Don't Look Back

Chapter 3 - Ian

September 2008
Boston, MA, USA

For an entire year, I've kept my promise. Platonic friendship. I've pledged to get to know her according to the rules of her faith, like always socializing in public or with friends so that we don't give into temptation. Not staying alone for too long at once. Brief phone calls to chat. That sort of thing.

I haven't broken the protocol once because there's too much at stake. Something tells me I might have only one shot at getting this right.

We promised to make a decision about courtship before we split up for summer break. So I've invited her to spend the day with me in Boston.

For months I've agonized over the fine detail of how, when, and where I would propose to court her. All this is new to me, after all. So I deep-dived into the world of traditional courtship online. When I raised the subject casually in order to get her view, Sylvia said she didn't want a big fuss.

Definitely not a fancy ring or anything.

That makes sense because gaudy jewelry distracts her. Sylvia often toys with rings, taking them off and on, twisting them, and playing with them. Placing them on different fingers, even if they don't fit. She'd probably lose it by mistake.

So I asked her what her dream proposal might be.

"A memorable moment," Sylvia replied, "one that I'd treasure forever."

"Like what, for example?"

"It doesn't have to be monumental." She cupped her chin, deep in thought. "I don't need flowers, chocolates, and carriage rides. More like a private, special moment between me and the man I love."

Damn, I wanted to propose to her right then and there.

But I didn't think the moment was special enough.

Since that day I've been scouring for suitable opportunities worthy of asking Sylvia to allow me to court her. But I've always come up empty. Either it's too public, which I know she'd hate, or it's too mundane. Or those few times we have been almost on our own and it's special, she's enjoying herself so much that I don't want to ruin the moment.

Now it's come to me. Without any planning. Without any hesitation. Though I have no idea if she'll agree.

Sylvia has decided to visit me at the MIT campus. Her idea, not mine. She says that it makes up for all those times I've met her at Holy Cross.

Dressed in the only suit I own, reserved for important interviews and special dates, I meet her at the Park Street station. I've done everything I can to impress her. A fresh buzz cut, trimmed by my own hand. Black shoes polished to a mirror shine. Freshly showered and shaved. Poverty doesn't keep me from making an effort—it simply limits the possibilities.

When Sylvia alights from the subway, my heart swells with pride. Sweet and cute, she has a little bounce in her step that tells me she's super happy today. Not to mention that shy smile and her dreamy gaze.

She's a bundle of contradictions. There's a tender warmth in her hazel eyes but a harshness in her pronounced widow's peak, her dark waves pulled back into a ponytail. Analytical, close-set hooded eyes stare keenly at whatever captures her attention. Her high forehead contrasts with a gently rounded chin. Despite her darker features, her face is several shades lighter than my own tanned skin.

When we touch, it's like ivory meets bronze.

Though Sylvia stands over a foot shorter than me, she's got a long torso and broad shoulders to support the most beautiful feminine curves I've ever seen. But she makes up for the added length with stubby legs that shorten her stride, forcing her to take extra quick steps to compensate.