@oneikatraveller.."Nearly 8 years ago, I met a man in a club. He was tall and pale and lanky and had a funny accent. He bought me a drink and then watched as I danced the night away with other dudes. I wasn't checking for him at all, he wasn't my "type". At the end of the night, he asked me out to dinner. I laughed inwardly as he stumbled over the words, due in equal parts to slight inebriation and the fact his first language wasn't English. Like, who *was* this dude? I wasn't interested but figured that at the least, I'd get a free meal and a new male acquaintance out of it. Fast forward a few days. The night of the date I nearly cancelled. I was tired and even more fatigued by the notion of having to make small talk with a stranger. But this was my year of yes. I had moved into a new city, new continent, new life. I had promised myself I would accept every invitation and engage in every new experience that came my way. Dates with random suitors included. So I went. (Besides, I was hungry.) I descended the escalator like Cinderella descending the grand staircase at the ball. Regal-like. My dress was cobalt blue so I looked every bit of the queen I felt myself to be. A scarf adorned my decolletage despite the heat, strange for November, even in Asia. I spied my companion waiting at the last step. Then I *really* looked at him, really saw him properly for the first time. Shit, he was cute! I was geeked. Dinner was magic. We ate but didn't taste the food. Instead, we drank each other in and something shifted in me. When I talked, he really listened. I loved that. When we got ready to leave the restaurant I stopped in the restroom, used it, then braced myself against the sink, awash in a feeling I couldn't name. Even then I knew this would be different. I was right."