fakediary

I spotted him almost immediately.

There he was, standing just beyond the arrival gates, among the crowd of people waiting for their loved ones. I recognized him before I even had time to look properly. It was strange how someone I had never met in person could look so familiar.

Our eyes met.

Before I could decide whether to smile, wave, or simply stand there looking ridiculous, David was already making his way toward me.

He didn’t hesitate.

He walked straight up to me, took me into his arms, and kissed me. Right on the mouth.

I was so surprised that, for a fraction of a second, I forgot to react.

Then I kissed him back.

And just like that, the moment I had spent so many hours imagining was over.

Or perhaps it had only just begun.

There was no dramatic rush of realization, no sudden feeling that the universe had finally brought two people together. It was much simpler than that. His lips felt unfamiliar, his arms were warmer and more solid than I had imagined, and yet the whole thing felt strangely natural.

As though we had done this before.

As though we had simply been apart for a while and were now picking up where we had left off.

It was both perfectly ordinary and utterly surreal.

The awkwardness came afterward.

We had practical things to take care of. SIM cards, transportation, figuring out how to get to the hotel. All the mundane little details that somehow become disproportionately complicated when you’re exhausted from international travel and standing next to someone you’re suddenly very conscious of.

We stood around setting up our phones, occasionally asking each other questions that required little more than a yes or no.

“Is yours working?”

“I think so. What about yours?”

“Yeah. Just a second.”

For two people who had once talked for eight hours straight without running out of things to say, we were doing a remarkably poor job of making conversation.

The taxi line wasn’t much better.

We stood side by side with our luggage, watching people shuffle forward. Occasionally our shoulders brushed. Sometimes one of us would smile at the other for no particular reason.

It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable.

But there was a new awareness between us, one that hadn’t existed when we were separated by thousands of miles and two computer screens.

I was suddenly conscious of everything. How close he stood, where I put my hands, whether I was making too much eye contact or not enough.

I wondered if he felt the same.

If he did, he certainly wasn’t showing it.

Once we got into the taxi, the silence followed us.

Our driver was friendly and talkative, and I found myself responding to him with considerably more enthusiasm than I had managed with David.

We talked about the weather, traffic, and how much New York had changed since I last lived there. I asked the driver questions I probably didn’t care about, and he happily answered them.

It was easier to talk to a complete stranger than to the man I had spent months telling my deepest secrets to.

The irony wasn’t lost on me.

David didn’t seem bothered by it. He sat quietly beside me, looking out the window at the unfamiliar city passing by.

At some point, he reached for my hand.

There was no announcement, no meaningful glance. He simply took it in his and rested our joined hands between us.

I looked down at them.

His hand was larger than mine, warm and reassuring. His fingers settled naturally around my own, as though holding my hand required no more thought than breathing.

He continued looking out the window.

And I continued talking to the taxi driver.

Somehow, that small gesture made the silence easier.

We arrived at the hotel without incident. Check-in went smoothly, and before long, we were standing in the elevator with our suitcases, watching the numbers climb.

Then we reached our room.

The door closed behind us.

And suddenly, there was silence.

Real silence.

No airport announcements, no taxi driver, no crowds, no practical errands demanding our attention.

Just the two of us.

Alone.

I became acutely aware of this fact.

Naturally, I decided that the most urgent thing in the world was to unpack my suitcase.

I opened it on the luggage rack and began taking things out, arranging my clothes, lining up toiletries, and finding places for objects that didn’t particularly need places yet.

I had brought gifts for David from Japan, and I busied myself taking those out as well.

There were snacks, little souvenirs, and a few things I had picked out specifically for him. I explained each item as I placed it on the table, probably in far more detail than necessary.

David watched me for a while, then announced that he was going to take a shower.

I nodded, perhaps a little too eagerly.

“Sure. Go ahead.”

The bathroom door closed.

I exhaled.

Good. A few minutes to collect myself.

I continued unpacking, although by then I was mostly rearranging things I had already arranged.

My heart was pounding.

It was ridiculous, really.

I wasn’t a virgin. I wasn’t inexperienced. I was a grown woman who had been in relationships, who understood perfectly well what it meant to share a hotel room with a man.

And yet, there I was, nervously folding a shirt for the third time, feeling like a teenager who had somehow found herself alone with her first crush.

I tried to reason with myself.

This was David.

The same David who had listened to me ramble about psychology for hours. The same man who knew about my childhood, my fears, my embarrassing stories, and the less flattering corners of my personality.

There was hardly anything left for me to hide.

