Letter Two – The Second Encounter
Before you, I never imagined I'd come to know someone from your country.
The word "foreigner" originally came from "forest"—strangers emerging from beyond the trees. These days, they arrive by plane. You arrived like that: unfamiliar, unexpected, and oddly familiar all at once.I've always been an odd person—perhaps even more so back when we first met. I didn't yet know how to express myself or make sense of the strangeness of the world. I didn't know how to approach people, or how to be "appropriate" in a social sense.
When I think of my younger self now, I feel a little embarrassed. But I also think—well, at least I lived fully. I didn't think too much. I was really being myself.
And honestly, a man ten years older than me, who still chose to hang out with me—you must have been fairly odd too, in your own way.
I'm glad you kept asking me out until we finally met again. I'll be honest—I was guarded. Defensive. I wasn't exactly eager to hang out with a stranger who seemed so different from the people I was used to.
The second time I saw you, you were playing basketball with your friends.
I noticed something then: even though you didn't wear high-contrast clothing, you liked bright-colored watchbands and basketball shoes. A little splash of flair in your quiet style.
You asked me to join your friends for dinner. After the game, you were all going back to the hotel to change, and you told me to wait in the lobby. I remember one of your friends teasing you.
“Lobby, not your room?” he said, clearly referencing the conversation from the other night.
“No, of course not,” you answered, genuinely surprised, like it went against your principles.
“I thought you told her she could stay in your room?”
“If she did stay, I wouldn't be in the same room,” you said.
Hmm. I thought to myself: I guess he meant what he said.
That was probably the moment I let my guard down a little.
Many things would unfold after that, but the clearest memories remain the smallest ones.
I really liked the way you laughed.
The way you looked at me.
The kinds of movies you liked.
And a lot more little things.
I don't know if you remember, but one night we found ourselves debating whether grape-flavored Mentos and cola truly explode. I insisted every flavor would cause an explosion; you were certain only the mint ones worked. Determined to prove me wrong, you suggested we test it ourselves.
Of course, the test ended with cola on the ceiling, cola on the walls—cola everywhere. And then—we laughed until our stomachs hurt, until the moment felt sealed in something more than just memory.
I don't know why, but for a moment, I felt like we really knew each other.
Not in the way of knowing everything—but the kind of knowing where you feel understood. Maybe it was a delusion I built in my mind. But still—it felt real to me.
Note: This is a work of pure fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
