I stare out the balcony doors into the November skies; the stars look brighter this time of year and the air smells a bit crisper. I quickly realize that soon these skies will soon be December ones. It’s been a little over a month that Sophia has been in my bed, under my sheets, wrapped in my arms, and ever since she’s been invading my mind. I decide to ease my mind by exercising my limbs and distracting my thought by going to the river walk.

I’m exiting the building when Sophia meets my eyes as I open the door. She immediately looks away, trying to avoid conversation but I’m going to make one up anyways. I step aside and let her in first.

“Thank you,” she whispers as she passes by, her brown eyes avoiding mine.

“Sophia,” I reach out to stop her. “Hey, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you but when I come by Katia tells me you aren’t home and she won’t give me your number. I tried bribing my brother but, yeah apparently it’s confidential so that didn’t work. I guess my charm isn’t good enough for his receptionist either.” I laugh but I guess I’m laughing at myself because she always has a blank expression on her face. I rub the back of my head with my hand to help kill my nerves.

“Anyways, I’m going out for a walk, would like to join me?” She looks out past me, into the darkening skies and back toward me. Yet, she still doesn’t look at me.

“No,” she says curtly and turns.

“How about a movie?” She stops and turns to face me. Her brown eyes stare into mine and the stillness in the air causes me to breathe harder. She takes a moment to contemplate her answer and looks down. She looks back up at me and without words, I already know.

“No. Matias. No. I don’t want this, I don’t want any of this.” Her voice is low and she looks around the lobby, making sure no one heard her and then looks back at me. “Please just leave me alone. What happened, shouldn’t have.” Her eyes are full of regret. She turns to leave and I am fucking stunned. What the hell was that?

THE HARDEST PART about wanting someone is when they don’t want you back. She has declined every invitation to dinner, to a movie, a coffee, and even a damn walk. The harder I try not to think about her, the more I do. The more I try not to want her, the more I do. I don’t understand these feelings I have for her and I guess that’s why she intrigues me so; no woman has made me feel this crazy. I am determined to get her to go out on a date with me. I want to know her and I want her to know me.

I hear her voice echo in the hallway as she fumbles with her keys and talks to someone on her phone. I feel like a peeping tom spying on her through my peephole but this is a chance and I am sure as hell going to take it.

“Sophia,” I call out her name as I open the door. She turns and drops her phone; her face is white as a ghost. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She stares at me blankly.

Ok. This is awkward. Not the reaction I was expecting. I reach for her phone to ease the tension and hand it to her. My mind suddenly goes blank and we stare at each other awkwardly with no exchange of words. I see rejection in her eyes as if she knows what I’m going to ask. The unwanted feeling is not welcoming at all and I feel like a predator cornering its prey. But this is my chance and I’m determined, and who knows maybe she might just say yes, just maybe.

“Have dinner with me?” I’m mentally praying she says yes.

“I already ate.”

“Okay, let’s go eat dessert. I’m not taking no for an answer.” That was a little risqué on my part but it’s worth a try.

She brings her phone to her ear and tells the person on the other end she’ll call them back. I see her contemplating her answer. I’m still mentally praying she says yes.

“Okay, but just dessert and I need to get back home. Early,” she emphasizes.

“Yes, of course. So, ready in thirty?”

“Yeah, sure.”

We both retreat into our apartments, and I realize I need to get ready and decide where I’m taking her. Holy fucking shit, she said yes! I want to call Nicolas and ask where they have the best desserts in town but he’ll kill me. So instead I’ll take her where they have my favorite dessert.

The ride there is very quiet. I try to talk to and spark up conversation but her responses are short and are open ended.

I turn on some tunes just to break the deafening silence. I want to reach to her, touch her hand and know her thoughts. I’m trying to find the words that can spark up a conversation.

“How do you like your new apartment?” I want to kick myself in the ass that is such a generic question.

“I hate it,” she says, matter of fact.

Not the answer I was expecting. Shit. I don’t know how to respond. And there’s a moment of silence.

“Let me guess, you don’t like your neighbors?” I try to lighten the mood and break the seriousness of her demeanor.

