Two Shawarma- A CU Love Story

‘None of the characters depicted in this are real. It is simply an expression of what often goes on in my head.’

“Hello, Gracie,” I say as I stop next to the girl in the green lanyard. She turns almost immediately, her eyes lighting up.
“Baby…” she says softly, grabbing my hand and pulling me away from the P.O.S. crowd.
“How was class today?” she asks as we stop to sit by the stairs at the John Hall entrance of the cafeteria. I take a breath and start to ramble about how my 8am to 7pm Monday went. I do not skip any detail. Even taking time to go over how a random stomach ache pushed me to take a shit in the unfortunate C.S.T. toilets.

She listens. Listens intently as she fiddles around with my hands. ‘Feminine-baby hands.’ she calls them. She laughs when I say something funny and squeezes my hand to reassure me when I express frustration.

You know, I think I’m in love with her.

“How did your day go?” I ask this time. Tugging one of her loose braids behind her ear. She turns to face me properly. I know when she does this, she’s about to pour out a lot of stuff. Our eyes meet momentarily, and I blink.

She’s beautiful.

She opens her mouth, and words start to flow. She tells me of how her Business Administration lecturer gave an impromptu test that almost ruined her mood. She tells me of how she and Rachel, her bestie, went around the entirety of CBSS while trying to avoid the Dean of Student Affairs. She tells me about cafeteria 2 food and the small chicken. She tells me, and I listen. Laughing when she says something funny and squeezing her hand lightly when she expresses frustration.

I wonder if she loves me too.

“Have you eaten?” I ask as we stand from where we’re sitting and make our way back into the cafeteria.
“Nope.”
“And what do you plan to eat?” I slow down as we reach the Ewa-G stand so we can decide.
”I’m really not that hungry though…And you know I told you I bought fried rice during the break. Maybe I’-”
She zones out, her eyes fixed on something in the distance. I look at her and follow her eyes.

I think I see.

“I…ah…I think I’ll just buy Waffles.” she finally says, looking away. “What about you?”
“Shawarma way,” I reply, scanning through the people at the shawarma spot.

We walk towards the respective stalls, talking about C.U. fashion and everything in between.

“I’ll catch up to you when I finish,” she says as we break away from each other.
“Aiit, sure,” I reply, pulling out my wallet as I join the shawarma queue. I pull out my Access bank card, muttering a prayer to the God of Hebron that it doesn’t embarrass me.

I look to my left, and this time, I see.

You know that feeling. The feeling when your heart drops so quickly, so painfully, you almost stagger.

“Two Shawarma,” I say, collecting the P.O.S. machine and punching in 1,200. The man places the thick shawarma wrapped in aluminum foil into a black nylon bag, right as the paper starts to make its way out of the machine.

“Thank you,” I mutter, handing him the machine and collecting the nylon bag. I look to my left again. This time, our eyes meet. Grace and I. Unspoken words pass between us, and she looks away. Returning to his embrace. I turn back, making my way into the crowd, out of the cafeteria.

I wonder why love is hard.