The ramen place Wendy mentioned is located in a nearby city, but it only takes about 20 minutes to get there by car. It’s a small place, but the aroma of ramen has me hooked. The structure of the restaurant has it so that there are dining tables in the wide dining space and a dining area at the side bar. Wendy and I got a table for two.

I read the menu. All the names of their ramen dishes sound so good. I cannot decide what I want. One item catches my eye and that is the one I selected. Wendy seems ready too.

“Excuse me!” She calls out to the waitress. “We’re going to order now.”

The waitress, a petite Asian girl, smiles and grabs her notepad from her apron. “What would you like?”

“I want honey miso ramen with edamame and onigiri as appetizers. She looks at me. “What do you want?”

This is bad. I’ve never particularly ordered at a restaurant before, so this is a nerve-wracking moment. I muster up the courage to say my order but words won’t come out. I just point to the menu item. The waitress is very considerate as she says ‘Spicy Tonkotsu Ramen’ as she writes it down. She walks off. Was she just being nice for the sake of being professional? I bet she thinks I’m a weirdo deep down.

Wendy looks at me with curiosity. “Can you handle spicy food?”

“Everyone in my family can, so it’s natural that I can too. You know that spicy chicken ramen challenge that was popular online a while back? I can eat that without any problems.”

Wendy’s face contorts. “How can you stand eating spicy food? I cannot handle it at all. The moment I eat something dark red, my organs have a fire party.”

I feel my own face contorting. “How can you not tolerate spicy food? You’re Korean, aren’t you?”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m sorry that I’m not like my own people.” She pouts.

When I take in the tone she had replied to me with, I can tell my words weren’t the first instance. She probably heard those kinds of words many times to the point of annoyance. I feel bad.

I then take a good look at her face. When she’s sulking, she looks like those grumpy cats in social media videos. She’s cute. Just looking at her makes me feel like I’m watching cat videos. Is it wrong for me to feel this way when I felt bad about my careless choices of words earlier?

It did not seem to bother her as she smiles as the waitress gives us our glasses of water. Wendy takes a sip and then locks eyes with mine. As she puts her glass down, she leans forward with that same smile.

“So, Eugene, can I ask you some questions?”

Confused, I utter, “Sure…?” Am I being interviewed for something?

“Where were you born?”

“New York.”

She seems surprised. “I never thought you’d be born in America.”

“My family immigrated two years before I was born. My sister was born in South Korea, but not me.”

She perks up when I mention my sister. “You have a sister?”

“Yes. She’s older than me by five years.”

“I have a younger sister. She’s three years younger than me.”

“She’s in college, then?”

“She graduated. She’s job hunting right now.”

Because of how satisfied I was with my art career, I didn’t really go on the job-hunting path like everyone else that graduated at the same time as me did. I just stayed home and drew. My source of income mainly relied on commissions.

“Where did you go to school?” Wendy asked.

“UGA*. I majored in Computer Science.”

Wendy nods her head. “I see. You must have been smart to get in.”

I just shrugged as a response. I wouldn’t consider myself smart. I just worked hard at studying to appease my parents. My earlier life was nothing but just me studying like a machine and now, here I am, a reclusive artist who hates going outside and finding a ‘real’ job. 

“I went to SCAD**.”

I am jealous. I really wanted to go to art school, but my own self-doubt made me reconsider. Instead, I chose the selfless route and not the selfish route of my life. Following that path led me here.

“What did you major in?”

“Painting. I’m mainly an oil painter, but I also do acrylics and gouache.”

On my part, I do like traditional painting, but I’ve been doing a lot of digital art lately, so I guess I prefer digital art. I do wonder what sort of art Wendy makes.

“I’d like to see your paintings, sometime.”

Wendy’s expression contorted. She looks away. “Maybe someday…”

She dodged it again. Is she really painting people as she said? I hope she’s not doing anything illegal deep down.

Once our appetizers came, all questions I had disappeared. My focus fixates on the food. It’s been a long time since I last had edamame. The feeling of eating the beans out of the shell was nostalgic in a way. I love the flavor too. Wendy seems to enjoy it as well. This is also the first time I’ve had actual onigiri. I love how chewy it is. Maybe I should try making these on my own someday—it’d be better than eating toast constantly.

I look over at Wendy. She seems to be enjoying the onigiri far more than the edamame. The way her cheeks puffed as she chewed makes her look like a pudgy cat. The way she has a grain of rice stuck on the side of her lips makes the sight all too cute.

I pointed to my own lips to let her know she had rice stuck there. Wendy uses her own finger to wipe her lips and finds the stray rice. The sight of it makes her flustered.

“Sorry about that. I get a bit crazy when it comes to food—especially rice.”

“It’s fine. It’s nice to eat with someone. It’s been a long time since I last ate with someone that’s not a family member.”

I felt an urgent sense of worry. What if she thinks I’m a weirdo? What if she thinks I’m a loser? Wendy likes being with people; what’s so interesting about hanging out and eating lunch with a gloomy hermit like me? When I looked into her eyes, there is no sign of contempt anywhere. She just looks surprised, but she quickly smiles.

“Well, why don’t we do this often, then?”

Good to see you again, my good friend arrhythmia. I can feel my own body temperature increasing and I am sure the spicy ramen that just came out won’t be of help. However, I know that this feeling is much different than before. Wendy seems a lot nicer than the people I met before. She seems to enjoy my presence. I enjoy it too.

I take a bite of the ramen to distract myself from Wendy. The plethora of flavors surging into me is raising the temperature of my organs. My body and my organs are telling me that these feelings are love.

Like I’d believe that.