Revisiting Shay

It was an odd day. Maybe it was because the clouds looked different or because I wore mismatched socks. I’m not really sure. I stood in front of Shay, the room smelling slightly of old books and maybe a bit of lemon cleaner. Shay had a beard that seemed like it hadn’t been brushed for days, but it made him look interesting, not messy. It reminded me of the scruffy dog I once saw at the park.

We were supposed to chat about usual things, maybe the new movie or the book I was reading. But my mouth had its own plan. I told Shay the biggest secret I had, the one that had been piling up inside me like lego bricks. The secret about how I felt about him.

He looked surprised, like when someone gives you a present on a day that’s not your birthday. For a really long time, he just stood there. The old clock on the wall kept ticking, and a bird outside the window was singing, probably to another bird.

Then, Shay finally talked. “You know, I always thought secrets were like lost socks. They’re hidden somewhere but always turn up eventually.” He looked at his own mismatched socks and then back at me. “I’ve felt something too,” he admitted, his face going a bit red, sort of like a tomato that’s not quite ripe.

The room seemed to get a bit brighter, or maybe that was just my imagination. We stepped closer, like two magnets that had decided to be friends. It felt like standing at the front of a long queue, knowing it’s almost your turn.

Then, doing something I didn’t expect, Shay reached out and ruffled my hair, like an older brother might. “Let’s be brave together,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes. And then, as if it was the most natural thing to do, we both leaned in. Our kiss was a bit clumsy and tasted slightly of the mint gum he’d been chewing earlier, but it was perfect in its own special way. Outside, the world took on a new hue, shadows playing more vividly against the sunlit walls, and the very air seemed to hum with an unseen excitement, as if nature itself was in on our secret.