Jojoba oil and Doritos

When jojoba oil and Doritos met, it was love at first sight. Time froze as the cold air of New York settled on the tip of her nose, leaving it crisp and hungry for warm contact. It was on the street that his eyes, which seemed more green than the trees that had been subjected to orange due to the season's change, met mine. Even there, on the other side of the street, his kindness spoke on his behalf. He had a way about him; he was the kindest soul I had ever felt. Once I was close enough to him to feel it, an emotion so unfamiliar to me, I melted. The hard exterior of my false coldness shattered right there on the street, and I fell to my knees.

“Are you okay?” he said without breaking eye contact. We had traveled and settled in each other’s eyes for what seemed like an hour but had only been three minutes. From the moment I held his gaze, I knew it—I felt it, and it had brought me to my knees.

“I’m fine. I just tripped,” I said as he helped me up, still refusing to break eye contact. We paused once I was on my feet, and his hands settled on my waist like they had never left. The street went silent; the other figures moved around us in a sluggish blur. There he was, the most intense, sensual stare I had ever encountered. I could read his soul, and he mine.

A man bumped into me and slithered away quickly, and just then, an ambulance came speeding by, bringing our moment to an end. He let go of my waist, and I was so disappointed that I got angry, which caused me to turn cold.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I answered, stern and firm. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he responded, but I had already begun to walk away, my back turned. I took large strides, which came naturally to me. I never turned back to look at the boy who had brought me to my knees.

Before I knew it, I had been swallowed by the mass movement of people walking the sidewalk. The air was back to being thick and heavy, like curdled milk, and the noises were overwhelming—the continued honking of cars, the bells ringing from the bike, the argument between delivery drivers, and the conversations happening all at once between the couple in front of me and the girlfriends beside me, all matched only by the drilling coming from the top of the construction site. The cacophony took over, forcing me to break into a walk-like run, trying to get to my dorm.

Once I shut the door, I sank back against it, letting it support me. I stayed there, gripping the doorknob, slowly sliding down onto my bloody knees. I knew if anybody ever saw me, they would think I was exaggerating. I thought I was. Why was I acting like this over a stranger I had met and left even quicker? I was not the kind of girl who acted like this; I was always sure and wary like my mother had taught me. I was by no means a strong woman; I was barely done being a girl. But who was he, and why did I not stop thinking of him months after our meeting?

CHAPTER 2

As far as everyone knew back home, I was lucky to have gotten accepted. My grades were never the best, and I was already a disgrace to my family for not studying law, medicine, or inventing a cure for cancer. I was studying English literature, a fate worse than death, only made better by my acceptance into NYU.