“I do but it’s not my home,” she says and stares out the window into the star-filled skies.

I sense her demeanor; sadness is quickly consuming the confined space, I’m about to turn to ask her if she wants me to turn back, if she regrets saying yes, but before I do she turns to me and sets her hand over mine as it rests on the middle console. I wonder what caused such sadness. I desperately want to know but I want her to be the one to tell me and not ask.

“I miss the life I had.”

“Why can’t you continue that life?”

“It’s hard to continue a life in which all the things you loved about it only made you love it because of a single being.” Just as she says this, we pull into the restaurant.

I don’t want this conversation to end. I feel as if she was about to open up about herself, her past, the insight to her sadness. I wish I would’ve have driven a little slower or pretended to be lost or to have missed a turn but I didn’t. Now we are seated in a booth that has the King of Rock n’ Roll plastered around us and immediately we are greeted by the waiter. We order coffee and a tresleches cake, my favorite. And apparently hers too, since I saw a twinkle in her eye when she ordered it.

The sole purpose of tonight is get know each other but that is going to be challenging when she won’t let me in.

“So you do interior design?” I ask. I try starting with basic questions. I wanted this to be a date and feel less like an interview but she’s being so reserved.

“I used to.”

Okay. Should I ask follow up questions? Should I ask another question? I decide to stick to that subject until I know all about it.

“What do you mean used to? So you don’t because don’t want to? You can’t? I’m sorry, I’m just trying to understand.”

“It’s hard for a painter to paint without sight, a singer to sing without voice, a writer to write without words, a designer to design without vision.” She stares off into the distance, the sadness in her eyes grows deeper and I instantly wish I could retract my question and ask another.

“A blind man can still create a masterpiece, a voiceless singer can still write lyrics, a wordless writer can find a muse, and a designer can find inspirations. An ailment isn’t a crutch, it’s a strength.” She looks down, catching the tears pooling at the corners. My intentions weren’t to sadden her but to let her know that nothing should stop her from what she truly wants. She looks at me and gives me a small smile. Her eyes are still glassy and her cheeks are flushed; she so quiet and reserved, I wonder if she’s like a coconut, hard on the outside but, once you get in she’s soft and sweet on the inside.

The waiter arrives with our coffee and dessert. It’s a huge piece of cake; it’s enough for two, maybe three, but I can actually eat the whole thing myself.

Surprisingly, she picks up the fork and digs into the cake without hesitation; I was right, she does love tresleches. We have another thing in common. I smile as I grab my fork and dig right in after her.

I look over at her and I want to know everything. I want to know her what makes her so sad, what makes her smile, what are her desires; I want to know everything about her. My hands are burning to touch her beautiful face and kiss her lips. She needs to be able to trust me with her heart and her soul. The only way I’ll ever be able to come close to hers is by offering mine.

“I looked for you everywhere that morning. I was surprised when I didn’t find you at my place.” I have never said this to anyone. “I thought that night was great.” I lean in not wanting anyone to hear. She can barely look at me.

“I wanted to ask you out for breakfast but you weren’t home. When I saw you at the café, you completely avoided me and have been avoiding me. I thought we could get to know each other. I would love to know you.” There’s a knot in my throat I finally swallow down and lean back in my seat, hoping she reciprocates.

“I’m not looking into a relationship and being friends will make this complicated. All I wanted that night was what I got. I didn’t take you for a flowers and dinner type of man hearing the women in and out of your apartment. Had I known that, I would have never gone into your bed that night,” she replies, looking at me with a cold stare. That hurt.

I didn’t even know what to say to her. I want to tell her to give me a chance, to give us a chance because I know that we can have something special; I feel it. There was passion. I saw it in her eyes.

“Sophia, we can start as slow as you want.”

“There is nothing to start when there’s nothing here for you.” She places her hand over her heart. “Can you please just take me home?”

I quickly look for the waiter and ask him for the check. I pull the money out of my pocket, not waiting for any change. The drive home in silence is excruciating; it’s a reminder I’m unwanted.