It’s no longer about the bracelet I bought for you, saying it was just friendship—the one I said wouldn’t be awkward. And it wasn’t, because I never gave it to you. It’s no longer about the small, delicate box left unwrapped at the bottom of my bag, a box I might leave there for months or even years. I wanted to leave as quickly as possible, which feels strange.
I remember thinking, ‘Please let the weather be good so I can catch the one-hour flight.’ Of course, I could take the twelve-hour bus ride, but that would give me more time to think about the stranger I bought a bracelet for. I made the flight; the weather was fine. When my bag came down the luggage slide, I accidentally blessed myself, partly wishing the unwrapped box would disappear, something I wouldn’t want to keep.