The hours before

A stranger, a park bench, and a conversation worth remembering...

Strangers in the Park

"We need to talk."

That was the entire message. No hints. No context. Just those four words sitting in my notifications like a loaded gun. He had sent it two hours earlier, but I only just saw it as I walked through the door.

Nothing good ever comes from talks that start like this. That phrase has always carried an ominous weight. I replied, trying to sound calm.

"I'm free to talk."

"Hold," he texted back.

A second later: "I’m on my way out. Can we do this when I get home?" It was phrased like a question, but I knew better. It wasn’t one.

I typed, deleted, retyped, and deleted again, trying to phrase my next message so it didn’t sound needy.

"Can you give me a hint? Or maybe we could talk now before your ride arrives?"

"No. Just hold on till then." His reply was immediate. I sent one more:

"Why?"

But he was gone. The single tick on my message was all the answer I got.

I groaned aloud in frustration. Tochi hasn’t always been like this, or maybe he has, and I’ve been too loved-up to notice. We’ve been dating for just six months, and already he seems like a different person. Despite my best efforts to point them out, he feigns oblivion. If we’d dated five years ago, when I was much younger and had a lot less patience, things would have ended differently and sooner. I know we have potential; we need to work on our rough edges—specifically, his seeming disregard for my feelings and my overwhelming neediness and jealousy.

What if he wants to break up? Waiting around for this "then" is driving me crazy. I have hours to kill. I glance at the bag of groceries I bought on my way home, intending to make the concoction rice I’ve been craving. Maybe cooking will help distract me from the looming talk.

I start washing and chopping, but nervous energy courses through me. I know I won’t be able to eat until we’ve talked. The silence in my room grows louder with each passing minute.

I need to get out, if only for a little while. I change into something more comfortable and step outside.

Hands in my pockets, I pad through the streets. I pass the occasional jogger and lone stroller. I smile and nod politely at the familiar faces, but my mind is still spinning. Eyes fixed ahead, mind going back and forth. A car drives by, headlights flashing briefly through the trees.

And then I see him. Alone on a bench, relaxed, rapidly typing on his phone, legs crossed at the ankles. He looks up just as I sit beside him. Our eyes met. He looks away first.

I hesitate just a second before speaking.
“Hi. Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” he says, looking up again.

“This may come across as weird, but I’m bored and I think you’ll be fun to talk to.”

“Oh really?” he said, smiling as he pockets his phone.

“Yeah. I have a sixth sense about these things.”

“That is the craziest thing I’ve heard,” he says, laughing. “How can you tell?”

“I can’t. Not really. But unless you speak a language I don’t understand, I don’t see how you could be boring,” I reply, smirking. “I would explain my process to you, but it’s a work in progress, and that’s not really what I planned to discuss.”

“Come on, give me the highlight then. I’m really curious.”

“I don’t want to monopolise the conversation. The whole point is for you to talk to me just as much as I talk to you.”

“Okay. How about this? Summarise it in a sentence.”

“Alright, let me try. I don’t think talking to anyone new can ever be boring.”

“That’s it? You’ve piqued my interest. Tell me a little more, and I promise to interject with suitable exclamations so it won’t feel like you’re the only one talking.”

“Okay. Say we have different interests. It’d be fun because we’d get to tell each other about those things. And if we don’t, we’d bond over what we share.”

He nods.
“Oh, wait. I just realised, it can be boring if the person you approach has no interest in talking. Then it’s just the approachee yammering on, annoying both people.”

“In this case, I’m the approachee, yes?”

“Yes. And so far, you’re doing very well.”

“Thank you,” he says, smiling. “For the compliment and for sharing your theory. I have to admit, I haven’t really thought about it. I don’t usually approach people on the street, you see.”

“Of course you do. How else do you get girls?”

“That’s different now,” he says, laughing.

“How is it?”

“Well... I don’t know. It just is.”

“I don’t think it is. Once upon a time, this is how I used to come on to guys I found attractive.”

He burst out laughing.
“I don’t believe you. How would you chyke a guy? You’re a girl.”

Laughing, I said, “It’s ridiculously easy. I had a hundred per cent success rate. Never missed.”

“You’d just walk up to random guys and hit on them?”

“Yes. I was a bit of a Casanova or whatever the female version is called.”

“But why?”

“I’m not sure. I guess I liked having a say in the men in my life. Single girls often complain about not meeting guys they like, but maybe that’s because they only get to choose from the ones who approach them.”

“So you’d see a guy you liked and make the first move?” He looks at me like I’d just told him I could fly.

“Why not? I got a kick out of being the hunter instead of the prey.”

“Oh my,” he said, laughing. “You’re something else, aren’t you? How many of them turned out to be worth it?”

