I didn’t even hear him coming up behind me and he’s wearing a different T-shirt—I guess he had one in his backpack? He’s fast and stealthy.

“It’s for the book I’m working on,” he says, although I didn’t ask.

“I thought as much,” I say. “It’s sweet.”

“You mean sappy.”

“No. No, I think it really is very touching. At least the part I read.”

He raises an eyebrow as if he’s doubting what I’m saying. “Yeah, sorry about that; I don’t like people reading my work.”

“I’m the same way. In fact, I don’t like people reading anything I write, at any point,” I say and chuckle, trying to lighten the mood and make him forget what I just did.

He asks if he can help clean up. “I’m good. Thank you, and sorry again. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s OK,” he says. “Not a big deal. It was my fault. I’m a bit of a klutz.”

Without a doubt, I’m prone to disasters whenever he’s around.

I should ask. I have to ask.

“Is this for a new book or the one being published later this month?”

He stares at me with a questioning look before answering.

“No, that’s been done for a long time. It’s a new one.”

“What’s it about?” I ask.

“This one?”

I gulp. This conversation is so obviously forced. “No. The one publishing this month.”

“A chance encounter that goes—” He stops. “Well, unexpectedly.”

He sits back at his table and starts wiping his laptop with a paper towel while I’m standing awkwardly next to him. Lingering for much longer than I should.

“I’d love to read it,” I say.

He smiles. “It’s a tale as old as time,” he says and chuckles.

“Is it?”

“Boy meets girl. Boy falls in love with girl. Girl breaks boy’s heart.”

“That’s sad,” I say.

And not true. How is that true? My tongue is itching.

He lifts his eyes and looks at me. “Everything worth something is always a little bit sad.”

“How did she break his heart?” I ask, my jaw clenched.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he looks at me with an absentminded expression on his face.

“I’m sorry for your friend,” I say.

I’m annoyed. This is not the truth. He broke my heart. My heart.

“My friend?”

Ooops. Quick, quick. What do I say? BIG MOUTH!

“Celine told me you get inspiration for your stories from real life. From your friends.”

A lie. Not so white. Hopefully, he doesn’t mention it to Celine.

“Did she?”

Come on. Give me something. I’m already enduring this painful account of what happened, which is so far from reality. Make it not be in vain.

“So, what happened to your friend? Did he get his heart fixed? Did he find love again?”

He types something. A sign that his computer still works, despite taking a juice bath. Also a sign that I’m overstaying my welcome.

“Maybe.”

What does that even mean? Tell me he doesn’t have a girlfriend. Tell me he didn’t fall in love with someone else. I didn’t fly thousands of miles to find out he’s married with kids now. Wait. Is that why I came? No. No! I came to talk to him face to face and ask why. This is not some desperate attempt at chasing a man who doesn’t want me. I’m not that pathetic. Am I?