"And that...is the story...of how I cycled...thirty kilometres at...two in the morning." My haggard breathing punctuated my sentences at awkward times, protracting the process of my struggled storytelling. He glanced at me occasionally, showing that he was paying attention while reassuring me that the panting did not ruin the absolutely mundane story I was trying to make sound interesting.

It was nearing the time of the night where feelings fell into unreliability, and here we were, our feet pounding on the asphalt pavement, panting (mostly mine) breaking the quiet, still night air. At this point in the run, fatigue could be felt in just about every part of my body. What started out as a conversational pace turned into a pace where I contemplated the existence of God. Yet, he looks as if the run barely made a dent on him. A fine sheen of sweat coated his skin while his face seemed like the epitome of serenity.

"Honestly, that is quite a feat, in a bid to save money," he replied. "Come to think of it, it has been quite a while since I last cycled. We should go sometime! I might be rusty, though."

"Yes.. I'd like that...I'm at ten...kilometres," I sputtered, slowing to a walk. Ten kilometres, the distance it takes for two to meander through the most random conversation topics: the multitude of academic fortunes and misfortunes a student is so familiar with, friendships that have come and gone, and, of course, avoiding midnight taxi surcharges.

"Hey, we were going at a pretty good pace. You held up amazingly," he said, smiling at me. He looked as if he had just gone for a leisurely night walk, not a ten-kilometre run. Allowing me to catch my breath, a comfortable silence ensued as we walked along the canal, destination elusive. What now? We planned, at the last minute, to go for a night run. Do we just go our separate ways now?

Desperately thinking of ways to prolong the night, my gaze fixated on the path ahead. When he touched my shoulder, I jumped slightly. "Penny for your thoughts?" he asked. Trying to play it cool, I lied, "spacing out after the run. Clearly, not enough blood is going to my brain." At this, he chuckled. "Sounds like you need supper, then."

Of course, supper. Why didn't I think of that?

 

---

Entering the prata shop, the smell of curry wafted in the air. As if on cue, my stomach rumbled. We ordered, then found seats at the back of the store.

"You know, I never thought I'd find a run buddy who is as obsessed with running as me," I said, feeling an odd rush of sentimentality.

"Me neither. I'm glad we share such a similar love for exercising."

"We both have equally numerous demons to run from, I guess," I laughed. "But on a serious note, exercise is such a huge part of my life, and I'm glad to share it with you."

He looked at me the entire time I was speaking. As someone who struggles with eye contact, I can't help but let my gaze travel down to the table. The wood pattern, at that moment, was the most interesting thing in the world that commanded all my attention. Thankfully, the food arrived, giving me something to focus on.

Conversations work in mysterious ways. They're like tributaries, branching deep into terrains only they can reach, forming a complex network akin to veins. Throughout the night, I felt our conversations mapping out into a tapestry that had bits and pieces of me and him interwoven into it. By the time we exited the store, I felt high. I did not want this night to end. Not forever.

As we walked to the bus stop, I could not stop looking at him. I was in awe of his ambition, his intellect, and his capacity to care and love. Waves of wilfully unidentified emotions were crashing chaotically over my capacity to think.

Upon reaching the bus stop, without much thought, I blurted out, "Just a curious question, how are you with public displays of affection?"

"I'm fine with hugs. Holding hands and kissing though..." He trailed off. We both knew what was left unsaid.

While waiting for his bus to arrive, we sat in silence, the weight of the most recent conversation topic heavy on our shoulders. In the distance, the roar of the bus engines on the near-empty road could be heard. Our time tonight was running out.

"See you tomorrow? At the gym?" I asked as the bus was approaching.

"Of course. Get home safe, and text me when you get home."

A tentative pause. Then, I stepped forward, arms outstretched. The feeling of his chest pressed against mine, arms around my back. For a brief one, two, three seconds. The whoosh of the bus door opening, the release of arms. One more round of good nights. A last quick wave to seal off the night.

This feeling, foreign yet familiar. It has been months since I felt this heady rush. Months since I felt ignited. Every synapse in my body was firing with renewed vivre. Expecting a sleepless night ahead, I walked home. Already happy to be tired the next morning.