Last November, first date with J.

He picked me up that Saturday evening, his car parked a few houses away so my parents wouldn’t see and start asking questions.

I had been so nervous all afternoon.  But when I got into his car, I suddenly felt comfortable and sort of happy-giggly.  His car smelled really nice, a bit coconut-ish, and there was bossa nova playing softly from the stereo.  He was wearing a dark blue and white striped sweater.

He led the conversation, and said things that made me laugh.  He imitated a French accent and badly mispronounced the only French words he knew, which was so funny. I found out that he was left-handed (which secretly thrilled me because I have always thought that left-handed guys are kinda sexy and intelligent), didn’t like animals, and had injured his hand recently playing goalie during a soccer match (his wrist was bandaged).

On the road, he patiently showed me how he cut lanes politely but effectively, after I mentioned that I always had trouble with that.  When driving into the carpark, he flipped on the headlights, telling me that it was safer to do that so other cars would be aware of our car.

In the lift, we stood close enough that the long sleeve of his sweater touched my left arm.  It felt nice.

In the restaurant, he gave me the seat with the river view and pulled out my chair.

“Is there anything you don’t take?” I asked as I looked through the menu.

“Nope, I eat anything,” he declared.

“For me, I just don’t take beef,” I said.  Because that time last year, I was a pre-believer and followed my family’s Buddhist beliefs.

“Oh,” he seemed surprised, and there was an odd pause - before we continued as if nothing had happened.

He did all the ordering after checking what I wanted.  I got a non-alcoholic drink; he got a mojito, which he mispronounced.  I thought it was cute.

We talked for over 3 hours.  I felt a bit shy at times when I noticed him looking at me.  I realized he wasn’t that good-looking, but I didn’t mind.  I was just happy to be with him on that breezy, quiet Saturday evening.

Later, as we walked back to the car, he asked me if my perfume was vanilla.  I was secretly happy that he had noticed.  I said yes. 

“Your car smells really nice,” I told him.  He told me his secret: pandan leaves.

Awhile later, he asked, “So you’re not a Christian?”

“Nope.”

That night, we left it at that. 

—

Till today, I turn on my headlights whenever I drive into a carpark.  And I don’t think any other car will ever smell as sweetly as his did, of pandan leaves.