"Hey, Mars?"
"Yeah?"
"Would you be interested in going out to eat?"
"…Huh!? W-what the fuck?! Where the hell did that come from?!"
"I'm interested in going out with you."
"What? Are you serious? We just met! We haven't even had a proper conversation! How the fuck do you figure that's a good idea?!"
Zen didn't flinch. "Would you prefer another time?"
I stared at him, completely thrown off. Was this guy dense or just dangerously confident?
"Fuck off."
After his confession, I stormed out of the restaurant, my chest tight with confusion, embarrassment, and something else I couldn't name. The moment the door shut behind me, I pulled out my phone and told a few of my online friends what had just happened.
Most of them laughed. Said I sounded like I was living in a cheesy romantic comedy.
But one friend didn't laugh. They gave me something else—something sharp and sobering.
"Be careful. Boys like that only chase girls to feed their own desire."
Those words clung to me like fog on glass—quiet, but hard to see through. I made sure to remember them. I had to.
And yet…
Not a day passed where I didn't replay it all in my mind. The look in his eyes. The way my heart beat too loudly. The way I ran.
When I went back to work, I half-hoped he'd forgotten. That it had all just been a weird, passing moment.
But there he was—Zen. Still smiling. Still so calm, so impossibly self-assured.
"Hey, were you able to think about whether you're interested in going out sometime?"
I froze.
He's still asking?
Even after how I reacted yesterday?
Even after I left him standing there?
"I don't get it. What am I to you? You just met me—it's impossible for you to actually like me."
"You're my wife. Always have been. Always will be."
"Do you have a screw loose or something?"
"What do you mean?"
I couldn't say anything else. I just turned and walked away.
He's crazy. That's what I told myself. Delusional.
But as I walked home alone in the cold, something inside me stirred.
If someone like him—someone who seemed so sure of himself—could say what he felt without fear…
Then why couldn't I even look my crush in the eyes?
No. It's different.
He can do it because he's attractive. Because people like him. Because he's… enough.
Me? I'm just average. At best.
I stood in front of my mirror that night, searching for something—anything—worth liking.
Still wearing braces.
My hair? Frizzy, uncooperative.
Skin? Pale and dull.
Eyelashes? Thin and forgettable.
Shoulders? Broader than I want them to be.
Nose? Asymmetrical.
And then… this.
I pulled my hair back, exposing the burn scar on the left side of my face.
The mirror stared back in silence.
Why would anyone want this? Want me?
Why would he ask someone like me out?
Maybe… maybe he wasn't lying.
Maybe he really did like me.
But I couldn't believe it.
Not when I can't even like myself.
And so, I cried.
Cried the way I always do. Quiet, hidden under the blankets, the pillow damp with regret.
Cried myself to sleep, alone.
Just like every night.
Every night.
Every night since that day.