“A surprising number. I had a type, though.”

“Tell me.”

“I like people who don’t act or dress like everyone else.”

“Is that fancy speak for weird?”

“I don’t think so,” I said, musing. “If they were weird, it was the cool kind.”

“How many kinds of weird are there?”

“Broadly two. The cool ones and the creepy ones.”

“Ahh. So you’d seek out the cool ones and hit on them?”

“No. When you say it like that, I sound like a pervert. It wasn’t always with lascivious intentions.”

“How did you decide who was which?”

“I’m not answering that. That’s enough about me. Let’s talk about you.”

He laughs. I like the way he laughs with his whole being, so wholesome.
“But we were just getting to the fun bits. I don’t mind talking about you a little more.”

“Well, I do. So your turn. Maybe we’ll circle back later.”

“Alright.”

“Do you believe in an afterlife?”

“Like heaven and hell?” he asks with a slight smile.

“Yeah. Or reincarnation or something.”

“I haven’t thought much about it. I was raised Christian, though I haven’t been to church in a couple of years. I think, on some level, I do. What about you?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve thought about it a lot. The point of all this,” I reply, gesturing around. “Sometimes it feels so random. No before, no after. Just now. But maybe humans need to assign meaning so it all feels less terrifying. We tell ourselves stories to soothe ourselves.”

He laughs.
“If you’d said this in fifteenth-century England, they might have burned you at the stake.”

“Thank God it’s big ass 2025,” I scoffed. “Yes, I see the irony. I still play it safe. I dot my i’s and cross my t’s.”

“Imagine, after all the songs and dances, it really is just... nothing. Darkness. On the bright side, I watched a video that said our brains release some kind of psychedelic when we die.”

I burst out laughing.

“Really,” he said, grinning. “We die with a bang.”

“That would be kind of awesome. Maybe it’s just one long trip. Forever.”

“Have you tried psychedelics before?”

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?” he asked, smirking.

“Yeah. Haven’t had the opportunity,” I reply, smiling shyly. “I don’t know how to go about it.”

“The usual way, I guess. You find a vendor and order.”

I laugh.
“No, thank you. For a weird reason, I have this fear that if I try ordering online, I’ll end up choosing an undercover NDLEA agent. And next thing I know, I’m on the news holding one of those signs suspects carry when they’re arrested.”

“You’re unbelievable. Why would you think that?” he replies, laughing.

“I don’t know,” I said, whining. “It could happen. What if I’m having an unlucky day? Then I’m known on the internet as a drug user. I plan to just get invited to a party where someone offers me some, and I try it then.”

“What a great plan. What if the NDLEA guys are at the party?”

“Nah. The chances of that are really small. I’ll only do it at an intimate party with people I know.”

“You’re weird. But I think I like it.”

I smile shyly.
“Thank you. Good weird, yes?”

“Of course.” He pauses, “What’s your name?”

“You can call me Jane.”

“I’m John. It’s been an absolute pleasure hanging out with you. Undeniably the highlight of my day.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me today. That’s very kind of you. I like the name John,” I say, smiling.

“Why?”

“I think it suits you.”

“Thank you, Jane. May I have your number? I have to leave soon, and I would love to see you again.”

“Do you believe in fate?”

“Like destiny?”

“Yes. That things are predestined, and some things are unavoidable.”

“I don’t think I do. I like to think nothing is written in stone. Our choices determine how our lives go.”

“I act like I’m a character in a book, and everything that is meant to be will be. It may be delayed, but it can’t be avoided.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Fair enough. So...”

“The number?”

“Yeah.”

“I think talking on the phone will ruin what we had.”

“Or make it better.”

“That’s your opinion. I don’t want to take that chance. Maybe we’ll meet again. Then we’ll know for sure that we were meant to know each other.”

A car parks a little way off.

“My driver has arrived. But before I go, what if we don’t?”

“Then we can write poems about how great this evening was and remember it as even better than it was.”

“Is Jane your real name?”

“No, it isn’t,” I said, unapologetic. “Jane, as in Jane Doe.”

“Thought as much. Still, it was fun meeting you. Maybe our stars will align again someday.”

“Fingers crossed. I enjoyed you very much too,” I say, waving.

He walks toward the car. Just before getting in, he turns back once. I blow him a kiss and wave again. He shakes his head slightly as he climbs in and shuts the door.

I linger a few moments after the car pulls away. The silence settles around me again, but it feels different now, less suffocating. All thoughts of Tochi and his bombshell are momentarily forgotten.

Eventually, I began the walk home. All my thoughts are of him, John. I replay our conversation with a soft smile on my face.

I hope I see him again. He made me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

My phone lights up in my hand. It’s Tochi.
"Hi, are you free to talk now?”