I've been hanging out with Mehdi almost every other day. I'll just go to his place for dinner and he cooks and we chat. It's been nice.
We run into each other on the train on the way home from school today. After a comfortable silence that lasted a few minutes, he invites me over for dinner again.
"Oh no, I can't tonight," I begin, trying to word it carefully. I sort of want him to know that I'm going on a date, just to see how he'll react, but I don't want to be a bitch about it or sound too excited (because I'm not). "I'm going to London for dinner and a movie."
"Alright," he says, and I can see the wheels turning in his mind. "What movie is it?"
"I'm not sure," I say. "He
said it's an old black-and-white film that's like a Bonnie and Clyde type story."
Pause. "Oh...OK," he says. I know he caught the fact that I'm going with a guy. He's pondering it. Good.
He meets me at the tube station, and we walk to a Thai restaurant a couple blocks away, where we thoroughly enjoy our massive dinner. His name is Dan, and I met him at the bar Digress on Valentine's Day. He's German, 24-years-old, average-looking, taller than me with brown hair, brown eyes. I really don't like his hair. That's what we called a "butt cut" in high school. I don't like the way he dresses or walks; he's not sexy. And for some reason, the way he talks, he's always breathing in my face. It doesn't matter how far away from me he is, his breath is like a warm wind in my nostrils.
We go to the film, which is at an independent theatre, and we sit among a bunch of college-age kids who try to be intellectual and watch black-and-white movies and talk about philosophy. I like the bohemian atmosphere, but it's a little pretentious for me. The movie is good and I enjoy the story.
Afterward, we have a cup of tea upstairs in the coffeeshop, where more intellectuals are hanging out. I enjoy Dan's conversation. He's smart and he seems interested in me--asking me questions and listening carefully. He pays for our teas, just like he's paid for everything else on our date. (Which I like.)
When it's time to go, he invites me over to his place, but I decline as graciously as possible. So he walks me to the tube, and he even gets on the tube and takes me to Kings Cross, then asks me again, "You're sure you don't want to come over to my place for a drink?"
"Yes," I laugh. "I'm sure."
So we go our separate ways.
I had a nice time. Overall, I'd say it was a good date. I don't feel anything romantic for him, but he'd make a good friend, I think.
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