Before it starts.

I feel ridiculous writing our story before it even starts. Before I’ve even met you. How can I possibly be so bold to think I can predict my own future, let alone decide the fate of a stranger. But as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, as I breathe and as I sleep, this is a story that I know to be inevitable.

It starts on New Year's Eve. I don’t know which one, but we’re celebrating new beginnings or something equally as cheesy. The party is at a mutual friend’s house. We’ll have met before, but our story starts on this night. I’ll arrive earlier than you, and help set up. I’ll have a few glasses of wine, and we’re playing some silly card game, so by the time you arrive my cheeks are flush from laughing, the wine, and the warmth of the season.

There aren’t many people at the party, but we’re all crammed around the two windows with a good view of the fireworks. You and I stand shoulder to shoulder, enjoying the gentle breeze. We’re talking about nothing in particular, I think we’ll never remember what we talked about. What we will remember is watching each other as we talk; the twinkle in my eye as I say something cheeky and your cheeks warming in response. The crinkles at the side of your mouth as you smile broadly, the tilt of my head as I am entranced at the depth of your voice.

The party will end, we won’t exchange numbers, and we won’t see each other again for over a year. Possibly two years. Our mutual friend will mention you occasionally, I’ll wonder if you’ll hear about me. But essentially we both move on with our lives. I won’t see this mutual friend for a while, as our lives naturally go in their own directions.

Then on one seemingly innocuous weekend, this mutual friend will reach out to me, invite me over for a BBQ. I’ll be late because I’ll be hungover, you’ll be later because you’re working. We’ll play board games well into the evening, and all rush off because we have work the next day. This afternoon is fun, light-hearted, but you and I don’t share any glances as we did those years before. On the way home, a memory of that first night will pop into my head, and I’ll wonder if it does for you, too.

Days later you’ll reach out. Your excuse for starting a conversation is both vague and obvious, but I won’t mind. We’ll chat on and off for weeks. Through some unspoken agreement won’t tell any of our friends. We’re certainly not ashamed or embarrassed, though some would have an opinion. We’re just so wrapped up in whatever is growing between us that it never occurs to us to be interested in involving others’ input into whatever this is.

We’ll be together for a number of months, and eventually I won’t want to keep it a secret anymore. I’ll ask you to tell our mutual friend because you're closer, it'll be better coming from you. We both know that the longer we wait, the more this friend will be angry that we kept this secret. You’ll organise a party, invite the friend over earlier, seek a sort of blessing. You won’t get it. You’ll have to choose between me and your oldest school friend. You’ll choose your friend, and so you should.

We both will struggle with the decision. Neither of us wants this. Neither of us will be ready for it to end so suddenly. We'll apologise profusely to each other. In some ways I knew this was going to happen, though I hoped so fiercely I was wrong.

One day, a long time from the end, we'll each reflect on this time as something special. We won't regret it. Given the chance, neither of us would have changed a thing. But we'll never see each other again.