It just so happened that, four weeks ago to the day at 7.00pm, I realised I had misread the invitation to the Ivy Club and, even though the party was bound to end at 8.00pm, something possessed me to catch a cab and head straight there to enjoy one drink with everyone. It just so happened that, ten minutes later when Trafalgar Square was in gridlock, I jumped out of the cab and decided to walk up St Martin’s Lane anyway, instead of giving up and heading to Soho. When I arrived, you sat right across from me. The world paused. We sat and exchanged puzzled glances and QR codes.
It just so happened that my 9.00am flight to Oslo the next morning was never to be. I showed up at check-in and Expedia had failed to make the booking on my behalf, even though they sent me a confirmation number. I have never heard of this happening to anyone. The flight was overbooked and the ticket counter lady was baffled at the error. It was a beautiful autumn day in London, and I took the express back to the city. We had a weekend of getting to know each other that may have never been.
It just so happened that the one night we could escape the eyes of our friends and consummate the brimming attraction was the night before mass demonstrations in London. I didn’t need to go to work next day. We spent the day walking around, having brunch, afternoon tea and dinner. It was your last day in London. Your parents were waiting for you in Paris.
It just so happened that, a few heart-wrenching days later, work sent me to Paris on a Friday to spend the weekend. Away from the eyes of London we built a cocoon out of pure bliss. It just so happened that your childhood friends from Paris were some of the most wonderful people I’d met in a long time, who went out of their way to make sure I was included in every event.
But it also just so happens that you live in Beirut.
I feel like I have beaten all the odds, except the most important one. One error in the perfect timing all of this plot followed could have meant an altogether different outcome. And yet, it doesn't even matter in the end.
Love is a frightful thing.
It just so happened that my 9.00am flight to Oslo the next morning was never to be. I showed up at check-in and Expedia had failed to make the booking on my behalf, even though they sent me a confirmation number. I have never heard of this happening to anyone. The flight was overbooked and the ticket counter lady was baffled at the error. It was a beautiful autumn day in London, and I took the express back to the city. We had a weekend of getting to know each other that may have never been.
It just so happened that the one night we could escape the eyes of our friends and consummate the brimming attraction was the night before mass demonstrations in London. I didn’t need to go to work next day. We spent the day walking around, having brunch, afternoon tea and dinner. It was your last day in London. Your parents were waiting for you in Paris.
It just so happened that, a few heart-wrenching days later, work sent me to Paris on a Friday to spend the weekend. Away from the eyes of London we built a cocoon out of pure bliss. It just so happened that your childhood friends from Paris were some of the most wonderful people I’d met in a long time, who went out of their way to make sure I was included in every event.
But it also just so happens that you live in Beirut.
I feel like I have beaten all the odds, except the most important one. One error in the perfect timing all of this plot followed could have meant an altogether different outcome. And yet, it doesn't even matter in the end.
Love is a frightful thing.
Watch weekend, you'll love it...
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