It all began with something moving in my bubble tea—something too round to be a bug and too sparkly to be boba: a diamond ring.

Glancing around the cafe didn't help me figure out how it had gotten there, nor did poking at it with my straw or looking under my table. For a moment, the world simply went on around me, and after a moment I realized that… this was not a joke. If it had been, the punchline would have come by now. But not only could I no longer drink the drink I paid for, I also couldn't fish the ring out without looking like a fool to all the beverage-drinkers around me.

I didn't know whether to call the manager or take the ring home with me as a consolation prize. To be a Karen or a thief. I can't believe that I'm saying this, but that is the question.

"Uh, excuse me?"

I looked up and there you were, staring down at me through those wire-rimmed glasses dorks had gotten stereotyped, but damn were you anything but a dork.

"Hi," I replied, like the stupid fool I was. "Um… Yes? Do we know each other?"

My second attempt wasn't any better but it put some color in your cheeks when you cleared your throat and pointed at my bubble tea. "I… I think I got your order wrong."

"No," I said with all surety I could muster, "this is exactly what I ordered."

"H-Haven't you noticed a-anything wrong with it?"

"Something wrong?" I leaned forward and pretended to take a sip. "Well, I haven't tasted it yet—"

Your reaction was immediate. You snatched the cup off the table and bowed deeply, red up to your ears. "I'll fix it for you immediately."

Then you were off, quick as you came—so quick, in fact, that your name tag dropped to the floor—and while I thumbed the letters of your name, I wondered who that ring was for. Did you actually mess up the order or were you dared to do it?

I didn't expect you to call that night with an answer, so of course, I didn't know it was you on the other side, Elliott, not until your gorgeous voice tickled my ear in nervous squeaks.

"Who is this?"

"Hi," you give the vaguest introduction, "I… uh… got your number from the cup… the cup with the ring."

"So it was my order then."

"Yes, Mrs—"

"Miss."

"Ms Davis. I made you a new one to apologize, but by the time I got back, you were gone. "

"I am a busy woman."

"I'm sorry for disturbing you," you whisper and I can almost see your thumb hovering over the button that would end the call.

"Thank you for the gesture, Elliott."

"You know my name?"

"You dropped your name tag when you ran away."

"I was wondering where that went… my manager's going to scold me so— Wait, I didn't run away."

"Of course, you didn't." I drag myself off the lawn chair and hold out the cigarette I had just lit, letting it smoulder like an incense stick. "Why don't you make it up to me?"

"I... can pay you for the coffee?"

"Is that a question?"

"I mean—"

"It's a date then," I tell you, tightening the belt of my dress and climbing up my terrace. My potted plants wave at me and—with no hands free—I wink back. "Will Tuesday at ten be fine?"

"W-What? A—" You're cut off by an obnoxious scream in the background and I imagine you in the dark bowels of a filthy restaurant, working the night shift of your third part-time job, and I don't understand why. I have never been so invested in the possible comings and goings of a stranger.

"Are you busy?" I take the initiative to ask. Casually, because I don't want to spook you, and I also want to know if my guess is right. Casually.

"Ah... No. My uncle wanted..." You cut yourself off and clear your throat. "I mean, my cousins needed help with something... It's all sorted now. Did you say a date?"

"I'll buy you dinner—"

"But..."

"—and you tell me about the ring."

"Wait, I—"

"That's fair enough, isn't it?" I lean back against my front door and stare at the stars dotting the universe, little explosions waiting to happen. Elliott is such a nice name and I could imagine you as an explosion anywhere but at that cafe where you never look up for more than ten seconds. "And I'll return your name tag so your manager is none the wiser."

"You kept it?" Your voice is so quiet now, a pin drop against a background of oppressive noise, that I can't help but want to tease you.

"Or... We could meet up tonight? I'm sure—"

"No. No! Tuesday is fine."

Your nervousness chases the weariness out of me, and suddenly I want to start planning all the details: what to wear, where to take you. But I restrain myself.

"Perfect," I whisper, our volumes reversed so that my excitement doesn't scare you off. "See you then."

"G-Goodbye, Ms Davis."

"Hm." I keep my voice cool to contrast your frenzy. Casual. "Goodbye, Elliott."

The conversation is over, so I let you end it, turning off my phone afterwards so that no other call jars me back to a reality where your voice isn't replicating itself in my mind and burning itself into my memory.

Our date is only four days away and I already can't wait to see you again. I wonder if I should text you first or wait till you realize that I didn't mention the "where" of our arrangement—which I most definitely didn't do on purpose.

I keep my phone off for the next few hours and only turn it on when I'm ready to sleep, with Tuesday marked in bold on my calendar and strange visions of dessert-filled diamond rings plaguing my dreams.