite them to see a film]]

This is what cafés are for, right? So people can buy fancy drinks for their crushes? You absolutely, definitely aren't getting cafés confused with bars. Nope. You get the fanciest drink on the menu. Hot chocolate with fresh-whipped cream //and// marshmallows. //And// a rolled wafer stuck into the side. //And// a dollop of rainbow sprinkles. [[If this drink doesn't win them over, you don't know what will.]]

Everyone loves kittens. //Everyone.// There is no surer way to win their heart. You rush out of the café and into the local no-kill shelter. Half an hour later you've convinced the staff that you know how care for your purring new blue Persian, and you leave with her cuddled up into your arms. This is the best idea ever. Except, now that you think on it, you're not so sure the café allows cats. [[Smuggle her in]] [[Wait outside]]

//Hi!// you write. //I'd talk to you directly (;)), but I have selective mutism and can't speak to strangers. Want to get to know me better?// Yeah, you've never been great at this. The written wink might have been a bit much. And that last line sounds like innuendo, whereas in actual point of fact you want an actual relationship with them, not... whatever you're implying. [[Tear it up and start over]] [[Good enough]]

Can you truly do justice to their beauty? The ocean colour of their hair? Their eyes, like shining orbs of the night sky? Their strength, their grace, the quirk of their mouth when they smile? No. No you cannot. But you're damn well going to try. //I've never seen anyone as beautiful as you. I stop breathing when you come in the room. I can't stop watching you, the way your hair swoops back, your eyes, your cheekbones. I want to be the reason for your laughter, your smiles, the beating of your heart. I want to be the breath inside your lungs.// Wow. You sound like a stalker. A stalker who isn't very good with words, apparently. [[Tear it up and start over]] [[Good enough]]

//Hi!// you write. //Would you like to see a film with me (a total stranger whom you don't know)?// You consider that maybe mutism isn't the only problem you have with meeting new people. [[Tear it up and start over]] [[Good enough]]

Okay, maybe you need to try a different approach. [[Write another letter]] [[Just slip them your number]]

You rip the page out of your notebook, take it over to their table, hand it to them //(they almost touched your hand they're breathing the same air as you this is amazing)// and stand there watching, waiting, all hopeful puppy eyes, as they read it. And turn. And stare at you. And speak, with an ease and clarity you envy: "What is this?" You can't answer. You knew you should have given it another try (or three).

You tuck the kitten under your sweater and head over to the table of your desired. Too late, it occurs to you that you have no way to communicate with your arms full of smuggled kitten. You can't reach your notebook. But you've come too far to give up now, or be thwarted by a no-pets policy: you pull her out from under your clothes and dump her onto their table, just beside the half-eaten chocolate muffin. They stare up at you in abject shock. You struggle to explain yourself, but your throat is closed, your tongue melded to the roof of your mouth. You can't speak. The kitten runs away. The muffin falls to the floor. This has been an utter disaster. Without a doubt, this is the worst day you've ever had to live through: including that day when your trousers fell down in year three.

You wait in ambush for your target to exit the café, stroking the kitten in your arms. She sneezes adorably, licks her nose, and settles down against your elbow for a nap. You become so absorbed in her tiny paws and twitching whiskers that you completely miss it when the object of your affection passes by, not even noticing you. You're briefly upset when you realise, but hey, //kitten//. If you can't pass her on, you'll just have to keep her. You name her Elizabeth Bathory von Doomencastle Three.

You write another. And another. And another. Somehow, they actually seem to be getting worse. At some point you look up and realise your love interest is gone. You should really have quit somewhere around take three.

You pass them your number, smile, and leave. You hope they'll text you. They don't. Possibly they call, but not knowing //their// number you can't be sure it's them, and you can't answer anyway. You don't dare text unknown callers at random. Not after what happened with the last three.

You bring it over to them, and offer it with a smile. They take it. They drink it. //They smile back.// Heart thrumming in your throat, you sit down beside them and pull out your notebook. You have a feeling you'll be going through pages very quickly today. Good thing you brought three.