Over yonder sits a boy with a bleeding heart on his sleeve; can you see him? There, with the shaggy hair and the blue eyes (that for some reason seemed much darker than they should), don’t you spot him? He might not be truly beautiful, but he is beautiful to me and that is all that matters.

I’ve talked to him before and even though they might sound like insignificant words to you, they were definitely important. The first time I spoke to him, he told me that he came to this particular coffee shop to ponder and meditate (on what exactly I do not know—yet) and I’ve offered that I just came here because they made a killer cappuccino. He smiled then and nodded. With that, I knew it was time to retreat and try again another day.

I’ll tell you a secret: we’ve actually kept this unformed, unspoken rendezvous up for six months (or was it five? I’m not sure, come to think of it) and we’re still going. Running into you today threw off the scheme of things—wait, stick around, you’re here anyway so I might as well tell you the story.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, wait! Don’t bother, I remember now.

So as I was saying: we did this at least weekly (somehow, we’d just always run into each other). It was our ritual; it was our way. We exchanged a truth for a dare, a fact for a joke and a tidbit for a scrap. Sometimes he’d tease me and sometimes I’d playfully ignore him. What we had—have—I’m still not even sure of. It’s something though. It is definitely something.

What was that you said? His name? Oh…I’m not quite sure. To be honest, we were both digging so much deeper than the first level of acquaintance to bother with exchanging names. For some reason, it never crossed our minds. I’d peg him to be of some unusual name though, like Ciaran or Dante, maybe. 

My heart tells me I feel something for him (the first time it did was when he told me that he preferred me in glasses because, somehow, it made me look even smaller, a priceless treasure to be protected—and I quote those words, by the way) and my mind is in cohesion. Isn’t that rare? For heart and mind to agree? That must be a sign.

Oh, he’s coming this way. Quick! Act like we weren’t talking about him! (But it’s no use. The man has hearing like a bat. He probably heard every single word we said.) I can see in your eyes that, close up, you’re put under his spell too. A quick, disarming smile was all it took for him to have you on his side, to be rooting for him with me instead of against him for me. “Hello,” he says to both of us and I smile. I see you swallow and nod, still unsure. “I’m Tristan,” he continues. (It’s no Dante or Ciaran, but I’ll take it. It was a nice way of rolling off the tongue, Trisssstan.)

You nod again, but you don’t offer a name. I look at him and I feign hurt. “You tell her your name and you haven’t ever spoken to her before. What about me?” He looks at me then, a full-on, hard stare that steals away my breath. The message is clear in his eyes and it is enough for me. I grow quiet.

Now, your skepticism comes back into play. “How can you think you know her,” you ask, “when you don’t even know her name?”

He—Tristan—gives you a little smile that might even be a little disappointed, if you looked close enough. “What need have I of a name?” He looks at me now when he speaks. “You’ve heard our story. Wouldn’t you agree that our relationship transcends that?”