I figured that whoever invented the word goodbye added good at the beginning of the word just to lie and sugarcoat the truth about goodbyes. What about hellos? Why isn't hello a "good hello" or a "pleasant hello" the way goodbyes, mornings, afternoons, and evenings are? Even farewell has the word "fare" which, as we all know, rhymes with "fair."
The world is very unfair.
But I also realized that hellos are just like that. Hellos make way for beginnings and beginnings make way for things that are not always good. One does not see one's life ahead of him or her with just one hello. Hellos can sometimes be a rough start, the way our story began.
I first laid eyes on her at a bar in Buendia. She sat on a stool on the leftmost side by the counter, wearing an off-shoulder top and a pair of cropped shorts. Her face was void of makeup, and her eyes were the perfect portrait of anxiety and nervousness. She seemed to be waiting for someone, and she kept on looking at the door as if she was itching to get out of the place. Well, I was also itching to talk to the lady, so after a few silent encouragements to myself, I decided to head her way.
"Hello," I signaled the waiter for a drink. I asked her, "Need some company?"
I did not get a response and the atmosphere began to get awkward. Self-conscious, I looked to my side to see if anyone was witnessing this epic failure. Who would believe that I, the great Casanova, do not know how to make my way around a woman?
The woman must have noticed the ensuing uncomfortable aura because she hesitated for a reply. She squirmed. "Not really," she answered with her meek voice.
Dead air, I thought, I'm breathing dead air.
Our eyes met and I got a better view of her face even if it was only for a brief moment, as she looked away as swiftly as she turned to me.
Her face was that of an artist's subject—shrouded with mystery and with a certain allure that would never tire anyone from staring at it. Her brows were thick and carefully arched, like that of the crescent moon. She had thin and firm lips, and a nose that was neither flat nor pointed, but it was her eyes that one would notice at once. Long lashes framed her eyelids, and the way she would look at anyone... She was just inviting.
Her eyes exposed her feelings, no matter how hard she tried to conceal everything. Her gaze often looked tired and sorrowful, as if she wanted peace—eternal peace.
I decided to break the silence (if one would consider loud background music as silent.) "Want to get out of here?" I asked her.
She slowly turned to me and shouted in my ear, "Um, I'm waiting for someone!"
The music was booming, its beats louder than my own heart beating nervously in my chest. "You've been waiting here for, like, hours," I lowered my face and whispered loud enough for her to hear.
"How do you know that?"
"I've been eyeing you for hours!" I shouted at her left ear.
Her eyes roamed on me from head to toe, taking in every detail, from the hand in my pocket, to my messy hair, perhaps scrutinizing if I was as dangerous as the people from clubs were known to be. She then put up her palm in front of my face, telling me to wait, as she took the bottle of whiskeyin front of her and drank all its remaining contents in one shot. All in one shot... and the bottle was still half-full.
"Come on," she grabbed me by the wrist and led me out of the bar, but I stopped my tracks. Perhaps I looked clueless enough that she filled me in about where she wanted to go.
"There are vacant rooms upstairs. We can stay there," she suggested.
I moved aside to make way for her. "After you, milady," I replied.
