The days following Alejandro's unexpected apology were strange. We had agreed to try to be friends, but our history of animosity made it an uphill battle. Still, we both made an effort, albeit a reluctant one.
It started with small gestures. He texted me once in a while, usually about something trivial.
MESSAGES
Alejandro: Hey, do you have the recipie to that cake from last week, my mom wants it
Indiyah: Yeah, I'll send them over.
Alejandro: Thanks.
It was a simple exchange, but it felt monumental. Each text was a tentative step towards bridging the gap between us.
We even met up for coffee once, trying to keep the conversation light. But it didn't take long for our old habits to resurface.
"So, how's the football training going?" I asked, genuinely curious.
Alejandro shrugged, sipping his espresso. "It's fine. Busy, as always."
"I can imagine," I said, forcing a smile. "Must be tough balancing everything."
"It is," he replied, his tone slightly defensive. "But I manage."
I nodded, feeling the tension creep back in. "That's good."
There was a brief, awkward silence before he spoke again. "What about you? How's the graphic design course?"
"It's going well," I said, trying to keep the conversation on track. "I have a few projects I'm excited about."
"That's nice," he said, but his lack of enthusiasm was palpable.
I sighed, frustration bubbling up. "Do you even care, Alejandro? Or are you just pretending to be interested?"
His eyes flashed with irritation. "Of course I care, Indiyah. But it's hard to have a normal conversation when you're always looking for a reason to pick a fight."
"I'm not looking for a fight," I snapped. "I just want you to actually listen for once."
"I am listening," he retorted. "But you make it impossible to have a civil conversation."
We sat there in silence, the weight of our argument hanging between us. It was clear that trying to be friends was more challenging than either of us had anticipated.
Our next encounter wasn't much better. We bumped into each other at a mutual friend's party, and despite our best efforts, we ended up arguing again.
"You're just so self-centered," I accused, my voice rising above the music.
"And you're always playing the victim," he shot back, his eyes blazing.
"Maybe because you always make me feel like one," I retorted, my hands clenching into fists.
"Well, maybe if you weren't so quick to judge me, we wouldn't be having this problem," he said, his tone cold.
We stood there, glaring at each other, until finally, I turned on my heel and walked away. I couldn't understand why we couldn't just get along, why every attempt at civility ended in a fight.
