The First Meeting

Penn Station made more sense—her train and his train would arrive in the same building. But it was finally autumn in New York. The limestone walls. The reversed constellations. The daylight flooding through those arched windows. They wanted classic romanticism more than convenience.

And so, they chose to meet at Grand Central Terminal.

Andrew arrived early. He stood by the iconic clock—the four-faced opal at the center of everything—and watched strangers passby. Couples, familys reunited. People running toward each other and letting go of their belongings to embrace. The immense feeling of sonder settled inside him. He offered to take photos for tourists, empathizing with the fact that he knew it was a special day for him soon, too.

Lesly sent him a text: "On the last train now!" Almost time. His duffle bag sat at his feet as his hands were occupied capturing the surrounding view with his video camera. Inside: a weighted Steamboat Willie plush he'd bought weeks ago at Disney World, before they'd even met in person. She said she loved Disney, but she's never been to the parks herself. So, he selflessly bought it as a gift, mindful of the weighted sensation and feeling of touch — without ever experiencing it for himself.

There were also Moana-themed Minnie ears in the bag for her younger sister, Nicole. Because her sister had helped him plan this, and he wanted her to know she was seen. He knew them to be thoughtful gifts.

The clock had struck another minute, and suddenly the concourse was being flooded from all around. She knew where he would be, but he only realized she had arrived when she was a few feet in front of him.

Backlit first. A silhouette against the October sunlight, standing still in front of him as the crowd continued bustling by. After all that waiting, time has become their own.

Grey coats, matching like they planned. Her dark curly hair caught gold where the sun hit it. There was a contrast to her fair skin, the type of duality that makes nature beautiful: like fire and water. She became real to him now, even after two years. Yet, the fantasy did not fade away.

Their first instinct was to hold their arms out to hug, which bought him more time to calm his nerves. Their matching attire blended in together. They became whole. Conscious of the pressure, he held tight in an unspoken assurance. They pulled back to look at each others faces. He rested his hands on her shoulder, his palms fitting like the final puzzle piece.

"Wow, it's so great to finally see you after all this time. My— I can't believe it. You look ethereal."

"Yes, likewise! Thank you so much, I'm— Sorry. I'm a bit nervous."

"Tell me about it, I mean look at you. You're stunning, I have no other choice."

After some time, they walked toward the grand staircase together. The afternoon light poured through the arched windows, cascading down the marble steps like a spotlight waiting for its actors. He pulled out his camera once again.

"Let me film you in the spot right here."

She didn't hesitate, but she was shy. Not used to being seen like this—through someone else's lens, someone who looked at her like she was already the main character.

But she didn't need direction. She just existed there, bathed in that golden light, and the camera loved her for it. She didn't know what to do with her hands, where to look, whether to smile or stay still. It didn't matter. The uncertainty made her more beautiful, not less.

That was the beginning of something—the camera capturing their moments. A language they'd speak, a secret they'd keep. Just for them to share.

After a while, she laughed and broke the frame. "Alright. Let's get hot chocolate." That laugh brought out her purest smile, the little corners of her mouth and eyes lifted up in amusement.

He lowered the camera, unintentionally returning her joy. He tilted his head and gestured to get on out of there. They looked up one more time at the reversed constellations on the ceiling, and despite that, it felt like the stars have aligned more than ever.

They stepped outside and the wind hit them immediately. October in New York — not quite cold, but insistent. Their matching grey coats were in the grey area between the changing seasons.

Angelina Paris was smaller than he remembered. They passed it once. Twice. He checked his phone, turned them around, checked again. She let him lead, but not without taking a jab at him first.

"Where are you taking me, sir?" She yelled as a gust of wind blew past.

He laughed it off. They were learning things about each other already. She held onto his arm as they crossed the street one last time.

When they finally stepped inside, the Parisian tearoom was warm and smelled like chocolate. Rich, a little precious. In the backroom, there was a velvet rope that said answered their first question: Reservation only.

She felt the small deflation in him before he masked it. The woman working there confirmed their first thoughts.

"Sorry, you can still get hot chocolate or grab something from our to-go area, just behind you."

She turned to it, and he turned to her.

"Are you hungry? They have sandwiches."

She wasn't, really. But she also wasn't not hungry.

"I could eat a little something."

They ordered at the counter — hot chocolate, a sandwich to split, a box of macarons. She noticed how he spoke to the staff. Polite. Proper. He seemed at ease in a place like this. She found that endearing, though she wouldn't have said so. They connected well because they shared the same taste and aesthetic. They enjoyed the same things, on paper.

Outside, they carried everything across the street, past the tourists, until they found two metal chairs near the cobblestone edge of Bryant Park. Leaves scattered at their feet, though most still preferred the branches. Not quite autumn yet.

"I've never been here before," she said, looking around.

"Really? I would've thought since you're from… well, New York."

"Where I'm from in Long Island is far though. Port Jeff, it's like in the center of it. It's more than an hour taking the train. I'm more... New York adjacent. You know?"

He pulls up his Maps app, which was still target-locked on Angelina's, and zoomed out to see the entire state.

"Bro, Long Island is actually… long! Like, from Jersey— 40, 50 minutes where I'm from."

"Yep, and that part at the very end is the Hamptons," she leaned over closer and hovered her finger over his phone. "I'm sure you know that, where the rich people are."

He nodded. There was an entire different world in the same state. The world is so big yet so small, he thought. As for the city, he's familiar with these places — times with family, old relationships, and from movies, romanticizing them even then. But he didn't say that. He just watched her take in the park — the way her eyes moved across the scene, settling on nothing in particular.

They unwrapped the sandwich. She picked at it, then paused.

"I don't really like tomatoes," she said. "Or vegetables, honestly."

He tilted his head. "You should try it though. See how it is. It's like sushi — people say they don't like it, but they've never had good sushi."

She gave him a look — half skeptical, half amused. But she took a bite anyway.

They kept talking. Watching the people walk by. A mother chasing a toddler toward the carousel. A couple arguing quietly on a bench nearby. She pointed things out. He listened. But mostly, he was looking at her.

The way she smiled when she talked — a small dimple surfacing. The way her eyes would meet his, then drift away, then come back. He wasn't analyzing it. He was just... taking it in. Aware of how long they had waited for them to be there. Not taking a single second for granted.

A few minutes passed. She took another bite of the sandwich, chewing slowly.

"Okay," she said. "That actually wasn't bad."

"The tomato?"

"Yeah." A small concession. "I liked it."

He blinked, a quiet nod, a flicker of satisfaction. Something had shifted — not because of a tomato, but because she'd let him be right about something. She'd let him in, just a little.

"I think that's a small glimpse of growth, of change. We might just bring out the best out of each other." He shrugs and gives a smug smile, playfully flirting.

The hot chocolate was rich and dark, the kind that sticks to your teeth. She didn't notice when it happened but she licked it off without thinking. He watched her do it. No judgment. Just — there she is. It's what they call wabi sabi, although he still wouldn't consider her imperfect.

They worked through the macarons slowly, tasting each one. When the last one sat in the box, she waved it off.

"No no, I am stuffed. It's all yours!"

He gave her a final look, to be sure and courteous.

Around them, the city kept moving. The sidewalk was constantly occupied by people getting from point A to point B. But they stayed still. Him watching her. Her letting herself be admired, even if she didn't notice he was looking at her like that.

Oh, the gifts. She knew there was something in it for her — he'd told her weeks ago, unable to keep the secret. She had something for him too. But not yet.

"Later," she said, catching him glance at the bag. "I'll show you mine later."