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I first met him at a party. It was strange because I went to that party to see a boy of so many summers and blog posts ago. The party was surprisingly quiet, maybe because I didn't know too many people, but it was fine and I was content with catching up with a few friends. He sat beside me and I was told he was the smartest boy around - smarter, even, than those who have always been my standards - and he did not belie the claim; instead, he just smiled. I don't know how we got to talking, but I heard his name being tossed around: he's too valuable to be subjected to formal attire, he is so hot he's had four boyfriends, he can do anything he wants.

So he sat beside me and we talked and he had a habit of smiling as he speaks, looking forward with only occasional glances. I forget now what we talked about, med school and working and law school and some deeper things than those. I only remembered his name and his gray jacket and his glasses. It was too dark to remember how he looked like, and I moved on to other conversations, and later to friends waiting to get drunk. It was a fun night.

I went home and told my sister about all the interesting people I've talked to, including him, but I did not think too much.

I met him again at a party, and we are people who never go to parties. He told my sister he has met her (me) before, and I am surprised he remembered. I had other reasons to talk to him and so I vowed to keep conversations running.

We started chatting on Facebook, and most of the time I felt like we had little to go on with, until one night we both had reasons to stay up and abandon sleep. I found that talking to him was easy, almost effortless, and interesting. Perhaps he liked talking to me too, because we would leave messages when the other was not on.

The first time I saw him again was because of an offhand comment about getting myself some dinner. He asked if I wanted to have dinner together, and I said, that wouldn't be so bad. I did not have a phone, and I am the queen of getting lost, but I managed to find him after thirty minutes of looking. The first few minutes was awkward, spent dodging glances. He was hiding behind his hands and I was hiding behind mine. He has a perpetual smile on and we somehow got through dinner. He walked me to the bus stop and I thought that was the end of it.

One Friday we decided to see a movie he had been waiting to watch but it was no longer on so we went to see another one instead. The only option was at 10 pm, more than a little too late for my liking but he promised to bring me home, and I felt guilty about making him miss his anime so I relented. We went to find a place to eat, and it was more comfortable this time. I was determined to find a fault, and he was determined to be right all the time. We had dinner and the conversation was better. I learned about his past and he learned my lack of it.

While waiting for the movie, we both tried to read books and mouth our dismay at the overplayed warnings. Please, we have other means of piracy. The movie started and I had a hard time following it. I think it was trying too hard to be deep, or maybe because I did not know of the context, not having read it. He rested my head on my shoulder, and for some reason, I was half-expecting it. He said he only had two hours of sleep and I patted his head twice, for sympathy. His hand was resting at my arm rest, and it felt like an eternity of minutes, thinking if he meant to be holding my hand. I figured he was thinking of the same, because he was looking to see if I noticed it. There is a strange feeling of knowing you both want it and being unwilling too start. There is a long Yaghan word for it, and I knew it was exactly the feeling it describes. I bridged the centimeters separating us, and finally he held my hand. I have a feeling we both knew this was coming, even as he talked of other girls, and I, of other people I don't think either of us paid too much attention to what was happening in the film, more interesting things were unfolding.

On our way home he held my hand, and I did not know what to make of it. I never liked physical closeness before, and to this, my friends could attest. But with him it felt natural and familiar. I had my first kiss that night, and things are always different from how we imagine them to be but it was more than alright, and I went home feeling a little bit strange but not sad. It felt like a beginning of something not yet definite and sure, but all beginnings are simultaneously scary and wonderful. This was my first transgression.