Except, apparently, my inability to behave like a normal human being in his physical presence.

When he emerged from the shower, looking refreshed and entirely at ease, I announced that I would take mine next.

The warm water felt wonderful.

I stood beneath it longer than necessary, letting it wash away the fatigue and grime of the long flight. My shoulders slowly relaxed, and for the first time since landing, I felt as though I could breathe properly.

I reminded myself that there was nothing to be nervous about.

We knew each other.

We liked each other.

We had come all this way because we wanted to be together.

Simple.

By the time I stepped out of the bathroom, I had almost convinced myself.

Then I saw the bed.

David had already finished unpacking. His clothes were neatly hung in the closet, his suitcase tucked away, and spread across the bed was an enormous assortment of snacks and souvenirs.

Things he had brought from Chile.

I stopped in the doorway.

“What’s all this?”

He smiled.

“For you.”

There were colorful packages of sweets, chocolates, biscuits, and other little things I didn’t recognize. Some had names I couldn’t pronounce, and others looked surprisingly familiar.

I sat down near the pile and began examining them one by one.

“You brought all of this?”

He nodded, looking rather pleased with himself.

I thanked him and opened one of the snacks. I took a bite, expecting something completely new, only to find that the taste reminded me of something I had eaten growing up.

“Huh.”

“What?”

“This tastes familiar.”

He looked amused.

I took another bite, trying to place it.

It struck me as funny that two people from opposite sides of the world could grow up eating such similar things. Different languages, different countries, different continents, and yet somewhere along the way, someone had apparently decided that this particular combination of sugar and flour was universally appealing.

I told him so.

He laughed.

I continued inspecting the snacks, partly out of genuine curiosity and partly because it gave me something to do with my hands.

David, meanwhile, had settled himself on one side of the bed, leaning comfortably against the headboard.

He was watching me.

Not in an impatient or demanding way. He simply seemed content to sit there and observe me as I worked my way through his gifts.

He looked so relaxed.

I found it mildly irritating.

Here I was, practically vibrating with nervous energy, and he was sitting there as though we had been sharing hotel rooms for years.

David had always been charismatic. Even through a screen, he possessed a certain quiet confidence, an ease with himself that made people gravitate toward him. In person, that quality was even more apparent.

He didn’t seem to feel the need to fill every silence.

I, on the other hand, was apparently determined to fill it with an elaborate inventory of Chilean confectionery.

Finally, he spoke.

“Come here.”

I looked up.

“What?”

“Come here. Rest for a bit.”

I glanced at my open suitcase.

“I still need to finish unpacking.”

He looked at the suitcase, then back at me.

“You can do that later.”

“I know, but I just want to—”

“Come here.”

His voice was gentle, but there was a firmness to it that made it clear he wasn’t particularly interested in negotiating with my suitcase.

I hesitated.

He held out his hand.

“Just sit with me for a little while.”

There was something about the way he said it. Not impatient, not demanding. Just certain.

As though he knew perfectly well that I was nervous and had decided to stop pretending not to notice.

I sighed in exaggerated defeat.

“Fine.”

I set the package of biscuits aside and moved to the other side of the bed, settling against the headboard with what I hoped was an air of casual indifference.

It was not convincing.

Before I could think of another reason to get up, David reached over, slipped an arm around me, and gently pulled me toward him.

I found myself leaning against his chest.

For a moment, I went completely still.

Then I felt his arm settle around my shoulders, his hand resting lightly against my upper arm.

He didn’t say anything.

Neither did I.

I could hear his breathing. I could feel the warmth of his body through his shirt, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek.

It was such a simple thing.

An embrace.

And yet, after months of knowing him only through words, there was something almost overwhelming about discovering that he had a heartbeat.

A real one.

Not a voice coming through my headphones. Not a photograph on my phone. Not a collection of thoughts and feelings translated into messages.

An actual person, sitting beside me, holding me.

I had spent so much time trying to imagine what being with David would feel like that I hadn’t considered how strange it would be to stop imagining.

He was here.

And for the first time since I had stepped off the plane, I stopped looking for something to do.

I let myself lean into him.

Outside, New York carried on with its usual indifference. Cars honked, people hurried along the sidewalks, and somewhere below us, millions of strangers went about their lives.

But inside that little hotel room, everything was quiet.

I closed my eyes.

For once, there was nothing I needed to explain, analyze, organize, or anticipate.

I could simply be there.

And perhaps that was what made me nervous in the first place.

I had spent most of my life learning how to take care of myself.

I wasn’t quite sure what to do when someone else wanted to hold me.