It’s been raining since the first day of Lunar New Year. Lingering in the air, almost invisibly, patches of drizzle touch the ground so lightly that not a drop of sound is made. The shore is hidden amidst the rain and haze.
Here she comes, without an umbrella as usual. She taps away the raindrops on her coat and fringe, and the mists hanging on her lashes fall under her eye while she blinks.
“It’s freezing out there. Let’s get something hot to drink!”
She has a ginger and lemon honey drink, and I have a jasmine milk tea. We also order a Taiwanese sesame oil chicken noodle to share. She does the talking most of the time when we hang out. Her dolly eyes roll bigger when she talks; as if a new continent is found or a duckling with three legs is seen. Everything seems more interesting in the way she talks; nothing is mundane.
Food is served. I fill her bowl with the steamy soup and glass noodles, and topped with a piece of chicken thigh fillets. I like the cabbage cooked tender, and have my bowl filled with the veggie and glass noodles. She begins to talk about what’s recently bothering her, vividly like how she normally does. And suddenly, silence fills the air.
The spot beside her has been vacant. There are passersby all these years, yet there is a void to be filled by the mr. right. Every time we meet, I always want to give her a hug, and make her a heart-felt dish that would fill her up in times of solitude.