The Things I Wish I Had Told You

Part 7.

(Pictured above: Bloomsbury, London)

Saturday morning marked the beginning of something new, but I didn't know it at the point when I woke up. I could feel the warmness of the sun from behind the shitty student shades, lightening my mood. I felt incredibly dehydrated and still slightly hazy from last night but the thought of my coffee date with Ambrose brought my mood into the light, in line with the morning sunshine. Checking my phone, which was still somewhere in my bag, untouched since the drama occurred, I struggled to see my lock-screen beneath the landmine of messages from Louise and Marina. I didn't have the effort to read through them all, but the most recent ones read, "Louise, that was WILD!" I couldn't wait to read through last night's debriefing, but it would have to wait until I properly refreshed myself. I got up reluctantly, put the kettle on, grabbed my instant coffee and gazed into the granules impatiently, counting the time until my first caffeine hit of the day. After the caffeination, I rushed to shower and dry my hair in time for facing the new day.

I was meeting Ambrose in an hour and although I knew it was just a friendly coffee, I was still looking forward to getting to know the indie boy with the oval glasses and existential smile. I couldn't quite put my finger on it at the time, but there was something enigmatic about Ambrose and the way he acted, both socially and in the workplace. Either way, I was looking forward to kickstarting my journalism career — something I have wanted for too long.

Ambrose had picked a quant, independent coffee shop in Bloomsbury — The Rebel Bean. Walking there on this glowing, icy morning was nothing but refreshing, especially after such a dense week. As I arrived, I caught sight of Ambrose sitting at around green wooden table beside the large, bright window. He had already ordered a black Americano and seemed to be enjoying some Miller before I disturbed him with my appearance.

"The Topic of Capricorn? Bold choice to read in public." He just let out one of his iconic smiles from behind his worn frames, sliding the book upside-down onto the table.

"Not too bad, have you read any?" I knew I hadn't, but part of me also wanted to impress him by saying I at least had some on my shelves at home. I decided that in case it bit me in the back in the future I would just tell him I hadn't, but I plan on it when I'm in the mood.

"So, what were your columns about?" Finally, we moved onto journalism — something more intriguing than the Old Man and the Sea. He tilted his head a little, towards the window, as he pondered this sentence.

"I was working in Tibet before university. I was writing an exposé on the tribal secrets surrounding Tibetan Buddhism." My respect and interest in Toby just increased significantly because that is an insane thing to do.

"Really! How did you manage that? I've always wanted to visit Tibet!"

"My uncle is a Buddhist scholar and so he invited me along with him as part of his research. It was wildly cool, but so culturally estranged from what I was used to growing up. I had to get used to a lot of new things, but it was all worth it." He would have gone on, but then remembered my own column and ideas. "Do you have any ideas for your first piece?" My first piece was all about virginity, but if I told him this, I was slightly concerned he might gather that's what I am and pass judgement. Instead I decided to present some other generic thoughts that had crossed my mind.

As I sat there focussing on my coffee more than Ambrose, a series of nervous intuitions crossed my hungover brain. I noticed Ambrose's eyes paying close attention to my face, to my hair, to my clothes. It made me feel only the slightest bit uncomfortable and made me question the real reason he had asked me out for coffee. Part of me questioned whether dating was this easy? It didn't seem so, yet here we were. I wasn't sure whether I felt the same way. Sure, he was nice, and we got on, but something about his attitude didn't sit well with me and my inability to identify it added to the coffee-induced jitteriness in my hands. Thinking to myself, I didn't know how I was going to get out of this. Another part of me thought perhaps I was overthinking the situation entirely. But that part subsided when he told me that he thought he would really get on well with my parents because they too loved the travelling around the Far East. Was that a hint that he wanted to meet my parents? We haven't even known each other for that long? I continued to stare at my coffee and the window and the barista behind Ambrose. I continued to look in any direction other than his, at which point my anxiety went for a ride inside my jumbled brain.