That night I spent together with Minho was not our last. He was single, and so was I. Like the irresponsible, careless souls that we were – dishonest to each other as usual, we continued our “no strings attached” relationship. I couldn’t even say that we were “friends with benefits,” because I was no longer sure that we were actually the simplest of friends at that point. I couldn’t even say that I harbored any romantic feelings towards him anymore. We loved each other, but I no longer loved him in the same, true, and unaffected way.

I’d like to think that we used each other for our own physical needs, complicated our ever-winding relationship even further. We only ever reached out to each other when we wanted to spend the night together; we only conversed casually once or twice. I honestly cringe every time I think about how our relationship literally drowned at the bottom of the pit. There were multiple points in time that I wanted desperately to end our relationship, but I never brought myself to do so, perhaps because I wanted, like a spoiled child, to hold onto something that I was never given the right to.

I refused to let go, until that night.

He texted me that night, a simple Can I spend the night?

I didn’t even bother replying, because I knew that he would come knocking nonetheless. But he showed up hunched over at my doorway, with a repulsive stench of whiskey outlining his figure, and a lethargic, drunken stupor dominating his demeanor.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What we…we always do, no?”

His calloused fingers came into contact with my blushed face, causing me to squirm away from his touch in pure disgust. “Leave.”

“Why, can’t take care of an old-time friend?”

He wasn’t as drunk as I thought, as he was still able to stumble to my kitchen and form coherent sentences. Minho was right, I couldn’t just leave his drunken outside. I sighed in defeat before pouring him a cup ice water. “Drink the water, and then go to sleep.”

Minho suddenly grabbed my face between his palms, forcing me to face him squarely. He inched forwards, brushing his alcohol-tainted breath on my lips as I fought against his grasp.

“But you know what I’m here for.”

“Song Minho! Let go of me! I’m not going to sleep with you!”

“I never wanted to just sleep with you, Jen! I spent so-ing-long looking for you, trying to ask for your forgiveness, yet you wanted nothing more than just a physical relationship. I still love you, and yet you…”

Then, he picked up the glass of water and crashed it against the kitchen counter, letting the shards pierce through his own palm and the falling ones, my thigh. I let out a breathless gasp before shoving him off me completely.

“Get the out, and don’t you ever dare come back.”

At first we were merely “friends”. Then, he labeled us as “best friends”. When we met again, my denial of having feelings for him and our adult needs led us to become somewhat of “friends with benefits.” When I finally could not repress my feelings for him any longer at one point, I told him the truth that broke trust between us and destroyed our friendship, ending any and every relationship that bound Song Minho to me throughout the six years. When I realized he was no longer the Song Minho I knew, and that I was no longer the Jennifer Chen he grew accustomed to, I broke our final connected. I used to hate not having labels for my relations with others, but when Minho began labeling our relationship, I found myself growing to hate those repelling signifiers.

Patricia said that Minho’s company transferred him to a branch overseas a while after Minho and I’s last encounter. Patricia knew vaguely about our physical relationship, but neither of us divested to her the gory details or how it ended. And she respected us enough to never question.

***

I arrive at the club exactly at the deadline Patricia has assigned me seven hours prior. Clasping onto the diamond charm as an old habit to sooth my nerves, I strut through the entrance. Immediately, the crowd of friends hollers “Surprise!” before breaking into a chorus. Patricia emerges from the crowd that is already swallowing her and pecks my cheek lightly.

“Happy birthday, you ungrateful !”

“Okay, fine. I love it.”

She raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

“I swear! I really do! Thank you, really.”

“Whatever, enough of this mushiness. Let’s cele-oh !” she mutters as she begins to furiously tap her phone.

What’s wrong with her now? “What’s wrong?”

“Uh…nothing. Just…another surprise?”

She scrolls through her phone for a couple more minutes, completely ignoring my presence, as others began approaching me to personally deliver their birthday greetings. After a while, she finally emerges from her trance and joins our conversation. But she does not cease from looking through the crowds and muttering an occasional, “Where the is this kid.”

Before I could corner the girl and threaten her to spill the secret, a familiar calloused hand grasps my elbow, turning me around to face the face ornamented with the charmingly boyish smile that allowed my irregular heartbeat to thump in my ears.

“You’re back.”

I take a step closer to him, ready to flip back to the page that we left off on and continue writing our present and future. The star shines ever so brilliantly, reflecting against the diamonds studded in the silver band hanging around his neck. He finally intertwines his fingers so snuggly with mine, as if between mine is where his belonged all long, even after all these years.

There is no such thing “meant to be.” Sometimes, the anticipated and long for never happens, and the unimagined becomes the replacement. The replacement can be just as beautiful, if not ever so much more. We just have to learn to write the current pages, rather than flipping to the end of the book and start outlining out dreams onto blank paper. “The one” we wait for may have already passed us by, or may never even show up, we just have to keep searching for a compatible one – someone we can love unconditionally and get the same in return. We may never come across the “right” one, because there is simply no “right” and “wrong.” It’s all just one’s own judgment – just search through the right lens.

“You’re still just as beautiful.”

“It still feels the same…”

“I guess I can finally play the guitar for your birthday and serenade this time.”